She made a few more drinks, working fast, trying to clear the crowd when she felt the first tingling of her radar. Goose bumps rose on her arm. The curious itching beneath her skin came like a wave and receded. She took a breath and didn’t make the mistake of looking up right away. Someone was watching her. She felt them. Not like the normal crowd, but someone interested in her.
Alarm bells shrieked at her, but she breathed right through them. Over the years she’d acquired discipline and she used it, calmly making another drink and handing it off to David. He winked at her to show her he was over his annoyance with her. David didn’t know how to hold a grudge and if he got irritable it was usually because he needed to eat something. If he got too bad, she left her post, marched around the counter to his side and tossed him a muffin. This wasn’t one of those times.
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.