Cat's Lair (8 page)

“It pays well.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Now you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.” She sat back again and sipped at her espresso, watching him carefully over the rim of the mug.

“Well. Yeah. I have to admit when you get all fired up with that attitude of yours, I’m a goner for you. That does it for me the way Zen does it for you.”

She burst out laughing. “Eat a beignet, Ridley, and your fantasies will really take off. They’re better than my attitude.”

He found himself laughing with her. She was even more beautiful when she laughed. The sound was soft and musical, and her eyes lit up. Her perfect bow of a mouth drew his attention, and his fantasies turned totally erotic just sitting there at the breakfast table. He snagged a beignet. The sugary, doughy dessert was still warm, the taste mixing with the espresso in his mouth, and he knew he would never forget that moment, sitting across from her, laughing and eating the best meal of his life.

No one had ever given him the kind of concern she had, worried about what he did for a living, and damn, she did it looking so beautiful his heart ached. She had pulled her legs up onto the chair and was sitting tailor fashion while she ate her breakfast. It was the first time he had ever seen her truly relaxed. She wasn’t thinking about being scared. For those few minutes, he’d chased the shadows from her eyes, and he liked being the one who’d done it.

He was older than she was, and he didn’t settle down with women, but he’d had a lot of them. He’d never sat across with one of them having breakfast, so relaxed, and that was saying a lot. He didn’t share breakfast with women. They used each other and then he left. Period. No sleeping in the same bed, no breakfast in the morning. He was gone.

“Got to get back to work, but this was fantastic, Cat. I appreciate you going to all the trouble.” He stood up and pushed back his chair.

She tilted her head up toward his, her blue eyes moving over his face as if memorizing every detail. “Thanks, Ridley, for the security system. It really helps. You can’t know how much.”

Her eyes were soft. Her perfect mouth smiled at him. Her gorgeous hair spilled around her like a waterfall of dark silk. His hand moved before he could think. He had no idea what possessed him, but he couldn’t stop himself, and he was a man all about control and discipline. His fingers buried in all that silk and fisted there, tugging until her head was back. He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her mouth.

His stomach rolled. His cock hardened. With one touch. One. Fucking. Touch. Electricity crackled and his pulse thundered in his ears. Lightning flashed through his veins so his blood ran hot.

He stepped away and turned without another word, not looking at her face, not daring to. He might have just blown it big-time, but now he had her taste in his mouth and it was far sweeter and tastier than the beignet.

Catarina closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. He’d kissed her.
Kissed
her. She knew, to him, it was just a small gesture of thanks, or “you’re welcome,” depending. He probably hadn’t felt anything at all. It wasn’t like it was a real kiss, with mouths open and tongues involved. It was brief. Hardly there. But she didn’t care. It was a kiss. And from Ridley. She could perv on that for months.

She risked a glance and he was back installing cameras, so she rose and did the dishes, hugging the moment to herself. Their perfect moment. No one could ever take that away from her. Not even if everything went south and she was found and dragged back or killed, she would have that moment.

She was wrong to be friends with him. To risk him. But maybe, if she was careful, she could keep the risk to a minimum.

4

“W
E
’
RE
going to have to hire some help if the crowds get any bigger,” David announced.

Catarina glanced up from behind the coffee machine. The crowd vying for coffee was three deep. She could speed up, but the machine couldn’t. “I’m sorry, David, I can only work so fast,” she told him.

“No, this is good. I’m loving this,” David said. “Your boyfriend’s back.”

Catarina’s head came up and she looked around Poetry Slam. It was crowded, but she knew she would always,
always
, know when Ridley was in a room, and he hadn’t come in. They spent a lot of time together, mostly in her warehouse. His latest endeavor was tiling the shower and putting in plumbing.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she denied.

David took another order and then nudged her. “Seriously, Cat, his lovesick poems are getting hard to take. All that unrequited love pouring out for the world to see. You’ve got to put the man out of his misery and go out on a date with him.”

She took a breath. He wasn’t talking about Ridley. Ridley came every night to walk her home, but he stayed in the corner after he ordered his coffee, reading. He made certain she was safe walking home, but he never acted interested in her publicly. And since that one brief kiss at breakfast, he hadn’t made any other moves.

He did spar with her a lot. She knew she was improving. He showed her all kinds of self-defense moves. He was an exacting teacher and he didn’t like it if she messed up. He sometimes scowled at her, his golden eyes glittering with anger.

That
will
get
you
dead
if
you
don’t
do
the
move
right.
Pay
attention
to
what
you’re
doing,
Cat.
If
your
head
isn’t
in
the
game,
we
can
do
this
another
day.
 

He said that a lot. She always paid more attention and tried harder. She kept to her routine, working out on her own, running before work, going to the shooting range as often as she had the money for. She slept a lot easier with the security system. Ridley had placed the monitor right by her bed so when she activated the system, she could see each individual area the cameras covered. She could zoom in and she could record.

Ridley always walked her home, and he never allowed her entry until he’d checked the place out first. She’d been a little uncomfortable with him going into her bedroom the first few times, but she’d gotten used to the way he was about protecting women. Clearly, it was just who he was. And she liked who he was.

Twice he gave her a hard time because she’d left her safe open and the cash in plain sight. Both times he’d been concerned someone had been there, but she’d just forgotten that when she closed the door she had to bang it with her fist to get the stupid thing to close all the way. She’d found the safe in a thrift store and it was old and tired. Still, it worked just fine for her.

“Cat, don’t go all silent on me,” David cautioned. “I’m just trying to keep Bernard from getting his heart ripped out when the masses rise up and rip the microphone out of his hands.”

“Bernard?”
Catarina handed David another drink, this one a simple mocha latte, one of the easier drinks those in the crowd asked for. “You think I’m going to go on a date with Bernard? Our main poet?
He’s
supposed to be my mythical boyfriend?” She hissed it at David. “I don’t date. Not ever. Are you crazy? He doesn’t even notice me. My coffee yes, me no.”

David rang up two more orders and handed out the mocha latte before he rolled his eyes at her. “Who do you think all those love poems are written to? ‘Ode to my Rina’? Is that not an indication?”

If she didn’t have such acute hearing she would never have been able to hear him over the buzz of the crowd. She glanced up again. Bernard was in line, second row back. He smiled at her and waggled his fingers. She flashed a smile back.

“Seriously, he doesn’t look like unrequited love is happening in his life, David. You’ve been in the romance section of the books again, haven’t you?”

He gave a little sniff and tossed three more orders at her. “You do
not
have a romantic bone in your body,” he announced, and turned away from her, his nose in the air.

She tried not to laugh. She didn’t laugh at work, but really, David’s little snits were hysterical, especially when he guessed incorrectly that someone was fixating on her. Bernard liked the spotlight, plain and simple. He loved writing his poetry and he wanted everyone to hear and admire him. As a rule, everyone did. He actually was quite good.

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.