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“Sarah has the card.” Mitch watched to be sure Cath navigated the curb before continuing. “This is progress. She can call when she has second thoughts.”
“She’s not going to. I ruined everything and wasted the whole day for nothing.” Cath plodded along beside him.
He’d wasted even more. All while under the watchful eyes of his brothers. “We’ve eliminated possibilities. Search and rescue teams do the same thing when they go through map grids.”
“Search and rescue? Do you think he’s dead?” She sniffed.
“No.” Mitch crossed his arms to keep from putting an arm around her shoulders. “Sarah would have told you.”
“That would mean she knew before I did.” Cath’s voice quivered. “But I’m his sister.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Aunt Edi would have told us if she’d seen something on TV about an unidentified body. Or Jack or Hal.”
“Unidentified body?” Cath wailed and dug into her handbag.
Mitch tapped a fist against his mouth. RPGs flying into his hide he could handle, but not crying women. “Come on, Cath. We’ll figure out something else.”
She raised her liquid gaze. “He’s my baby brother.”
Her baby brother.
A vise crushed his lungs. Mitch gasped for air, all at once understanding Cath.
Her brother might have broken the law, been arrested, and skipped out on his bail, but none of that mattered to Cath. Les Hurley was her family. He didn’t wear a price tag. If Hal were in the same bind because of a false step or two, which might be all Les had made, Mitch would worry about his brother the same way.
He brushed her hair back, let his hand linger on her neck. The depth of her emotions stunned him, running like an underground river no matter that she put on a brave face. Like him. Were they really that much alike?
“Have you got a tissue?” She slung her bag over her shoulder and swiped at her face with the back of her hand.
Hell. Mitch pulled her into his arms. “You can cry on me.”
She pressed her face into his sweater. A wet spot soaked through and plastered his shirt against his skin. “I don’t cry.” She wound her arms around his waist. “Not usually.”
“I’ll remember that.” He pulled her closer, unable to remember the last time a woman felt this good in his arms.
“You should.” The muffled words fluttering through the wet spot tickled.
What were they talking about? Who cared? He pushed his hands under her open coat and around her tiny waist, closed his eyes, and waited for her to let go and step back. But she clung even harder. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m touching you.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “I’m touching you too.” One of her hands slid up his chest. A shiver spiraled straight to his groin.
He held her hand still. She slipped that one loose and wound both around his neck to tunnel fingers through his hair. He tucked his chin. “I thought you didn’t like this.”
“Aren’t woman supposed to be fickle?” She leaned back against his arms and arched those twin auburn eyebrows.
“Not you.” His gaze dropped to her lips. Less than five inches away. He could kiss her, find out if his fantasies were real. That would be crazy. Downright insane.
Mitch maneuvered her closer to the hedge bordering the Garden District mansion beside them. “You sure you want to do this?”
“What do you think we’re doing?” Tears made her voice husky.
“This.” He skated his lips across hers and paused. She opened her eyes. He whispered, “How close am I to crossing your line?”
“My line?” Her frown dissolved into a little smile. “You’re not even close.”
She nibbled the edge of his mouth, and he caught hers in a deeper kiss. She pressed closer, flattening her breasts against him. Egging him on. His need built. She tasted like heaven, and he needed more.
Girlish giggles erupted nearby.