entered. One of them had a large scar on his face; the other boasted a considerable mustache.
Angela froze. She might have thought she was being paranoid, but all of the other women seemed similarly wary.
Scar Face put his hand up. “Pay no attention, ladies. We’re just perusing.” The man put his sunglasses on his head and gave them all a sweeping look.
Mustache Man didn’t smile, didn’t even look at the women. He simply moved toward the bookshelves.
“Good morning,” Charlotte said, but Angela could tell she was concerned. Luckily, Charlotte didn’t have her baby with her today.
Angela forced herself to remain calm, even though her instincts told her this was no good.
Charlotte whipped out her phone. “I’m texting the boys,” she whispered.
Good. Yes. That was smart.
Every part of Angela wanted to bolt, to head to her apartment and her bug-out bag, because these guys might be linked to Rafael. Had he found her? How many times had she thought someone around town or that came in her shop had been linked to Rafael?
These were just two idiots. That was all.
Her hands trembled and she clasped them together. Hoping to busy herself, she walked around to the pastry counter and grabbed a rag so she could wipe it out.
Madison moved toward the visitors. “What can we do for you, gentlemen?”
Mustache Man turned to her. “Just looking.” He and his companion sauntered toward the bookshelves, acting like they owned the place.
All of the women gave each other looks as if to say, Crazy alert.
Scar Face held up a book and looked at Angela. “This one any good?”
Angela’s stomach dropped. He knew her. She could tell by the way he eyed her that he recognized her. “I have no idea.”
Charlotte boldly walked toward him and gingerly took the book out of his hand. She gave it a once-over and said, “If you like crime and violence, then you’ll probably like it.”
The man’s smile stretched thin. “I guess I will, then.” Pure evil seeped out of him.
Angela quietly moved behind the register and lifted the bottom out, gripping the gun Charlotte kept for protection.
A loud laugh ripped out of Charlotte, sounding awkward and fake. “That’s funny. I’ll ring you up.”
“We’re not done looking.” The man didn’t move.
Mustache Man moved to the couches in the middle of the café and sat, holding a book. “I think I want to peruse this one before I buy it.” He flicked a meaningful look at Scar Face.
“Little early for you, isn’t it?” Star asked, sipping her coffee. Angela envied her ability to stay calm as a cucumber.
“Yeah,” Jewel said, lifting her eyebrow. “Barely eight o’clock.”
Scar Face nodded. His gaze met Angela’s. “Right. What’s the hurry?” The words held a veiled threat.
They were Rafael’s men. She knew it.
Charlotte sidled next to her behind the register. She noted that Angela was holding the gun, and she nodded, putting her hand out. Angela released the gun to her.
“Hey, what are you ladies doing back there?” Scar Face moved toward them.
The door dinged and Beau entered, instantly taking stock of the men and the situation. Beau always had a way of keeping a cool head—it was probably the bronc rider in him. “Coffee,” he said, rushing toward her and Charlotte behind the register. “I need coffee ASAP.”
Funnily enough, Beau barely had to put on an act. This was just what he was normally like. What was it that Star had told her just the other day? Obnoxious and redneck, that’s my honey pie.
Beau bumped into Scar Face, who didn’t look pleased at all.
“Sorry,” Beau said breezily. He patted the guy’s shoulder. “I’m just dying here. You know a man’s gotta have his coffee.”
“Sure.” The guy quit moving and glanced at the mustache man on the couch.
Beau rushed around the counter to the coffee and lifted it, giving the two men a severe look.
“Let me get you a coffee to go,” Angela said. Maybe these guys would just leave. Maybe they’d be more stubborn than she’d like. Either way, she couldn’t risk her friends’ lives. She moved around the register and toward the front door, with a cup of coffee in each hand. “Have these coffees on me.”
Both of the men took a cup. “Why, thank you, sweetheart,” Scar Face said.
Her eyes scanned the street for other men. Would there be more coming? To her dismay, a black Suburban waited on the street. Through the dark windows, she could barely see the outlines of two men in the front seats.
Crap. She picked up a