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“Let’s see what happens here first.” He glanced across the truck to see if she took the bait. “Okay?”
“If you don’t have a backup plan, all you need to do is say so.”
“No point worrying about that now. You said we’re close. First, we find out if your brother’s friend is working today. Then we talk to her.” If she wasn’t there, he’d have to find another way to pass “go” and collect two hundred dollars. He couldn’t call himself a bounty hunter if he never collected any money.
* * *
“There’s a half-hour wait,” the maitre d’ announced, menus clutched to his immaculate suit like a shield. He lifted his brows at Mitch. “Do you want to wait?”
“We’re—”
“Can you direct me to the patio bar?” Cath interrupted without giving him a glance.
Mitch stiffened. They should be back to equal conversation duties by now.
The headwaiter merely pointed them down a corridor. Cath stopped at the entrance to a patio ringed with lush plantings and held out her hand. “Give me your business card.”
“Why?” Mitch fished out a card, taking in the seated tourists and the Garden District ladies-who-lunch.
“To hand to Sarah Armstrong after I talk to her.” She slipped his card in her pocket. “Isn’t that the plan?”
“The plan is to talk to her together.” He needed to be here in case anything went amiss. The place looked calm enough now, but appearances could be deceptive.
The waitstaff clustered at the shaded bar in the rear, their aluminum trays flashing like signal lights, but he couldn’t distinguish faces. “You don’t even know what she looks like.”
“I’ll find out.” She touched his arm, and every nerve ending in the immediate vicinity called for help. “You need to get out of here. I don’t want her to see you with me.”
“I’m respectable.” Mitch held his arms wide. He’d gone to a lot of trouble not to embarrass her by wearing another Sunday-best button-down.
“You’re intimidating, remember? I’ll never get her to spill anything if you’re with me.”
“What if you run into a problem?” He started to cross his arms but stopped. That might prove her point. “Your would-be kidnappers are still loose.”
“They got in a van and raced away,” she said in protest but still scanned the courtyard with a frown.
“They’re not going to give up. I’ll sit at a separate table. Away from you.” But still close.
“You need to trust your teammate.” A waitress in a black and white uniform approached. Cath moved toward her. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”
He didn’t see that sitting on the other side of the patio would interfere, but his sixth sense slept soundly right now. “Don’t order alcohol,” he whispered in her ear. “Come straight out when you finish. I’ll be waiting near the door.”
* * *
Mitch paced the sidewalk across from the famous Victorian restaurant housing the patio bar and jabbed a button on his watch. How long did Cath need to sip a glass of club soda and speak to a waitress?
He swiveled at the end of the block, and right then Cath rushed out of the entrance, head down. Not even looking for him. A bad sign. He jogged across the street to intercept her. “Good news?”
“No.” She frowned, her face all scrunched and red. “She knows Les but doesn’t know where he is.”
Mitch ran a hand over his hair and moved closer. To do what? Touching was off-limits. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Sarah said she couldn’t remember when she saw him last, but I’m positive she does. I could tell she knew a lot more than she was telling.” Cath stuck an arm into a sleeve, and Mitch held the coat for her. “Maybe you should go in there and talk to her. She might fall for your hunky body like Tiffany did.”
Hunky body? Warmth lifted his chest. Stop. You don’t care how Cath sees you.
“Your brother’s friend knows he’s in trouble, but she doesn’t know you.” Mitch flicked sweat from his brow and unzipped his windbreaker, leading her past the restaurant’s turquoise-and-white-striped awnings. “If I turn up asking about him, too, she’ll get even more suspicious. Did you give her my card?”
“Yes. With both our phone numbers. I wrote mine underneath thinking she might feel better calling Les’s sister.” Cath tripped and staggered into the high fence bordering the sidewalk. “Stupid tree roots.” She pulled herself upright. “You can’t walk down the sidewalk without having to detour around buckled cement.”