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“Me, too, but I haven’t seen anyone noticing us.”
“Paul knows the location of my office. He or one of his friends could be waiting there already.”
Mitch halted and she slammed into him. “You want to go home?”
“Can’t.” She hooked a hand through his arm. “I need to be sure Les didn’t contact me.”
How could she be so certain her brother would have called or come by her office? Les might not even be in the city. “We’re almost there.” Mitch pulled her so close her arm pressed his ribs. “Let me worry about DiMartino.”
With his height and broad shoulders, Mitch parted the horde like an icebreaker. She followed in his wake, the drinkers and merrymakers flowing back around her as she passed through. Had last year’s crowd been this huge?
She and Mitch threaded their way past the Cabildo. They’d get breathing room soon. Her office lay around the next corner on a one-block street filled mostly with businesses that would be closed the day before Fat Tuesday.
Paul or one of his cronies could have damaged her office again. She pressed her lips tight and grabbed her four-leaf clover, hurrying to keep pace with Mitch’s long-legged stride.
A mob of people blocked the sidewalk and straggled across the narrow street. Every one of them held a plastic drink glass. “The art gallery must be throwing a party. We have to go around.”
Mitch hauled her to a stop. “Wait.”
Chapter 20
Cath slid to her knees beside the mail piled on the carpet in her office. Mitch had made her wait in the gallery crowd for him to check their surroundings, and now she couldn’t waste another minute. Please, please let me find something from Les.
“You okay without the lights?” Mitch asked. She looked up. “We don’t want anyone to notice us in here.”
“I can see fine, anyway.” She flipped over envelopes and skimmed flyers. Nothing. Her throat clogged and her eyes stung. “Les didn’t leave me anything.”
Mitch squatted beside her and pulled her hands away from her face. “It’ll be fine, Cathy.”
“It won’t.” She pushed to her feet, stuffed the mail into her purse, and went to Bea’s desk.
Her office manager’s captioned phone held twelve recorded messages. Cath flopped against the desk chair after listening to a disgruntled customer demanding a refund. Then another. And another. All strangers. No Les. She bit her trembling lip. “I’m never going to see my baby brother again.”
Mitch hitched a muscular leg over the desk edge, his welcome body heat enveloping her in the chill room. “Listen to the rest of the messages.”
“What’s the point?” The delete option for message five displayed on the blue screen. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sick of writing down all the cancellations.”
Mitch leveled a Get real look at her. “I thought you were tough.”
He had a lot of nerve calling her out. She squared her shoulders and wiped her tears. “Who says I’m not?”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
His girl? Naw, she must have misheard.
She hit a button to advance the message queue. A telephone number she didn’t recognize displayed. The blue phone screen filled with the captioned message at the same time a male voice came through the speaker. This is Les. Call me at—
She snatched up the pen and scribbled the number.
—as soon as you can. (Hung Up)
She grabbed her purse and dug out her cell. “This is not the number I’ve been texting. He must have bought a new phone.”
Mitch stopped pacing to look at the phone display. “Was that really Les?”
“You heard him. That’s definitely his voice.”
“Why didn’t he call your cell?”