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“We’re good to go.” Kurt gave him a thumbs-up.
“If we can grab this DiMartino”—Jack reached for the loaf of French bread—“we won’t have to work for another six months.”
“Make that a year.” Hal leaned back without wincing. His wound must be healing.
“We could even move out.” Jack dipped his bread in the gumbo.
“I heard that.” Aunt Edi pointed her pen at him. “If you guys move out, I’ll have to hire someone to change light bulbs and carry in groceries.”
“Don’t worry.” Kurt filled another bowl. “We’re not counting our income until it lands in the bank. What can you tell us about this fugitive, Mitch?”
“He may have been one of the men who ambushed us last night.” Mitch set his and Cath’s bowls on the table next to Kurt’s place. Cath reappeared and sat beside him, smelling clean and fresh. He rubbed his bristled jaw. “You need to know DiMartino travels with a pack.”
Jack looked up. “How many are we talking about?”
“At least three—” Mitch held up fingers for Kurt’s benefit. “Maybe more, but that’s all I know of. Some of them carry silenced weapons.”
Kurt leaned forward. “What was that?”
“Quiet guns.” Mitch held a finger to his lips. “You have to watch out because they have a good range.”
“Silencers weigh a ton. That weight should slow them down,” Kurt said. “And give us an advantage.”
Beside him, Cath mixed the rice into her gumbo broth. Everyone ate for a few minutes before she tapped Mitch’s arm and gestured to Kurt. When he turned to her, she leaned forward. “The drug enforcement agent said that Paul”—she waited for Kurt’s nod of understanding—“that DiMartino was arrested for white-collar crime, and I’m positive he didn’t have a gun at the bar.”
“You know he’s got one.” Mitch raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“That wouldn’t surprise me.” She took another spoonful. “It’s unbelievable how much has happened since last night.” Under the table, her knee bumped his.
Mitch stilled. Which part of last night did she remember? The nightmare? The confession? The making love?
His aunt pushed back from the table. “If you’re going to talk business, I will go in the other room.”
“Don’t leave. We can take this discussion into the office later.” Kurt patted her arm.
“It’s time for my program, anyway.”
Kurt stood and helped his aunt. Spoons clicked against crockery until the elderly woman disappeared through the archway. Television sounds floated back within minutes.
“What’s her program?” Cath asked.
Hal tilted his bowl to fill his spoon with the last of his soup. “Some silly cop series.”
Jack waved his spoon. “Our auntie has excellent taste.”
“Says the ex-cop.” Hal smirked.
“Some plots aren’t realistic, but she likes the show. Don’t knock it.” A shadow plowed between Jack’s dark brows. Mitch had already informed his brothers of the ambush last night, and he knew what was coming now. “I didn’t want to bring this up with Auntie in earshot, but you’re not telling us everything, Mitch. You run into more trouble?”
“No.” Cath smiled. “But I finally heard from my brother.”
“Has he stabbed anyone else?” Hal ripped a piece of french bread from the loaf.
“I think that’s another no.”
“Hope you’re right.” Hal’s gaze switched to him. “You’re running right down to the wire, Mitch.”
“We’re working on meeting him. We tried for tonight, but no dice.” Mitch tossed his wadded napkin. “I know that’s no excuse, but—”