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He might, and she had no idea where he lived, whether he had more family than the two brothers he’d already mentioned, or where he’d learned to clear houses.
“You didn’t know about your brother’s drug habit.” Mitch smirked.
She squared her shoulders. “You know everything about your brothers, especially the one who lost his hearing?”
“Probably not, but Kurt’s still got some hearing. He’s not completely deaf.”
“I hope he’s grateful he’s still got some residual. I know Les is.” She was too. “What about my burglary? Did you report that to the police?”
Astonishment flashed across his handsome face. “I figured that was your job.”
Well, whaddaya know? “What about the drugs you found?”
“Who would I tell?” Both eyebrows arched.
“One of your police SWAT pals.”
He scowled. “I don’t have any.”
The invisible hand around her throat loosened. One worry down. Twenty to go.
Taxis jockeyed for space at the curb of a hotel, and she glanced inside. She could lose Mitch if she ducked into the ladies’ room but she didn’t want to lose him. She wanted some answers. “Are you stalking me?”
“Not really.” He followed her as she threaded a path through the guests waiting with the bellboys and shiny brass luggage carts.
“What are you really doing then?”
“Escorting you to your office. I’m going on your cemetery tour. I can walk down another street if you’d rather, but I thought I’d wait in your office.”
Now his behavior made sense, once she took herself and her over-the-top physical reaction out of the equation. He was a paying customer, and he could wait where he wanted as long as he didn’t expect her to entertain him. “I’m going to be busy. Wait, you knew I was leading the tour?”
“Your website says so.”
“It does.” She’d listed her guide names as a way to personalize the tours, but anyone could go online and find them. As far as she knew, neither of her other guides had a stalker, but for safety’s sake, she should delete that information.
As they got closer to the river, tourists and advertising boards crowded the sidewalk. The garland seller pushed her cart past, beribboned crowns of dried flowers swinging from wooden pegs. Cath waved, but the vendor didn’t see her. Instead, a man in a navy sports coat farther down the block waved back.
Lloyd Benedetto met them in front of the art gallery adjacent to her office. He ignored her extended hand to kiss her on both cheeks, showering her with his strong aftershave scent. He shook Mitch’s hand and slicked a hand over his thick, prematurely gray hair. “I see you’re as beautiful as ever, Catherine.”
Her old boss fancied himself a ladies’ man, but she’d finally learned not to let his flattery go to her head. “That is not true and you know it.”
Mitch crowded closer, pressing her arm. She looked a question at him, but his nod told her nothing. Did he think she wanted to take his arm?
Like that would happen voluntarily. She took a deep breath, though, his presence steadying her somehow. “How are you, Mr. Benedetto?”
A pained expression darted across Benedetto’s face.
“We don’t need to be so formal.”
“What are you doing in the Quarter?” She hefted her purse higher.
“On my way to the tourist office.” He absently adjusted his pocket square and glanced at Mitch. “We can walk over together.”
“What for?” Had she missed a notice of some kind?
“I heard you bid on that big medical convention this summer. That’s not true?”
“I did.” She squeezed her arms. Thousands of doctors and medical equipment representatives would be in town, and she wanted to grab an exclusive tour slot. With that feather in her cap she could expand her company, but was there a problem?