Page 7 of Walking the Edge

They wouldn’t listen, anyway. They’d just overpower him. Les might lose his aids. Would the bounty hunters notice and give them back? If he didn’t have his aids… She gripped her shawl until her knuckles ached.

Several couples waited for her Crescent City Haunts ghost tour at the end of Pirate’s Alley, one dancing to the jazz from down the street.

Two children ran up, followed by their parents. Gradually the rest of her customers arrived, including the travel writer her office manager had mentioned. Cath introduced herself and checked their names against her master list.

“Everyone’s here, so let’s get started.” She beckoned for them to follow her past the small garden behind the cathedral. “Who believes in ghosts?”

Half raised their hands, and Cath tilted her head. “How come? Have you seen any?”

One man had felt a burst of cold air while walking through an old house with a tragic history. Another who’d stayed overnight in a plantation upriver mentioned creaking floorboards and the clank of swords.

She extended her hands to indicate the old city around her. “The French Quarter has been lived in for three hundred years. Some early inhabitants still linger. For you ghost doubters, I bet you’ll come away from our walk believing. At least a little.”

The sound of pounding feet drew everyone’s attention to the man running toward them. She urged her customers closer to the entrance of Pere Antoine Alley, but the jogger stopped under a street lantern right in front of her.

Her blood sizzled. She’d seen this tan windbreaker, this dark cap of hair, and the body probably capable of two hundred push-ups before breakfast. Exactly forty-five flipping minutes ago. Like metal to a magnet, her body veered into his force field until…his fierce gaze pinned her with a laser-tag blast.

Cath staggered under the impact, the earlier butterflies fluttering back to life. He stood as still as the wrought iron fence behind him, his big hands hanging beside powerful thighs. For now. Any minute he could spring into action.

Within seconds of busting into her apartment, he’d barged past her and pushed her brother against the stove. Then when Les bolted out the door, this guy had followed in a heartbeat.

No, she needed to back up the reel.

They’d stared at each other for a Guinness-record-setting second then, and now his whole body seemed to hum like a live wire. He’d found her brother inside her house. Did that mean he could he arrest her, too?

Her throat closed up, and a clamp squeezed all the air from her lungs. She braced, waiting for him to grab her hands and lock on cuffs.

A cough from one of her group jolted her.

The clock on her two-hour ghost tour continued to tick, and she had to make sure the travel website guy would have nothing but raves.

“Listen…” Cath raised a finger to her lips. “If you’re quiet, you can sometimes hear a man singing.”

The tourists followed her down the flagstone walkway. She turned around to speak again but slammed her mouth shut. Of all the gall.

The hunky bounty hunter stood front and center. The hard angles of his features cast a pattern of light and dark across his face, and danger flashed from him in neon lights. For one insane moment when his body had brushed hers in the apartment alley, she’d sensed he might kiss her like the prince waking up Sleeping Beauty. He’d awakened something, all right. Cath squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, this is a paid tour.”

“Is it too late to join?” His rich baritone melted into her hungry pores like chocolate sauce on a sundae.

Days. Weeks. Months too late.

Not for a minute did she believe him to be a rabid fan of haunted houses or an avid collector of ghost stories, but she needed all the dinero she could earn to pay for Les’s lawyer. She eyed the bounty hunter. “Would you like to buy a ticket?”

“You take plastic?” His long—sensual—mouth lifted. Her back stiffened at the masculine assurance in his smile even as the heat coming off him poured into her private places.

“Of course.” She took his card. They were conversing like polite strangers, not people who’d been forced to interact under extreme conditions. She wanted to know what had happened with her brother, but she couldn’t ask in the middle of her tour. “I didn’t say anything at the time, but you can pay now for your previous tour, if you like.”

“My previous tour?” The confusion in his eyes disappeared when he realized she meant his earlier visit to her apartment. He shrugged, all friendly-like. “I can always contest the charge if it’s not correct.”

Of course he would. She keyed his information into her phone sales application.

“Nah. Consider it lagniappe.” Cath turned to her tourists and explained the old New Orleans custom of grocers giving customers a little something extra. Handsome would likely never know if she charged more than normal, but she prided herself on running an ethical business. “What’s over is over.” Please.

One eyebrow rose. “Are you sure about that?”

Positive. She lowered her head to avoid the sight of his disturbing physique. “If you give me an email address, I’ll send you a receipt.”

“No need. I’m good.”

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