Page 44 of Walking the Edge

“I need to look around the yard, anyway.” Mitch carried the bag to the door. “Stay here until I come back.”

* * *

Mitch dropped Hurley’s garbage in the street receptacle, his blood simmering. From what he knew about women, Cath had to stop thinking him an idiot before she’d trust him.

Otherwise, he might as well can this new career and reenlist. But he couldn’t go back. He’d been lucky to get out while he could still control himself and his actions. Who knew how much more violence he would have seen and lived through if he’d re-upped?

The wind gusted. He zipped his windbreaker and scanned the neighborhood, sensing a menace lurking under the lulling sound of rustling trees. Someone had eyes on him. The closer he got to the back of the house and the corrugated metal garage, the stronger his pulse pounded. Could the men after Cath be back, hiding and watching? He’d checked his mirrors on the drive. The traffic had been too thick for him to tell if any cars followed, but one, or even two, could have tracked him here.

The garage door stood ajar, wobbling in the wind. He stepped over the weeds and reached inside for a light switch, but the structure hadn’t been wired. His pulse ratcheted up two notches. He squeezed inside to flatten against the wall. Shadowy forms lurked in the dimness. He crept past two boats covered with a tarp and caught a flicker of movement. “Come out now.”

A rodent scurried away, and he released a held breath.

Boom. The door slammed behind him.

Everything went black. He froze. An invisible hand clutched his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Sweat clotted his underarms. He tore at his shirt collar, needing air. More air.

A female voice penetrated his fog. “Mitch?”

Shit. No way could he let Cath see this damned meltdown. He clawed at the unyielding door.

“Where are you?” she called.

A hard kick finally forced the door open, and he staggered outside. Some twenty feet away, Cath stood at the foot of the stairs facing the street, the trees whipping around her. He turned his back to wipe his face with a shaky hand and strode toward her.

“I told you to stay upstairs.” He watched her for any sign she noticed something wrong. “I told you I’d come get you.”

“I didn’t find anything helpful, and it was stupid to hang around waiting.” She swiped at windblown hair. “I didn’t want to waste your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time.” He inhaled deeply and his gut settled down. She hadn’t seen a thing. “I felt someone watching and investigated. By the way, Detective LeNoux called while I was waiting. He wanted to see if you remembered more details about the masked men now that you’ve had time to recover.”

“I was fine when I spoke to him before, and I already told him everything.” Her brows pulled down. She stepped close enough that he smelled his soap on her skin. The same soap he’d used. She caught her auburn hair back, and the scent of his shampoo wafted his way. Double whammy. “What’s going on? Have the police caught the masked men?”

“’Fraid not.” He pursed his mouth. “They’re still loose.”

“I guess I need to keep worrying.” She looked around as if the thugs might run down the sidewalk now.

“No point in that. I’m watching our back. Taking precautions.” He strode down the drive, which had been empty two days ago. An old car sat parked there now. “Continuing to protect you.”

“You mean bossing me around.”

“Someone has to be in command of this op.” Inside the car, a small plastic bag bearing an automotive club insignia hung from the radio knob. “Your brother’s ride?”

“Get away from my car!” A man in his late sixties hurried toward them with some sort of terrier straining at a leash. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m allowed to park here while my driveway’s being repaved.”

She clasped her hands and sent him a look as if to say Go ahead. You’re in charge of the neighbors.

Mitch clenched his jaw. He’d show her. “Who gave you permission to park here?”

“Chad told me I could.” The elderly gent jerked his chin toward the downstairs apartment.

“I see.” Mitch lowered a hand to let the dog sniff, but the dog growled.

“Spike doesn’t like strangers,” his owner said. “What do you want?”

Mitch propped his hands on his hips but kept an eye on Spike. “Do you know the kid who lives in the top apartment?”

“Why?”

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