Page 87 of Walking the Edge

She’d done pretty much the same thing with Les, going off to college in pursuit of her own goals. Running the ranch had occupied her mom and stepdad and they’d had little time to support her brother. Les had learned independence, though. A good thing. Too bad he now took that talent to extremes.

Mitch folded his arms on the table. “I could use some advice.”

“I’m not the best person to ask.”

“You have more experience.” His gaze went as serious as she’d ever seen. “You must have some suggestions.”

“Treat him normally. Be patient and remember he’s got the problem. That seemed to be what Les wanted. Unfortunately, the cops aren’t noted for patience and compromise, and most people have to go out of their comfort zone to communicate with folks with hearing loss.”

“Thanks.” Mitch folded his warm fingers over hers and squeezed. “Looks like the parade’s stalled.”

She peeked at her watch. It was late, but the bar would stay open at least until the last float passed. Maybe another hour. “There’s no blood on your T-shirt.” And you’re still alive. “I guess the takedown went okay tonight?”

“Fine.”

She crossed her legs and tilted her head expectantly, but Mitch said nothing more. “What happened?”

“We took the crook to jail.” He opened the second pack of peanuts, offered her some, and shook a few onto a napkin.

Okay, he did not want to talk. She could honor that.

The riders on the float directly outside danced and waved, saving their throws until they started moving again. Some of the band musicians sat on the curb. Others stood around, their brass instruments gleaming in the light from the streetlights.

“After I separated from the army, I didn’t exactly have transferable skills. My brothers took a chance on me.”

She sat back, stunned. First, he’d revealed his feelings about Kurt and now about why he’d joined his brothers.

“Tonight was the first time I worked with Jack.” Mitch leveled those warm brown eyes on her. “I don’t know if I’m making any progress keeping this job, but he congratulated me tonight.”

She patted his arm. Told you so.

“I have to continue to perform.” His jaw turned to concrete. He must be thinking about his failure to arrest her brother.

“My fault.” She rubbed her fingers over the nylon sleeve of his windbreaker. “If you hadn’t lost time looking for me tonight, we could have gone to my office to check for messages from Les.”

“What matters is you’re still safe.” His gaze held hers. She nodded. Was this macho-soldier code for I-needed-to-protect-you? Maybe he only thought of her as someone to guard, and when he finished that, he’d be gone.

The stalled floats started rolling again, the hundreds of lights flashing off the decorated papier-mâché decorations. The couple at the next table pushed the stroller with their sleeping child out the door. Mitch sat back and swept a glance around. “How much longer you want to give your brother?”

Her brother could have come, seen her with Paul or Mitch, and run. She checked the time and pushed back her chair. “He’s not coming.”

Mitch followed her into the noisy street. “We could go downtown now, but the traffic will be nonexistent early tomorrow.”

Since Les had texted her to meet him here, he likely hadn’t left a note at her office, though she still wanted to check there at some point. “Sounds good. Let’s catch some Bacchus beads for Aunt Edi.”

Police barriers kept the crowd out of the intersections, but farther down the block spectators stood on an unfenced curb. She squirmed to the front and waved her arms to the riders on the float, calling for attention, “Throw me something, mister.”

Beads flew over her head into the crowd behind her. Some strands caught in tree branches overhead. She gave up after a few more floats passed and found Mitch clutching two necklaces. “How did you get those?”

“I’m a bead magnet.” He stuffed the throws into a pants pocket. “Let’s get out of here before the parade ends.”

Mitch led her around a corner onto a quiet block. Thick shrubs cast spooky shadows across their path, and prickles crawled over her scalp. She wound a hand through Mitch’s arm. He must have homing-pigeon genes because she couldn’t even see her feet.

Branches rustled. Two dark forms stepped into their path. She only had time to notice the men’s ski masks before one of them grabbed her free arm. She dropped hold of Mitch, kicking her assailant so hard he groaned and released her.

Somehow, the other man writhed on the ground at their feet. Mitch grabbed her hand, and they ran back toward the parade. But their attackers raced after them. They looked to be gaining fast.

Mitch wove through the throng on the curb and into the street, barely missing the wheels of the tractor pulling a float. More spectators and ladders blocked the neutral ground in the middle of the avenue. Mitch jumped the curb. “Sorry. Let us through.”

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