Page 28 of Lost in the Moonlight

I hated that my excitement about my finished piece and, if I was honest, about seeing Lincoln again, had been ruined byPoco’s ugliness. A shiver ran up my spine. How long would he continue to torment me?

But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was back in the cemetery this morning, doing whatever it was he’d been doing the day before. Maybe this had nothing to do with me, and we’d just happened to hear him whistling. If I stayed away from him and the graveyard, maybe it would be the end of it.

As my mind whirled with all the possibilities, silence settled between us, and it was Lincoln who broke it. “I searched the internet for you yesterday.”

When my heart skipped another beat, it had nothing to do with a whistled tune. This was all Lincoln and his being curious enough about me to look me up—not that he would have found anything, but he’d tried. I bit the inside of my cheek, unable to respond because of the flurry of hope and joy that brought me, even knowing I couldn’t afford his curiosity.

“You have no social media accounts,” he said, filling in my silence. “There’s no mention of you anywhere. Your mom is easily found as a faculty member at Cherry Bay High, but there’s no picture of her in the online directory.”

The unasked questions hung in the air, and I saw the danger signs flashing. I could only hope he stopped before he asked something I couldn’t respond to but found myself wanting to anyway.

My hope was washed away when he just continued to prod, asking, “Are you hiding from someone? On the run? You said your dad was dead and that you needed a new start, but are you hiding from him? Was he abusive to you or your mom?”

“My dad was a beautiful man!” I replied instantly and defensively. “Warm and funny. The very best kind of father.”

“But you’re hiding?”

I was grateful we were almost at the café, because that desire to answer him was only growing. Instead, I hurried ahead of him, leading the way into the alleyway behind The Tea Spot. The bulb above the back door was out, casting the entire area into a darkness that felt foreboding. I turned on my phone’s flashlight app so I could see to unlock the door. The alarm squealed as I flipped on the lights, and Lincoln followed me inside while I punched in the code.

When I turned back, he was standing at the door, looking down at the ground outside with a frown. I joined him, noticing the broken glass. The back of my neck prickled with unease. The light being out was one thing, but this was different. This was purposeful. A knot formed in my throat.

As I went to step outside and get a closer look, Lincoln put out an arm to block me, pushing me back. The bakery box tilted in his hold, and my gut dropped at the thought of it falling, but he easily caught it.

“Shut the door,” he demanded. With a nervous glance out into the dark, I did just that, locking the deadbolt as well.

“He didn’t expect me to be with you again.” Lincoln’s voice held a barely veiled fury. “He thought he’d catch you alone in the dark.”

His words kicked up the panic in my veins. My palms turned sweaty, and cold spiderlike fingers raced up and down my spine. Was this Poco? Or was this a sign of something far worse? Had the Viceroys come for me because of Roci’s death? That thought had a fist tightening around my lungs, stealing my breath.

As quickly as it had come, I rejected the idea. It couldn’t be them. It had to be Poco. It was the only thing that made sense when we’d done nothing to break the Marshals’ protocols. The hold on my lungs eased ever so slightly. It was Poco. Of course it was, but I’d truly thought he’d let it go. Yes, he’d been pissedwhen I’d gotten away. I’d seen it clearly in his eyes. But I’d thought that once he’d calmed down, he’d realize it had been for the best. What would Paul have to say if Poco had taken it further, and I’d been forced to report it?

My mind flashed to the shovel he’d been carrying. What if I hadn’t lived to report it? What if I’d ended up buried under dirt in a grave? My stomach revolted, and my head spun. I’d never once considered him ending my life. I’d thought it would all go away because I’d never taken Poco very seriously. The Cherry Bay criminal element seemed like boys playing cops and robbers rather than the true evil I’d witnessed up close and personal in Chicago.

Was it stupid to not have told anyone? The police? The Marshals? My mom?

God, I couldn’t think clearly over the churning in my stomach and hammering of my heart.

So I did the only thing I could do, which was to grab the bakery box from Lincoln with hands that trembled and head farther into the kitchen. I set it down on one of the long steel counters and gripped the counter tightly to steady myself.

What would have happened if Poco had stepped out of the shadows this morning and confronted us? What would have happened to Lincoln when he tried to shield me as I knew with every fiber of my being he would have? Would he have been seriously hurt? Killed? Another wave of nausea hit me, and my eyes pricked. My dad had been murdered for his attempts to defend a stranger. It was only due to a moment of clarity and quick thinking on his part that I hadn’t ended up dead too.

How would I ever recover if someone else died while I watched?

What if the person who died was Lincoln?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get a hold on the fear running through me.

When I turned to face Lincoln, I was greeted with a gentle look that practically undid me. It promised things I couldn’t afford. Friendship. Caring. More. The secret wishes I’d kept wound tight like a ball of cooking twine began to unravel. I longed to close the distance between us, put my cheek against his chest, and let his strong arms hold me.

But I couldn’t take him up on the offer his eyes were making. I couldn’t let the twine unroll. Not only because of what it might do to me but what it might do to him.

I cleared my throat, determination and resolve helping push back some of the fear and nausea. “I think it was a mistake to let you walk with me. I… This… It put you in danger.”

His eyes widened as if shocked I was worried about him. “I’ve got years of martial arts training behind me. I’m not worried. I can take Poco if he comes at me.”

The pure confidence of that statement was some reassurance, but what if it wasn’t Poco? Or what if he had a gun or a knife and caught Lincoln off guard? I hated that I was letting the what-ifs spiral out of control. I didn’t know what the right solution was. I was scared to walk alone. Afraid to call the Marshals and end our life here. Terrified Lincoln would be hurt.

And I absolutely despised that this was pushing me back to the state I’d been in that first year. When I hadn’t even been able to walk out the door without having a panic attack.

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