Page 65 of Walking the Edge

Dammit. Mitch poured on speed. One block. Two blocks. Halfway down another, Mitch tugged Cath into a hotel garage entrance. The shooter might see them, but they could gain some time. They ran through the driveway and out into the parallel street. They could hide in plain sight in the crowds on Bourbon Street a few feet to their left, but those people could become collateral damage. Mitch hurried in the opposite direction toward the quieter streets.

“Wait—” Cath staggered against him.

He ducked into the nearest doorway, dragging her toward the thick shadows at the iron courtyard gate.

“Ouch.” She winced, her breath coming in gasps. “My leg…the cramp.”

Mitch swept his hands up and down the leg she’d favored before.

“Yeah. Right there.”

He massaged the muscle with both hands. She muttered a thanks, and he cupped her cheek and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a champ.”

“Couldn’t do it without you.” She leaned in to him. Rose on her toes. Mitch went rigid, but her lips hovered so close. Soft lips pressed his with urgency. Untamed. Fierce. She tasted so sweet. She—

A taxi splashed past in the street. He went still. What was he doing? The drug pusher’s henchmen could find them any minute.

As if his senses wore night-vision goggles, he picked up a presence. He raised a finger to his lips and held his breath. A tall man paced past, his silenced pistol cradled against his chest. He stopped. The streetlight reflected from a shiny sports emblem on his shirt. Mitch leaped out, executed a choke hold to drop the shooter, and pulled his own weapon from the man’s waistband.

Mitch handed Cath her gun and drew her back into the courtyard doorway. She caught his arm. “Did you kill him?”

“Incapacitated him is all.” Mitch stared at the thug lying in a heap outside their hiding place.

She clung to him. “Why don’t we run?”

“Waiting for the guy with the eye patch,” Mitch whispered. “He could kill us from Canal Street with his rifle.”

“They could have split up.”

He stared down at her shadowed face. “Bad news for us.”

“W-w-we can g-go back to your truck.” She sucked in a breath and gasped.

Mitch stared at her, his own breath going shallow. Had she been hit? Where? He couldn’t see anything here in the dark carriageway, but he didn’t want to wait too long to find out.

“It c-c-can’t be far.”

Only eight or nine blocks too far.

Empty sidewalks stretched in both directions, but on the next block, a lighted sign identified a bed-and-breakfast. “What about we stay there? Even if they don’t have a room, we’ll get off the street for now.”

Chapter 12

Mitch tossed the key on the ornate dresser and fingered the lace window curtain aside. The rain had stopped, and the empty pavement below glistened in the streetlights. No gunmen lingered on the sidewalk, and no angry voices had followed them up the inn’s stairs. So far, so good. He turned to see Cath standing in the middle of the room.

He ran a gaze over her and came up empty. But something had seemed wrong earlier. “Where are you hurt?”

“I–I don’t think I am.” Cath stared at the canopied bed, shivering and dripping onto the Oriental rug.

He crossed his arms. “This is not the time to go all tough on me.”

She stared at him, shaking like a leaf. “Why d-do you think there’s something wrong?”

“Your breathing was labored a while ago. You’re stuttering now.”

“For gosh sake, Mitch.” She failed in her efforts to cross her arms over the vest. “We’ve been running since we jumped out of that car. And I’m soaked to the b-bone.”

“I’m not criticizing. Why don’t you take a shower and get warmed up?”

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