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.
She hurried home, watching carefully, scanning not only the rooftops and fire escapes, the balconies, and every other high place, but the streets, alleys and surrounding buildings. She took her time, not wanting another mistake.
Approaching the warehouse was always the most difficult. It was open ground. She checked for any parked vans, SUVs, cars or trucks nearby. She knew the rhythm of the place, the traffic, and there was very little. All the parked vehicles were ones she was familiar with. She darted across the street, making it to the shadows between buildings where she stopped again and inhaled to try to find any unfamiliar scents. There were none. She stepped up to her door and quickly hit the keypad to unlock it and step inside.
The dark enclosed her. At nearly four in the morning, outside the light was beginning to try to streak through the dark. Inside, her cocoon of darkness held. She rushed to her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, heart beating fast, fists clenched tight. Her eyes burned, but there were no tears. She would never cry again. Never, ever.
Life was all about acceptance. She'd known, when she'd managed her escape from Rafe, that if he caught her, the possibility was huge that he'd kill her. She also knew if he didn't he'd never let her go. All avenues of escape would be shut down. Truthfully, she doubted she'd find the courage to go against him again.
Catarina pressed her fingers to her eyes. So she had to leave. She had to go and leave it all behind. She'd traded bad for a semi-life and that had to be enough. Straightening her shoulders, she sat up and pulled her travel bag from under the bed. She had two of them. One was empty, the other was her emergency bag. It had money and enough clothes to give her a start somewhere. She set the emergency bag by the door of her room and began filling the empty one. She had to choose carefully. Her clothes were all from thrift stores. She didn't go to malls or anywhere one might buy a new pair of jeans, but she always loved the items she bought. Still, traveling light was always the key. She hated leaving behind her boots. She only had one pair and she'd paid more money for them than she had most of her clothes combined. But she had to travel light.
When she had the travel bag nearly packed, she opened the safe and counted out the money. She had saved nearly a thousand dollars toward the debt she owed Rafe. With that and her own money, plus her emergency funds, she had enough to take her a few states away.
Catarina changed to her sleeping sweats and tank. She couldn't go out in daylight, that would be a disaster. Somehow she had to go to sleep. As she stretched out on the bed, the door alarm sounded--a long, horrific noise that made her jump out of her skin.
She looked at the monitor and saw Ridley draped against the wall. He looked lazy, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted toward the camera. He looked gorgeous. Perfect. Her heart gave a familiar little flutter and she hit the buzzer to allow him entry. At least she could see him one last time.
"Where are you?" He hit the light switch.
"Bedroom. It's my sleep time, remember?" she called back to him.
Catarina sat up, drew up her knees and put her chin on top of them. She liked watching him walk. He was extremely quiet and seemed to flow across the floor. She'd spent enough time with him in the dojo and now here in her home that she knew he could back up the confidence he displayed.
He flowed into her space, his golden eyes sweeping through her bedroom, taking in everything to settle on her face. "What the hell's going on? What happened?"
"Did David call you?"
Because Ridley didn't show up at five in the morning, and with closing the coffee-house, making her way home and packing, it was already that time. He either walked her home or came over early on her days off.
He shrugged. "I prefer you to tell me what happened."
"Someone came into Poetry Slam today." There was weariness in her voice, regret, sorrow even, in her tone. With anyone else she wouldn't allow it, but Ridley was different. So different. She could have loved him with every cell in her body.
"Someone?" he prompted, and came right to the bed.
Her heart jumped. He was so large. Big-boned, raw power, roped muscles. She loved to look at him, especially his face. Right now, there was open concern. For her. She'd never had that either.
"You've given me so many firsts, Ridley," she admitted, because he deserved it. "Thank you. I really appreciate your friendship. You made me feel that I mattered."
"Kitten." He sank down onto the bed and ran his fingers through her hair. "You do matter. Tell me what happened."
She smiled at him. "You can't fix this one, Ridley. He was a cop. I'm sure of it. He had to be."
"You're running from the cops? I thought it might be someone else. Someone bad. A stalker, maybe." He glanced toward the bag at the door and her partially packed one and then over to the open safe. "And you're running again."
She rubbed her chin on the top of her knees. "It really doesn't matter who it is, I can't take any chances. I have to go. I'm glad you stopped by so I can say good-bye."
"You would have left without talking to me first?" Now there was an edge to his voice. His strangely colored eyes went from whiskey to gold and that gold was melting into a glittery, fierce glare that took her breath.
"Ridley, I don't have a phone. I don't have a number to reach you. I don't know where you live. There's no way for me to contact you. I let you in, didn't I?" She meant more than let him in her building. She'd let him into her life. She'd trusted him when she'd never trusted another human being. She'd let him inside of her.
He studied her face. The pads of his fingers came up to brush over her skin, as if wiping away tears. "You have to tell me who you're running from, baby. I can help you."
She shook her head. "There are some people in the world you can't fight. He's one of them. You'd end up dead. Everyone ends up dead. I'm not risking you. I'm not risking Malcom or David. I knew eventually I'd have to leave. It hurts, but still, I had this, I had you, and them, for a little while and I'll never forget."
"You're breaking my heart. If this man is so bad, go to the police, don't run from them. Let's end this thing."
She bit her lip. There was no explaining Rafe Cordeau to anyone, especially not to a man like Ridley who believed he could fix anything.
"Ridley, you have to go. I need to sleep, but before you do, would you kiss me? I haven't had a lot of firsts and I'd rather you kiss me than someone else." It took a lot for her to ask him. He'd been careful not to touch her inappropriately, but she'd never had a man kiss her and she wanted Ridley to. It had to be him.
"Kitten."
He just said it in that voice, the one that went right
through her skin and wrapped around her heart and squeezed. His eyes went soft and he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. Her stomach immediately performed a series of flips. He was strong, so strong he lifted her weight casually, as if she weighed no more than a feather. His heat surrounded her. His arms. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. That was another first he'd given her.
His hands cupped her chin and tilted her head up. Her eyes met his. "Are you telling me you've never kissed another man?"
The way his eyes moved over her face, that male possession, that heated intensity, sent little flames of desire darting up and down her thighs.
"Never."
She felt him go still. Inhale sharply. His eyes changed again, but she couldn't read his expression because his mouth was on hers. Gentle. Coaxing. The butterflies fluttered. Her heart melted.
"Open for me, Kitten, let me in." His voice was infinitely tender and his tongue teased the seam of her mouth.
He was already in so deep she didn't know if she could ever get him out, but thankfully he didn't know it. She had tasted the forbidden and she knew she should leave it at that, but his lips were firm and warm and his body hot and strong and she wanted to know. She had to know. She parted her lips.
Hot. Wet. Commanding. He just swept in and took her over. The world dropped away and she clutched his shoulders, holding on so that she had something solid, an anchor to bring her back. He could kiss. And he did. Over and over. Robbing her of breath, stealing her heart, claiming her body, first with gentleness, then with aggression, then with tender and then with rough.
She melted into him. Became part of him. Let him in further. He lifted his head, his amazing eyes glittering down at her, and there was no mistaking the stamp of possession on his face.
"You can't leave, Catarina. We'll figure this out. I know you're tired and you're scared, but we'll find a way. There's always a way. I want you here, not on the run where I'd worry every minute of every day whether or not you were alive or safe." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm asking you to wait a day or two, let me try to figure something out so I don't lose you."