Page 123 of Walking the Edge

She stared out the windshield. “Based on that last street sign, we’re still one block off.”

He turned again only to find a mob of people backing toward them, cell phones held aloft. The rattle of a snare drum filled the air. A trumpet joined in. A colorful banner hanging from a pole danced above the crowd. A Carnival marching club.

“Oh, no.” Cath grasped her necklace charm.

Mitch wanted to punch out the windshield. Unlike krewes, these neighborhood clubs went where they wanted with no fixed routes. Causing traffic tie-ups. Causing him and Cath delays they couldn’t afford. “See if you can conjure some Irish luck.”

He glanced in his mirrors. Double dammit. A big sedan rode his rear bumper. “We’ve only got fifteen minutes left, and we’re boxed in again.”

“My map shows the grocery is only two blocks away.” She stowed her phone in her knapsack and opened her door. “I can get there faster on foot.”

* * *

Cath waded into the sidewalk-to-sidewalk crowd. Mitch’s pickup had already disappeared behind her, but she had what she needed to handle any problems until he arrived. Not that she expected any, but with what had happened already, who knew?

The four musicians swirled past her. A marcher plucked a plastic carnation from his decorated cane and sashayed over to her. She accepted the gift and offered her cheek for a kiss before jumping out of the way of a spectator holding a selfie stick.

Two more club members handed her flowers before she escaped the throng. She hurried the rest of the way, reaching the store’s parking lot eight minutes late. Based on how often Les had made her wait, he’d better not complain.

She discarded the flowers and went through the automatic door. The lone cashier looked up from reading her phone. Cath waved. “Just need some milk.”

She found the dairy aisle at the back of the store, the completely empty dairy aisle. Les must not be here yet. She wandered to the cheese section, rubbing her arms against the chill from the cases. Think. How was she going to get Les to surrender?

Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her through the big stockroom doors. Blond hair flashed in her peripheral vision. She opened her mouth to scream when the hand gripping her arm fell away and she got a good look at the guy behind her. “Did you have to scare me, Les?”

“I didn’t want to talk out there.” Les shoved his long locks off his whiskered face.

His shirt smelled freshly laundered, but dark circles shadowed his eyes. A groove between his brows and a jerky jaw muscle broadcast his fear. She’d never seen him this scared, not even when they’d been homeless. She hugged him hard.

“You don’t know how good it is to see you.” She retreated a step to sign and speak at the same time, cringing at the echo in the hushed stockroom. It didn’t matter anymore if someone overheard them. No one was after her now.

“Take a good look because I’m leaving as soon as you give me the money.” He peeped into the store, scowling and tapping fingers against a jittery leg.

The jacket he must have borrowed from a friend hung on his lanky frame. Les might be naturally thin, but he was still stronger than her and faster. Once he realized she didn’t have any money, he would split and she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Unless Mitch gets here in time.

“It’s safer back here.” Les pulled her into the shadow of one of the towering storage cages along the wall. “How come you didn’t text earlier?”

“I let you know as soon as w-w—” Don’t mention Mitch yet. “As soon as I got away from some men who were after me.”

“What men?” Les stared at her.

“Long story.” Explaining would only waste time. She needed to get them back into the dairy section. Mitch would never hear her cough way back here, and she tugged on Les’s arm. “That’s not important anymore. The authorities have arrested them. They’re in jail now.”

“Why was someone after you?”

Because I’m your sister.

She filled her lungs and nearly choked on the stale smell of the cardboard and cleaning supplies beside them. A door closed in an unseen part of the storage room. Great. The excuse she needed.

“People are working back here,” she said and signed at the same time. “Come on. It’ll be more private in the store.” She stepped toward the swinging doors.

Her brother crossed his arms. “They’ll see me out there. Give me the money and go. You don’t want to be seen with me.”

“I don’t have any money.” She signed “no money” and “empty.” His gaze skittered over the stacked boxes and shrink-wrapped stock towering around them. She grabbed his arm and signed, “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to be on the run anymore. We caught the guys, the people, the men”—she searched for a word he’d understand with his aids but signed, too—“who were after you.”

He scowled. “How do you know who they are?”

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