She didn’t like the way he watched everything.
Laura Morales pulled the peasant blouse of her waitress’s costume higher onto her shoulders, but she’d done that a million times, and still the man at the back table watched. She remembered him from yesterday, when she’d worked her midday shift. Then he’d worn sunglasses and the masking of his eyes had unnerved her so that she’d stayed in the kitchen as much as possible.
Tonight he sat at one of the tables outside on the veranda overlooking the rolling waves of the dark Pacific.