Page 59 of Walking the Edge

“I’m not giving up on my brother.”

“I’m not asking you to give up.” Mitch waited for her to look at him. “Unless he’s living on the street, Les is staying somewhere. Tiffany might know.”

“Miss Touchy-Feely? She’s a last resort unless you have an urgent need to get grabbed.”

“That would be a bonus.” He moved around the crowd gathered at the hot-dog vendor’s cart.

Cath’s eyes narrowed. “Then go talk to her, but come back and tell me if she has any suggestions so I can go with you. I don’t know why we’re even talking about this.” She opened the mall door, strode past storefronts filled with luxury items, and reached the garage elevators.

“Les is going back to where he made the drug buy.” She punched the call button. “If I want to find him, I need to show up there too. Even if I have to go alone.”

Chapter 11

“Did you hear from your brother yet?” Mitch’s footsteps echoed behind her in the upstairs hall of his family’s house.

Cath dug out her cell and flipped through some screens. Come on, Les. Communicate. “Still nothing. Les is letting his pride get in the way of asking for help.”

“That seems to run in your family.”

“True.” She dumped her phone into her purse. “This means we’re stuck with going to the wharf.”

“We could always stay home.” Mitch had tried to talk her out of going all the way home, but in the end had agreed to come along, calling this a tactical operation they needed to plan. She didn’t care what they called this outing, she had to follow up on the only lead she had. If something horrible happened to her brother that she could have prevented, she’d have to live with the guilt forever.

“We should get down to the wharf as early as we can. See what’s what.” She nudged open the closed door. No curious kitten appeared, and she stepped inside.

“Want me to close the door?”

“Please.” She set down the food dish. “Tiger? Kitty?”

Her pet peeked out of the closet, and Cath scooped her up to plant her in front of supper.

The door clicked closed, shutting them in his bedroom together. Sending ripples of awareness vibrating down to Cath’s toes.

Two people in a bedroom could get up to all sorts of mischief, but she and Mitch wouldn’t be using the bed for any extracurricular activities. They needed to concentrate on their mission, another Mitch word.

He laid two protective vests on the bed, one bulky like a baseball umpire wore, and a more formfitting one. Formfitting for a weight lifter.

She gave her kitten one more stroke and stood. “What’s first?”

He studied her, his gaze lighting up points on her body as if she were an interactive map in a dark museum. “You plan to wear that?”

She plucked at her loose sweater. “I don’t have a specific hanging-around-on-the-wharf outfit.”

“The jeans are okay but lose the sweater. You’ll be too hot under the vest.”

“I’ve got a T-shirt.” She dug through her folded laundry.

“Put it on.” His pistol thunked on top of the dresser, and Mitch dug into a drawer.

“I’m going to the bathroom to change. Watch the kitty so she doesn’t escape. Your brothers have heavy feet.”

“I heard the shower running when I closed the door. You can change in here. My back is turned.”

Mitch emptied his pockets but must have decided not to change because he stowed his pocketknife and a gun magazine in lower pockets. A second clip followed, and her throat slammed shut. Did he expect a gunfight?

“You done?”

“Wait a minute.” She yanked off her sweater and pulled on the thinner shirt. “You can turn around now. Which vest is mine?”

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