Chapter 10

Tommy

Even though Tommy doubted the assassin would strike in a Cajun restaurant or in public, adrenaline coursed through his body when he noticed an old Jeep from the last road pull into the parking lot.

Their table was at the rear of the restaurant, and when the Jeep crept past the window, his senses sharpened. That was the same jeep from earlier. Green with New York license plates.

He shook his head. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Whoever wanted to kill Ruby and him was obviously an amateur. It should take him days to find out where they went unless he was some super hacker and traced their flight records. Still, the anxiety humming through him wouldn't stop. Even though the food was delicious, he only ate half of his blackened chicken.

"Not as good as the original place?" Ruby nodded to his plate.

"It's fine, just not that hungry." He asked for a to-go box and noticed Ruby's hands shaking when she lifted her glass of iced tea. "You okay?"

"W-what? Oh, fine." She set her tea down and placed her hands in her lap. Part of him wished she'd left them on the table so he could scoop them up in his and warm them. Feel the softness he knew could break a man's windpipe if she wanted.

"Just a bit nervous," she added. "I want to catch the guy doing this, prove he's under Westridge's orders, and get that bastard in solitary confinement."

"We don't even know if Westridge is responsible." He couldn't tell her the truth that a pimp might be after him and by her association with him, she was in danger too. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure who was painting the target on their backs. Sure she could kick some serious ass, but she wasn't bullet proof. "No, think about it. If it is Westridge, how is the guy getting paid? All his assets are frozen." Paul was sitting in jail too and as an informant to Westridge and former cop, he didn't have enough money to even post bail.

"Maybe that's why he hired an amateur, or I'd already be dead." She shivered. "He couldn't afford a professional."

Something wasn't adding up, but Tommy couldn't put his finger on it. His gut told him it wasn't Westridge...at least not as direct as Ruby thought. Otherwise, the guy would have gone after Crystal, too. Yet, it appeared as though he had only one target.

Tommy's chest constricted as he imagined Ruby getting hurt or worse. It had been bad enough watching her with Paul, but his instincts had never been wrong before. Who knows what kind of friends the guy had...drug lords, loan sharks, the mob?

He leaned forward. "Let's keep our mind open to other possibilities."

"Fine." As she shrugged the later afternoon sun danced over the shimmering crimson waves of her hair.

Once everything with Westridge's trial was over, would she return to her natural reddish-blonde color? She started dying it when she was twelve to throw off Westridge in case he did a background check on them. She and her twin looked different enough to pass as merely sisters, but Uncle Gustin felt like accentuating the red in her hair would make her stand out more and not remind Westridge of two blond sisters he thought he had killed. Whatever she did with her hair was fine, provided she didn't chop it off. He liked the long loose curls that cascaded to her shoulders.

"I'm buying." She tossed cash down on the food bill. "You can get dinner."

"Deal."

A guy with a baseball cap entered the place and went to a table across from theirs. Something about the way he entered, glancing at everyone and then shuffling to the back of the restaurant had Tommy's alarms ringing. The guy didn't make eye contact with anyone, not even to the waiter who approached him with a menu.

"You gonna bring your food with you?" Ruby pulled his attention back to their table.

He curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to confront the new arrival outright. Something wasn't right about the customer. Nonchalantly as he could muster, he turned his attention back to Ruby. For a moment, he stared at her. Deep emerald eyes studied him. His pulse sped up. Had she said something to him? Something about food?

"Right. Leftovers." He plunked the food into the Styrofoam box and closed it, but the hairs standing up on the back of his neck refused to calm. Before they left, he would check the brake line and the undercarriage for a bomb. If the assassin followed them all the way from New York, he must be antsy after having failed his mission three times...and he'd be desperate.

"I'll be right back." Tommy strode over to the jukebox. It was closer to the hunching dude who held his menu up as though he wasn't reading it. Pretending to search for a music track, Tommy listened as the waiter brought the man a coffee.

"Anything else, sir?"

"No. That's all." He gave the menu back to the server and didn't make a move for the steaming cup. The guy reeked of cigarettes. Tommy guessed his fingernails were yellow from smoking. The man smoothed back his thinning hair.

Okay, so the guy wasn't hungry. But why come into a Cajun restaurant for a drink? He could get that at a coffee shop. The man met his eyes and glanced away quickly. Too quickly. Whoever had tried to shoot Ruby might be inexperienced, but would Westridge hire someone this clumsy? Tommy didn't recognize the man. His voice wasn't familiar either.

He shook his head. It wasn't adding up, and he couldn't figure out why. Tommy put on his best drawl and strolled over to the man. "Can't believe they don't have "I Love Rock-N-Roll" on the jukebox. That's like a classic song for these machines, ain't it?"

"I don't know...I guess." The man looked around, then opened a pack of sugar and poured it into his cup, but half spilled out onto the table. His accent was local. Unless the guy was an excellent actor, he couldn't be the assassin. It made no sense for Westridge to hire someone from New Orleans when he had no way of knowing Tommy and Ruby would travel here.

"Enjoy your beverage." Still, the knot in Tommy's stomach didn't lessen, but got tighter. He hurried back toward his table and at hearing a squeal, turned back to the man. An African American woman with a slim waist and decked in a royal blue dress clip clopped over to the man. The way he shushed her was the action of a man not wanting to be seen with his mistress. Relief swept through him. This guy wasn't their assassin. Stupid.

As a teen Ruby had squeezed in time for multiple dates between training sessions. He'd even invited one of her boyfriends, a football player, to a sparring match once. Couldn't resist punching the dude's nose when he said how he wanted to grab Ruby's ass.

Tommy smirked, remembering how the football player had held his nose and screamed like an injured baboon.

When Tommy reached their table, he froze. Their waitress had returned with Ruby's change. His packaged food was left on the table, but Ruby was gone.