Fear Thy Neighbor (38)
FishEyes gave Tank a to-go cup of coffee. Tank tossed a few coins on the counter, then took the lid off the cup. “Put some more cream in here. Damn. You cain’t get nothing right these days, old man.”
The owner added more cream, returning the cup to the counter. Tank took his coffee, then turned his attention to the dining area. Ali kept her head down, wishing for a pair of sunglasses, a cap, anything to serve as a disguise, though in this small space, it would only draw more attention to her.
She literally felt his gaze on her but refused to acknowledge him. Ali didn’t need to look up in order to see him inching his way to her table. Her heart rate accelerated, knowing he’d recognized her. She’d hung her purse over the back of her chair, feeling secure knowing her weapon was within reach should she need to use it.
Tank pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. “Thought you’d skipped town,” he said before slurping his coffee.
“Leave me alone,” she said. She knew from his reaction from when she’d bumped into him at Mel’s Diner that it would give him immense pleasure if she were to start an argument.
“I ain’t botherin’ you, girl,” he said.
She smelled cigarette smoke and sweat. “Actually, you are.” Her blue eyes fixated on his. “So leave. Now.”
“Do as the lady says,” came a male voice from behind her.
“Who the hell are you, tellin’ me what I cain and cain’t do?” Tank asked the man.
“I’m asking you to leave the lady alone.”
Tank laughed, sending spit flying across the small table to land on Ali’s chin.
“Get out of here—you’re sickening.” She gritted her teeth, stood, and reached for her purse. With her hand inside her purse, she gripped the gun’s handle, her index finger on the trigger. She could shoot through her purse if she had to.
“You’re a bitch, ya know that?” Tank stood up, shoving the chair so hard it tipped over. “You ain’t heard the last from me!” He grabbed his cup, gave her an evil grin, then used his thumb and index finger to point at her, the same movement John used when he’d threatened her. “Be careful.” Laughing, he left the coffee shop, slamming the door behind him.
Humiliated, Ali prepared to leave, but then thought better of it and waited. She sat down again, as she sure as hell didn’t want another confrontation with that idiot in the parking lot.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” asked the man who’d come to her defense.
She would be as soon as she left but didn’t say it. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for . . . you know,” she added, not wanting to say, “thank you for defending me,” as it made her feel weak and fearful.
“No problem, I see guys like him all the time.”
Alison wanted to ask where he saw these types of men but didn’t. “Well, thanks. I have to go,” she said, standing and then walking as fast as she could to the exit.
As soon as she was outside, she took out her keys and then unlocked the door to the Jeep. Once she was inside, she was surprised when she saw how badly her hands were shaking. The man from the coffee shop tapped on her window, startling her enough to cause her to drop her keys on the floorboard. Feeling around for her keys, she found them, somehow managing to fit the key in the ignition, even though her hands trembled.
There was another knock on the window. She turned the key but didn’t crank the engine. She hit the automatic button, lowering her window a few inches but not enough for a man’s hand to reach inside and grab her.
“I don’t mean to frighten you. I’m Kit Moore. I don’t live around here—just doing some fishing. Did I overstep my boundaries? That guy seemed shady.”
No kidding, Alison thought. She hit the control for the window, opening it a few more inches. “I don’t know him either, so thanks again. Good luck fishing, Kit,” she said, emphasizing his odd name. He didn’t look like a Kit. Then she hit the switch to close her window. As soon as she cranked the engine over, she hit the gas pedal so hard, her tires squealed on the pavement. She didn’t care. No more trips to this coffee shop, she thought as she pulled onto Pine Tree Road. Maybe her decision to make Palmetto Island her forever home was a bad one. She’d had so many negative encounters here in such a short span of time. If she stayed, would this continue, or would she simply blend in with the rest of this hodgepodge community? It seemed the men in Matlacha Pass were rough, dim-witted rednecks. Ali guessed that most of them were shrimpers, maybe fishermen. A tough job only the bravest—or maybe the stupidest—would take on. She feared this kind of man, having experience with their type. Not romantic, but more along the lines of barbaric.
No longer confident with her decision as she headed toward Diamond Realty, she thought it wasn’t too late to change her mind. No contracts were signed, no money exchanged. Because it was the decent thing to do, she glanced at the business card Kimberly gave her. No need for an explanation; she’d just decided this place was bad news. Her original decision to head south to Key West was reignited. To back out or not? Damn, the beach house was a steal; she wouldn’t find another place on the beach, especially in Key West, for the price.
“No!” she shouted, then banged her fist on the dashboard, remembering what sent her running all those years ago. “I will not allow another man to ruin my life!” Shaking, yet determined to avoid a continual repeat of her past, she figured: screw it. She wanted the beach house, she had cash, and she also had her weapon.