Page 46 of Walking the Edge

“Sarah’s good friends with Les, but I didn’t see her in class today. I’m sure she has to work at the bar where she has a part-time job. With Mardi Gras being next Tuesday, you know?” The girl batted her eyelashes at Mitch. “Why don’t we go to the university center and talk?”

Chapter 9

“I’ll bet we could have eaten at the patio bar where Sarah Armstrong works.” Cath inhaled the crispy smell wafting from her po-boy.

“This is good. Faster too.” Mitch straddled the picnic bench next to her, tapping on his phone screen. They’d followed the student to the university center before they’d shaken loose the name of Cath’s brother’s friend and where she worked.

Cath rearranged the tomato slices on the bottom half of French bread, replaced the top, and took a bite. The perfectly fried shrimp tasted like dust. How could she enjoy this when her brother might be eating peanut butter crackers like they had as homeless kids? Her appetite fled to parts unknown, and she set her sandwich down.

Mitch turned from watching a container ship plow upriver to eat more of his roast beef. “Isn’t your po-boy any good?”

She folded her arms on the table. “It’s taking too long to find my brother.”

“I’d have preferred to find him yesterday myself.”

“Because you could be counting your bounty now.”

Mitch raised that infuriating eyebrow. “I want you to find him. Why else would I be driving you around?”

“So you can grab him. Never mind.” She should concentrate on changing his outlook. Toward Les, anyway. Then he might treat Les with some dignity. “I keep worrying whether or not he’s eating and whether he can find replacement batteries for his aids. As you probably know, they don’t last much more than a week.”

“No, I don’t know, but it’s only been a few days.” Mitch gestured with his sandwich. “Eat. You won’t be able to climb into my truck unassisted if you’re weak.”

Her pulled muscle had cramped up again outside the deli, and of course, Mitch Guidry called that to her attention. She rolled her eyes, but took a bite. Then another. She’d have to go online to a review site and recommend the shrimp po-boys. “I got into the truck fine”—she ticked off the count—“three times since leaving the house.”

“Good thing. It would have been hard to help without touching.” Mitch chewed another bite. His Adam’s apple moved, and his tattoo peeked above the collar of his shirt and brown crewneck sweater. The man didn’t seem to own clothes in any other color. Probably a deliberate choice to match his eyes, eyes trained on her this very minute. He wiped his mouth. “You’re too emotionally involved.”

“Tell me you wouldn’t be worried if one of your brothers was starving and sleeping in a store entrance or a bus shelter.”

“You know I would.”

Did she? She wasn’t so sure.

He scrolled through his phone with confident taps, always taking his time to execute precisely. He tucked a bedsheet with the same economy of movements. Would he make love that way? Or would he lose himself to passion?

“Admit it.” His deep voice prodded.

Heat rose to her face. He had a nasty habit of reading her mind, but please not now. “A-admit what?”

“You needed me to get any information from the blond.”

He would say that. “You realize she held onto your arm the whole time we talked with her. Why didn’t you step away?”

“If I’d removed her hand, you think she would have told us anything?” Mitch gave her a Get real look.

Cath crossed her arms. “I saw her slip you a note.”

Mitch pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and read what the girl wrote. “Her name is Tiffany.”

“It could be Aphrodite for all I care. You realize she’s going to expect you to call.”

“Tough. We got what we needed.” Mitch bit into the second half of his sandwich. Subject closed.

She leaned back to stare at him before shaking her head. Why was she surprised? Mitch acted as if he couldn’t give a damn about a woman’s feelings. Remember that.

“Your behavior was manipulative.” Cath chewed more fried shrimp.

“She was the one manipulating.” Red gravy dripped from those tapered, precise fingers, and he grabbed a paper napkin. “The one touching, the one fluttering long eyelashes.”

---