Page 117 of Walking the Edge

“Which is where the parades are headed. Which he must know.” Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll have to park on the street.”

“There is a small garage right behind those shops. I see it when I do the occasional Lafayette Cemetery tour.”

“That’s only a few blocks from St. Charles too. What do you bet the place will be full today?”

She lifted her cell. “What do I tell Paul?”

Mitch retrieved his own cell and explained the situation to his brother. “Hal says they’ll move but give them ten minutes. Give us an extra cushion on that.”

“I’ll tell Paul we’ll meet him in forty minutes. Is that good?”

Mitch relayed that info to his brother. “I’ll call when we get there,” he said and disconnected.

The garage posted a no-vacancy sign, and Mitch parked a few blocks farther down the street. Across the sidewalk, a two-story mansion rose behind a high fenced-in hedge broken only by an overgrown ginger plant. Only a few days ago in this same neighborhood, Mitch had kissed her for the first time. And she’d kissed him back. Thoroughly. Rediscovering again how good kissing could be. Then it was like he’d pressed their actions into a scrapbook and reverted to teammate mode. Until yesterday. Cath covered the hand he rested on the gearshift.

Crowd noise from St. Charles Avenue barely disturbed the calm in this neighborhood reeking of money and prestige. No one seemed to be around. The residents probably rode in Rex today or awaited his toast at the downtown hotel. She’d seen Carnival royalty flags hanging over a few front doors.

“We’ll have to walk from here and keep an eye out for Hal.” Mitch switched off the engine. “You got your gun?”

“Right here.” She let her seat belt recoil and lowered the zipper of her day pack halfway. She needed to get to her pistol without fumbling for the tab.

Mitch gave her a thumbs-up and spoke into his phone. “We’re here… Two blocks past the shops toward town on Prytania. What’s your ETA?”

A freaky awareness whistled through her. Cath clutched the strap of her pack. What was that over by the fence?

A faceless shape rushed toward her door. Her heart seized. She fumbled for the door lock. In the same instant, her window shattered. Mitch yelled, but she couldn’t understand. All of a sudden, her door flew open. A large gloved hand cut off the scream surging up her throat.

Someone dragged her from the cab. Her heels bumped over tree roots. She tried to right herself but flailed helplessly. Scuffling sounds came from behind her. The truck door slammed. She struck out wildly. Hobbled by her daypack, she lashed out with her feet.

Something metallic flashed on the edge of her vision. Before she could even focus, a cold muzzle pressed her temple. “Scream and you’ll be sorry.” Her gaze collided with Paul DiMartino’s behind the ski mask. “I’d hate to mess up such a pretty face, but I have my limits.”

Mitch struggled with another man. Both barreled across the brick sidewalk, shoving her against the iron spikes of a mansion’s fence. Arms flung wildly. Blows thudded, and Mitch crumpled at her feet, a red gash gushing on his forehead. Paul kicked him in the ribs.

No, no, no. “Mitch!”

“What did I tell you?” Paul grabbed her wrist, and she cringed away from the gun muzzle. “Get rid of him, Charlie.”

Charlie? What an innocuous name for such a brute. She hadn’t had more than a glimpse at the time, but this hefty guy could have been the man who’d dragged her out of her tour bus. He could have been in the black SUV of thugs who’d ambushed her and Mitch when they left the hospital. Mitch had rescued her then, but she had to be the one to save them now.

“Stop!” She lunged forward to wrestle Charlie off Mitch. “You can’t do that.”

“Calm down.” Paul’s grip cut off her blood like a tourniquet. The heavy pressure of his gun—his silenced gun—pressed her temple.

For a split second Charlie stared at her, then slung Mitch’s inert body over his shoulder and headed toward the end of the block.

Her throat burned. “Where’s he taking Mitch?”

“I’m serious.” Paul pointed his gun at her heart. “I’ll shoot you.”

Paul’s breath skimmed her ear, the sweet scent of his breath mints turning her stomach. “I don’t want to kill you too.”

Too? Her blood turned to ice. The federal agent had mentioned money laundering, but not murder. Was Paul trying to scare her? Too late for that. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Mitch is an innocent bystander.”

“He has to go. He keeps interfering.” Paul yanked his ski mask off his head. “It’s too hot for this stupid thing. Do you know how scratchy these are?”

Tough break. Paul stared at her, his dark eyes as empty as the moon’s surface. He would kill her as soon as she told him how to find Les.

The cold muzzle poked her breastbone now. “Do you?”

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