Cat's Lair
Page 20

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.”