“Lucky you,” I say seriously.
“Lucky me?” Rebecca bounces my words back. “Lucky you! I would kill to be tutoring some rich kid in a mansion.”
“Keep your voice down,” I exclaim, looking around. I’ve already said too much. I can practically feel the eyes of Francisco’s men bearing down on me, and I glance over my shoulder. There’s no one there but the patrons of the bar. The same group of college kids are getting rowdy, and the construction workers move up to the bar and are chatting up an older woman. The staff are just doing their thing, and there’s nothing that would indicate I’m being followed. But still, I can’t shake the idea that someone is paying attention.
“Paranoid much?” Rebecca asks. “What does this guy do for a living?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“You don’t think it’s anything illegal?” Rebecca asks suspiciously.
“No,” I snap. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I don’t actually know that Francisco is into anything illegal, but I suspect he is. And that suspicion puts me on edge. “Just keep your voice down.”
“All right, Ms. Double Oh Six,” Rebecca teases.
“Your guy is over there talking to someone else,” I inform her, hoping to change the subject.
“I see,” she observes. “Maybe he’s not the one for me after all.”
“You’ll meet someone,” I predict.
“Nice dodge. But really, why are you getting so defensive?” Rebecca prods.
Mandi shows up with our drinks, so we pause the conversation just long enough. After she’s gone, I lean forward. Rebecca is my best friend, and she’s not a fool. I don’t have to spill all the gory details to explain what’s troubling me.
“I don’t know if I want to keep this job,” I admit.
“Why not?” She asks, her eyes searching the room for another eligible hunk.
“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “They kind of remind me of my dad.”
“Your dad?” Rebecca asks, suddenly focusing on me. “Gosh. That must be painful.”
“It is,” I agree.
Rebecca doesn’t know everything about my father. No one does except for my little brother. The most I’ve told her is that he made some poor decisions, and it cost him his life. That’s the truth without painting a stark picture of his mafia contacts. I know Rebecca’s curious, but to her credit, she doesn’t press me for more information.
“Is the guy cute at least?” she wonders.
“Yes,” I respond, “he’s cute.” It’s the truth, but Frankie’s physical appearance is completely irrelevant. I wish I had someone I could really talk to, but that’s not going to happen. My instincts are right about Francisco. I know it. And I wouldn’t put it past him to have me followed.
“What?” Rebecca asks, noticing that my mood has soured.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking it off.
“They must have really gotten to you,” she observes.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, here you are in your favorite bar, talking to your favorite friend, and you’re sulking,” Rebecca describes the situation as she sees it.
“I’m not sulking,” I defend myself.
“You’re sulking,” she counters, flashing me a brilliant smile.
I hate that kind of blanket proclamation when it seems like there’s no way out. She’s right. I am sulking. But I have a good reason. The gig with Frankie and his father is dredging up old memories. I can feel their eyes watching me from every angle, and I’m wondering which of the innocent-looking partygoers is in league with the devil.
It could be anyone: the conveniently drunk girl who’s flirting with anything that moves, or the studious-looking yuppie at a booth by himself. Any of them could be on Francisco’s payroll, here to spy on me and bring information back to their boss.
