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Gunshots exploded.
* * *
Mitch lowered his window to listen for the Carnival club marchers in case they came his way again. The numbers of the dashboard clock flickered. Dammit. Cath was going to get to the grocery late.
The kid must still be running scared, the way Mitch had felt after the first week of basic training. High anxiety could make anyone unpredictable. Would he wait for his sister? Would she be able to stall him long enough?
The road vibrations through the steering wheel revved his blood and urged him on. He sped up. This was his final chance to make his bounty. A week ago he’d faced failure. A week ago he hadn’t known Cath Hurley existed. Since then, they’d spent nearly every waking moment together, and the empty passenger seat jeered at him.
This is not about Cathy. This is about the job. His brothers had left. They trusted him to make the arrest.
Once Cath had disappeared into the marching band commotion, he’d had to wait for the sedan with tinted windows behind him to reverse. Mitch didn’t know where the driver headed. He’d vanished by the time Mitch had turned away from the parade.
His phone rattled in the cup holder now. He held his breath and stared at the cell so long he nearly ran a stop sign. Everyone he knew expected him to be busy making an apprehension. Unless this was Cath.
He snatched up the cell. Hal’s number displayed, and his hand clenched. Why was his brother calling him? “Mitch here.”
“Can you talk?”
“I’m still on the way.” Mitch flicked his fingers against the wheel, waiting.
“DiMartino’s been ranting. Saying shit like she’ll get what’s coming to her. The big boss will take care of them.”
The drug dealer had talked about a “big boss” too. Mitch hit the wheel with his fist. “Got a description on this individual?”
“No, but someone else could be in play. Watch out.”
“Roger.” Mitch blew out a breath. “Did you recover my SIG from DiMartino?”
“We took some guns off them. Why? You’re not armed?”
“I got my ankle backup.”
“That’ll do,” his brother said. “You’re not going to shoot your fugitive.”
“I’ll need firepower if I run into trouble. Thanks for the heads-up.” Mitch disconnected. The chances of the “big boss” finding them were slim, but the sooner he got to Cath and Les, the better.
The rear of the grocery building came into view ahead on the right. A guy in a white apron paced the loading dock with a phone to his ear. Inside, lights confirmed the store open for business, but a white pickup blocked his way into the parking lot.
A bulky guy in a wrinkled uniform stepped from the cab, his thumbs tucked into a belt hanging on for dear life. Mitch lowered his window.
“This lot is reserved for grocery customers.” The security guard crossed his arms.
Poor guy had to work on a holiday. No wonder he looked tired. “I’ve got an emergency at home.”
The rent-a-cop scowled. “You just want to sneak in here and hightail it to the parade.”
“That’s not true.” What to say? Catching a fugitive would only get him another warning or a call to the police. “Please.” Mitch gripped the open window as if in desperation. “My wife’s out of baby formula.”
“I’ll let you in.” The guard backed toward his truck. “But I’m watching you.”
Mitch pulled into a slot and dashed inside to scan the wall signs. Bread. Produce. Wine and Beer. He spotted Dairy and took off down the closest aisle, unobtrusively slipping his ankle gun into his waist holster. If Cath did a good job convincing Les, Mitch wouldn’t need a weapon. He wanted to give her brother as little chance as possible to freak, but he always prepared for the worst.
Plus, he had to take DiMartino’s tirade seriously.
His footfalls echoed in vacant aisles, but Cath had to be here. With her street smarts and—he had to say it—her smart mouth, she would have deflected any lecherous advances from the marchers or the crowd. She hadn’t called, which meant she must be good. He clocked past rows of refrigerator boxes toward the back wall, alert for her voice.
A man in a navy blazer stared into the ice cream chiller. Mitch kept going because he heard no voices. In the last aisle, not a soul stood in front of the milk case. Or anywhere down the row. Something wasn’t right. Cath should be here alone if her brother hadn’t shown.
