Page 54 of Lost in the Moonlight

I concentrated on the room instead. The walls were lined with antique white shelves, and while all of them had books and knickknacks on them, it wasn’t crowded, leaving room for new additions. The office was calm and soothing just like Lincolnhimself. It fit him. When I’d seen the bright-yellow kitchen, I’d wondered if the rest of the house would be as forcibly cheerful as that singular room, pushing at the shadows Lincoln had clinging to him, but I didn’t see that forced brightness here. Only serenity.

Lincoln opened his laptop, clicked through some screens, and then shook his head, face grim with frustration. “He must have hopped a wall before he got to your gate, because there’s nothing here.”

Dread filled my stomach.

If we’d had video proof it was Poco, it would have been so much simpler. Even though I still believed it had to be him, I’d make the calls I needed to make. Once I confirmed with the Marshals that the Viceroys couldn’t be here, and once I’d confirmed with Mom that she was okay, I’d tell her about the note and our suspicions about Poco. I’d reassure her I was okay and tell her I was with our neighbor.

Maybe just that would ease her concerns. She’d be happy I was with someone, wouldn’t she? She’d told me she wanted me to have someone in my life, just like I wanted her to have Hector. She’d be thrilled as long as she didn’t know who Lincolnreallywas. How just his name could shred our safety even more. But maybe if I could keep her at the decathlon and I had time to figure this out before she came home, I wouldn’t have to rip her life away all over again.

Chapter Seventeen

Lincoln

COLLIDE

Performed by Howie Day

I was trying hard to containmy rage, not only at whoever had left the note on Willow’s door in blood red but at her being in witness protection to begin with. The fear in her voice when she’d talked about “them” finding her had sent waves of fury through me. The loss I’d heard in her voice at the idea of having to give up everything in her life to relocate again felt like a physical stab to my heart.

While I didn’t normally consider myself a violent man, I’d felt this same way before. First, for the truck driver who’d killed Sienna, then the kid who’d shot Lyrica, and finally, at the woman who’d kidnapped Leya. Every time those horrible tragedies had occurred in my life, I’d felt this same helpless rage. This same desire to do damage to the person who’d hurt the ones I’d cared about.

Maybe a man could only take so much of living with those emotions before they burst free. I wanted to drive down to FlatMike’s bar, put my hands around Poco’s throat, and squeeze until no breath was left in his body. But I’d promised Hardy I wouldn’t do something stupid, and there wasn’t anything stupider than thinking I’d get that close to Poco in a bar full of bikers and criminals. He may have been nothing more than a local thug, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a gun. That all his pals and his boss wouldn’t have a dozen between them.

What did I have? A pocket knife from my grandfather and a childhood spent learning martial arts. While I could defend myself in a physical fight, I wouldn’t be able to ward off bullets. I wouldn’t be able to stop an entire biker gang.

But I had something else that might help. I had people I could send to talk to Poco if Willow would let me. If not official Secret Service agents, I could ask Leya’s husband to give me the name of the security team Leya’s band used.

When I glanced up from my laptop, I noticed how pale Willow was, her naturally creamy skin taking on the same hue as the apparition who’d returned to haunting me. She kept tugging at her necklace as if it was a life preserver. She was terrified and trying to hold it together. The tears had stopped, but I could feel her uncertainty and sadness from across the room. My body practically vibrated with the intensity of the rage I felt for whoever had done this to her.

I relived our moments together over the last two days. She’d been courageous. Optimistic. She hadn’t cried after Poco had tried to haul her away that night. And yet, she’d almost fallen apart on seeing that damn note pinned to her door.

The letter. It needed to be examined. I had to get it to someone—Hardy, the police, anyone with a lab at their disposal. Would she let me?

I reached her in two strides, pulling her close once more, trying to let the touch calm us both. Her fear. My fury. Thecomplete and utter frustration I felt at being, once again, too late to stop something already heading toward another woman in my life.

But I swore it wouldn’t reach her.

Whatever evil this was…Poco, whoever “they” were…they wouldnotreach her.

I would stop this.

“We need a plan,” I told her softly. “Let me make you a cup of tea, and we’ll decide on a course of action.”

I tucked her hand into mine, the fragility of those fine bones landing home, especially given what I’d learned about her. And yet, at the same time, they felt strong as her fingers squeezed me back. It was a dichotomy I’d sensed in Willow from the moment I’d sped across the cemetery and heard her demanding Poco let her go. Brave and delicate at the same time.

We made our way into the kitchen, and when I let go of her to fill the electric tea kettle, I felt the loss in every part of me. I gathered the mugs and went about pouring loose leaf into the strainers as I had the first time she’d been in my kitchen.

Sienna had said Willow was my person. The light guiding me home. I could easily believe it when she practically glowed. But Sienna had also said that while we needed each other, I’d have to convince Willow she needed me as much as the other way around.

How did I do that? How did I convince someone I’d known for mere days that I could be what they needed? That these intense feelings I had were much more than attraction? If Sienna was right, and my soul was whispering something I needed to pay attention to, then I needed to get my act together now before Willow slipped through my grasp—before some damn agency hid her away from me.

Reality hit me with the force of a dagger to my chest.

She was in witness protection. It was so much worse than just her hiding from some guy who’d been abusive. The skittishness about being seen together was more than justified. The idea of exploring these intense feelings and desires and connection was asinine. Because what would happen when she was photographed at my side? It was a foregone conclusion she would be if we continued to see each other.

A heaviness settled over my chest, sliding down into my gut.

While we waited for the kettle, I asked, “Can you tell me what happened? Why you’re in the protection program?”

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