Page 111 of Lost in the Moonlight

Every nerve ending and muscle in my body tightened as I looked at the picture of Willow and I dancing on the street outside the cottage. The intensity of my anger almost frightenedme. The lack of control I felt, shaking me almost as much as the fury itself.

Through the haze, a thought snuck in. If Poco was the one sending the photographs to the media, was he also Felicity’s stalker? That made absolutely no sense. No matter how small the world was, there was no way it wasthatsmall.

When I said as much to Axel, he agreed.

“The phrasing of the notes is almost the same as the words she tossed in my face,” I added. “Whether she picked them up from her stalker or the other way around, she’s involved somehow.”

“We’re fairly certain Poco isn’t the one leaving the notes based on the timeline and what we’ve dug up on him. He may have sold some photos he took, but there could easily have been someone else who saw the two of you together.”

“The guy in the sedan.” Even as I said it, I remembered the car had buzzed past Willow and me the day we’d danced in the street. “Willow insisted it wasn’t Poco’s car.”

“Let’s go pay him a visit,” Axel said.

“You’re willing to take me with you?” I said with more than a little shock. My Secret Service detail wouldn’t have let me anywhere near Poco or Tall Paul’s place.

Axel gave a curt nod, “I know if the woman I cared about was being threatened, I’d want to confront the asshole suspected of doing it. Besides, if Poco is somehow involved, seeing you might set him off, and I can use that to our advantage.”

I pocketed my phone and followed Axel out to a waiting SUV. The man was so big he made the driver’s seat look like a go-cart chair. He hid his golden eyes behind dark sunglasses and tucked his shorn hair under a baseball cap. Once again, I’d left my disguise behind, but if Axel wanted me to be recognized, I didn’tneed one. The damn disguise obviously hadn’t done its job like I’d promised Willow anyway.

As we headed toward the outskirts of town, Axel said, “Marshal Service told me they gave the Earharts forty-eight hours to move or exit the program.”

My entire being tightened. I wasn’t losing her. I’d promised Erica I’d protect them if they left, and I would. “As much as I’d hate for this to be about me, it would be better than the Viceroys showing up at their door. You got any ideas on that front yet?”

“I’ve got some men hunting Aaron Vitale down now that he’s skipped town. Trail went cold in Texas. I’m thinking he headed over the border, planning to go south from there. Either we’ll find him or the Marshals will.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

“Willow has nothing to do with the RICO case. She can’t cause him any more damage, in fact, coming after her now could actually put a nail in his coffin. I’m not sold she has anything to worry about from him, and the Marshals agree. They’re just taking precautions because that’s what they do.”

Precautions that would rip her away from me.

Axel drummed his hands on the steering wheel, looking almost as frustrated as I felt.

“We haven’t been able to get a license plate or ID on the gray sedan. Neither your security system nor the Earhart’s have it at a good angle. I’ve got my team working with Detective Muloney to gain access to the cameras for the businesses along Main Street. We’re hoping to catch something from one of those.”

“What’s taking so long?” I grunted.

Axel snapped back, “Forty hours, Lincoln. That’s how long I’ve been on this job. We’ve established a perimeter around two properties, increased the cameras at the Earharts, established atwenty-four-seven security detail, bartered with the local police, negotiated with the Marshals, and all but eliminated Poco Malta from the mix. If you’ve got a problem with how we’ve performed, find another company, but I can guarantee you no one else could have achieved what we have in forty fucking hours.”

He was right. I wasn’t even sure the Secret Service could have done more.

I gritted my teeth and said, “I know. Your team has hit the ground running. I appreciate it. Let’s just get this box marked off so we can focus on the Felicity angle.”

Axel pulled into Flat Mike’s parking lot. The building was an old metal warehouse that had been converted to a bar. A row of Harleys was lined up out front, and even this early in the day, heavy metal music poured from the place so loud I could hear the riffs while sitting in the SUV.

“Let me do the talking,” Axel said, shooting me a warning look. “And don’t take a swing unless you’re ready for us to get the crap beat out of us. As good as I am, there are at least twenty bikers in there willing to fight for no other reason than getting to hit something. They won’t give a shit who you are.”

“They might actually swing harder because of who I am.”

Axel’s lips twitched, and we both got out of the car and headed inside.

The haze of cigarette and marijuana smoke was thick, turning the darkened interior into a black hole. Add to it the booming music, the smell of beer and sweat, the volume of bodies shoved into the place, and it was enough to disorient me for several seconds before my eyes and senses adjusted. By the time I did, we had at least two dozen people staring in our direction. Large men in mechanic uniforms and equally burlymen in leather who lounged at the booths, the bar top, and pool tables.

Only a handful of women were mixed in amongst the men. Two carried trays, wearing skirts so short they almost shouldn’t have bothered. The others sat at booths drinking. They looked as rough and burly as the men sitting with them.

Axel strode toward the bar, and the man serving pints behind it. The bartender’s face glowed in the light of a neon beer sign above him, turning him weirdly demonic and making me think of my unfinished painting sitting next to the angel I had barely started.

“Paul, right?” Axel asked. The man’s large shoulders tightened for a brief moment before relaxing again. He wasn’t bulky, but he was at least six and a half feet tall, if not more. Seemed like he’d earned his Tall Pall nickname the old-fashioned way.

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