Catarina glanced up just like she always did, letting her gaze scan the crowd for one brief moment. She was good at taking every detail in. She'd trained herself in that too. Observing the enemy. She'd actually studied Rafe's ways and she'd learned from him. She committed to memory every detail about each and every one of his soldiers, the ones that were closest to him, the ones he trusted the most and those radiating out of that inner circle.
She took in as many faces in the now much thinner crowd as she could with that casual glance. No one was familiar, but one man's gaze slid away from her when she touched on him. She kept going, not making the mistake of allowing her eyes to settle on him, but he had definitely been watching her and trying to be discreet about it.
He didn't look as if he was from New Orleans. Too smooth. Hands too soft. Most of Rafe's soldiers had been born and raised around Algiers and they'd worked on the river or hunted in the swamps before he'd recruited them. She made several more drinks.
Bernard took his caramel macchiato, and like always, lifted it into the air in a kind of salute. "Hey, Coffee Lady."
"Hey, Poet."
"Tastes like heaven." He flashed his smile.
She flashed one back and noted the man watching her turned toward Bernard and had a cell phone out. She stiffened. Was he taking a picture? If so, no one she was friendly with was safe. She kept working, her mind racing, but she made every effort to stay calm. Panic got her nowhere. She would make mistakes if she gave into panic, but she did send up a silent prayer that Ridley wouldn't walk into the coffee-house and take it in his head to actually talk to her.
"David," she hissed, and beneath the solid counter crooked her finger at him.
David didn't hesitate, he came right to her. Close. Leaned in. "Get the next man's name, first and last if possible. Somehow." She kept her voice to a whisper, made certain it was in his ear. "I'm going to the ladies' room." She pulled her apron free.
David frowned. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Just be cool about it."
He nodded and called out, "Next."
She turned her back to everyone, completely disinterested, and walked toward the back where aisles of books were. She glanced up at the mirror on the back wall, the one where she could watch the patrons at the counter.
David leaned toward the man. "Name. I'm taking as many orders as I can until she gets back. Give me a name I can yell out."
"Frank. Frank Tuttle." The man pulled his wallet out and shoved some bills at David.
David grabbed a cup and wrote it on the side along with the order. He made the next four customers give him their names as well. Catarina watched Tuttle through the mirror. His neck craned several times as he tried to see her. He even walked partway down the aisle she'd taken. She ducked into the ladies' room and washed her hands, dried them carefully and came back out.
She didn't know the name Frank Tuttle, not that Rafe wouldn't hire someone outside his soldiers to find her. He had connections everywhere and most people would love to do him a favor and have him owe a debt. But still, Tuttle didn't feel like Rafe. He gave off vibes, but not dangerous vibes. Creepy maybe. Definitely the kind of vibe she wanted to steer clear of, but not a Rafe vibe. Still.
She made the next five drinks, one right after another, without looking up. She didn't want to let Frank Tuttle know she was on to him, but she watched him walk to the chair directly opposite the counter and sink into it, pushing the newspapers aside. Once he was settled, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it. Yeah. He was watching her.
Hours passed fast because they were busy. The theater got out and customers poured in. Ridley was late. Tuttle didn't leave. She didn't want to walk home alone with Tuttle around, nor did she want to walk home by herself. She couldn't stop her gaze from straying to the door every few minutes, but he didn't come. For two weeks he'd followed her home every night. Two more weeks he'd walked her home every night. Now, the one night some creep was stalking her, he didn't show.
The bar crowd came in. David and she raked in the money and the tip jar overflowed. Serious cash this time. She was happy to see that. She had been saving half her tips to pay back the cash she'd stolen from Rafe's safe. Of course she couldn't just walk up to him and give it to him, but she wanted to have it just in case he found her. Tonight's take would definitely help her cause.
Tuttle got up and left when David shouted the ten minutes to closing and last call for coffee. Four customers came up to the counter. She made them drinks and watched as David escorted them to the door. He closed and locked it so they could clean and count up the night's take.
Catarina kept an eye on the door. Ridley didn't show, but she was certain Tuttle was out there. "David. That Tuttle person creeped me out. He stayed hours, but didn't talk to anyone and only drank two coffees. He wasn't reading books or listening to the poetry either. He left when you announced closing time, but that doesn't mean he's gone."
"You want me to walk you home?" David asked immediately.
She shook her head. "No, but I'd like to leave out the back door. Before you leave out the front, can you give me a fifteen-minute head start? I can go through the back alley and come out down the block. It's probably nothing, but I'd rather not take any chances."
"He was watching you. After you asked me to get his name, I kept my eye on him," David admitted. "He tried to be subtle about it, but even when he picked up the newspaper, he wasn't reading it. He was looking at you over the top of it."
"He's probably harmless," Catarina assured him. "But I really don't want to find out. I'm tired tonight and the thought of having to kick his ass is too exhausting."
David laughed. "The idea that you think you can is funny. Old Tuttle is pretty beefy. He's got a hundred pounds on you, Cat, maybe more."
She put her fists up. "I'm scrappy."
He threw his head back and laughed louder. "Great. I'm all for you ducking out the back, although, if you'd rather, I could call a taxi."
She shook her head. "Not necessary. I can make it home. Just give me my start."
"You got it. Text me when you're home safe."
"David, how many times do I have to tell you, I don't have a cell phone and I'm not getting one."
"Oh. Yeah. I keep forgetting you're living in the dark ages."
Ridley had said the same thing and offered to get her a cell. She'd refused of course. Apparently no one really could exist without a phone. She managed quite nicely. Phones led to bills and bills were a paper trail. She didn't want that.
When she'd first been hired at Poetry Slam, they were barely scraping by. Most days only a few customers came in regularly unless it was poetry night, then it got a little crowded. David couldn't afford to pay her much so he'd paid her under the table. Once word got out that the new barista was very good at her job and customers began pouring in, David had offered her more money and the chance to go legit. She took the extra money but refused to go legit. No paper trails.
Catarina made her way to the back, David following her, the way they did each night to put the money and receipts in a safe until David could go to the bank. Catarina slipped out the back door. David waited in silence until she searched the alley to make certain no one was lurking there. She gave him the thumbs-up and began to jog back toward the warehouse district.
The alley went down two blocks and came out on a cross street. She didn't make a sound as she moved, and she moved fast. She wanted to be almost home before David locked that front door. If Tuttle was waiting for her, she'd be in her house, locked up tight before he could find her. The danger, of course, was that he already knew where she lived and was waiting for her, but she'd cross that bridge if she came to it. The more she ran, the more she was certain Tuttle wasn't with Rafe. He creeped her out, set off her radar, but not in the way Rafe's men would have.
She slowed her pace, needing to save energy. As she neared the end of the alley, she pulled a small can of wasp spray from her purse and transferred it to her left hand. She stopped at the edge of the alley and moved to the street, staying in the shadows. There were a few straggly bushes trying to live without water nearest the long row of buildings. A few were nearly as tall as she was. None had been pruned and she found it easy enough to slip under the branches and stay inside the planted area that ran alongside the sidewalk.
An SUV cruised by slow and she froze. Movement drew the eye. She tried to blend with the bushes around her. Fortunately, she always wore dark clothes to work, just in case she had to disappear. She believed in being prepared and she'd worked toward this moment. She'd always known it was a risk to settle in one place. She didn't believe Frank Tuttle was Rafe's soldier, but he was too interested in her and she didn't dare take a chance, not when she cared about the people who had given her so much.
The SUV had darkened windows and she couldn't make out the driver, not even with her superior night vision. The vehicle didn't have government plates, but her throat went dry. Tuttle had to be a cop. Her radar had gone off. He was definitely watching her. She was almost positive he wasn't one of Rafe's soldiers. But a cop was just as bad.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, hard, and drew in deep breaths. Nowhere was permanent in her life. No one. That was how it had to be. She knew that. She just liked it there. She liked Malcom. She liked David. She loved her job, the warehouse and most of all her friendship with Ridley.