Page 4 of Walking the Edge

Hurley sprang to his feet and vaulted the overturned table. Mitch clamped a hand on his shoulder, but Hurley spun out of his grasp and sprinted into the back room.

Mitch swept aside the bead curtain and charged after his skip.

The mahogany-haired beauty huddled near the fridge on his left. The shock on her delicate face barely registered as Mitch rounded the table and caught Hurley against the counter. The guy twisted away. Lightning quick, Mitch pinned the smaller man against the stove and locked fingers around a wrist. He could kill a man with his bare hands, but lethal moves weren’t allowed. Bounty hunters had to bring a fugitive in alive.

“What is this crap?” Hurley twisted against Mitch’s thumbs, his longish blond hair flying. With more force, Mitch body-slammed the bail skip, twisting a wrist behind his back and pushing aside something heavy on the stove. He reached for the cuffs.

Flame licked at his hand. Mitch shoved the struggling fugitive in the direction of the sink. Hal needed to get over here. Now.

“Let go of him,” the woman yelled. “He can’t hear you.”

“Stay out of the way, lady,” Hal yelled. “Or else—”

“You can’t just come busting in here.” A female hand reached past Mitch and flipped off the burner. “This is a private home.”

“Stand aside, lady.” Hal held up a copy of the bail piece. “This gives us authority to arrest. Recognized by the law.”

Something stung Mitch’s arm. A blade glinted in Hurley’s fist. “Back off.”

Mitch yanked the wrist he held high behind his skip’s back. His fugitive shrieked. “Give it up. I got you beat.”

“You’re hurting him.” The woman again. “Let him go so I can sign to him.”

Mitch barely heard what she said, couldn’t focus—“Ouch.”

Hurley had kicked out with both feet. Now he slipped from Mitch’s grip and dashed outside.

Mitch lurched forward, banging his head on the open door. His boots slipped on some kind of grit and he grabbed for support.

Soft, warm skin slid under his grasp. The most spectacular blue eyes he’d ever seen glared at him, but Mitch held on to her gaze as if to a lifeline.

“Do you mind?” Her low, sultry voice whispered through him.

Mitch blinked and let go of the woman’s slender arm.

“Didn’t you see the skillet?” She waved a hand at the stove. “I’m making dinner.”

“Bon appétit.” Mitch lifted a corner of his mouth, and her pretty face flushed. She stepped away, and he plunged outside after his fugitive.

A spotlight on the patio cast deep shadows into the corners. A dog yipped inside a rear apartment. Big jars with cascading vines standing at either corner were too small to hide behind.

Mitch hugged the corner of the house so as not to present a target. His stupid fixation on the redhead had cost him too much time. Hurley could have already escaped. Or he could be standing only a few feet away in the back entrance alley, his knife ready. Mitch held still, but the shush-shush of someone breathing didn’t carry back to him. Dammit.

He drove a fist into the vinyl siding. An old war injury spread agony across his back, and he swallowed back another curse. Keep looking. Don’t think about failure.

Hal came up behind him. “I’ll check the other side.”

Mitch played his light down the alley. A clump of ferns grew in the elbow of one of the many pipes hugging the old house. Nothing else. No one else. He raced to the street gate and scanned the empty sidewalk.

“I demand an apology for barging into my house.” The redhead stood close behind him, but he hadn’t even heard her creeping up on him.

In the narrow confines, he barely had room to turn around without brushing her, but he managed. Producing more aggro for his shoulder. “If this is not your private alley, you have no jurisdiction. I’m the one being insulted.”

“In-insulted?” She scowled. “How do you figure that?”

Light from the street fell on her pale face and flushed cheeks. He caught a powder-fresh scent. She clutched the sides of a robe together, and he admired her slender neck. Perfect for nuzzling. Not by him. Not now.

His flashlight beam shone down the alley to the swaying leaves of the banana trees at the back of the patio. He stepped forward. She didn’t retreat, and his legs now pressed against hers, making certain body parts grow heavier. “Turn around and go back.” Don’t make me swear like my old sergeant.

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