Page 31 of Lost in the Moonlight

I longed to soothe her at the same time I longed to push until she broke open, but she wasn’t ready for me to do so. And if I pushed now, if I told her just how much I yearned to discover all the nuances that made her Willow, she’d pull back even more. I could wait. I could be patient. But I wasn’t going to just scuttle away either. In time, I’d convince her I was someone she could trust. Someone sheshouldtrust.

So, for now, I’d do what she needed me to do—I’d leave—but I’d also be back.

I made my way to the door, and the reminder of broken glass just outside had me saying, “Make sure Hector replaces the bulb. Didn’t he say he had cameras? Have him check them and send what he finds to the police. I doubt Poco’s face will show up, but if it did, it’s vandalism. So this doesn’t have to be about you, but it can still protect you. You get off at noon, right? I’ll see you then.”

She looked frustrated, on the verge of telling me once again that she didn’t need me, that she thought this was a bad idea, and then she said, “I appreciate you walking with me at night for a few more days.” I could have sworn she shivered before she pulled her shoulders back and added, “But I’ll be okay during the day. You don’t need to come by this afternoon. I’m perfectly safe with people around.”

When I simply raised a brow in her direction, she looked away.

Regardless of whether I was the right person to protect her or not, I was dedicated to the cause. I’d be a wall standing between her and whatever came after her.

And until I knew more, until she opened up, I’d call Hardy and ask him to do his own digging. Not on Willow, but on Poco and this Tall Paul he worked for. Maybe my father’s power and position could actually assist the town I was making my home by getting rid of a couple of its criminals.

As I opened the door, I looked back at her and was caught all over again by her bright glow. Even now, after a scare and holding back things that clearly upset her, there was a sweetness about her that lured me in.

“Come set the alarm.”

She pulled off one of her plastic gloves and joined me, practically shoving the door closed in my face. Instead of being put off by it, as she probably hoped I would be, it just made me chuckle. I liked seeing her riled up as much as I liked her smiles. I liked the passion it revealed underneath her lighthearted façade. I liked pretty much everything I’d seen about Willow Earhart.

Except those damn secrets.

Only, maybe I liked those too.

She’d kicked me out of the dark spot I’d been stuck in for months. I’d been unable to paint, unable to even look at art for the gallery. I’d had to let Lyrica completely take over in D.C. But now, it was as if I was waking from a deep sleep.

I made my way around the front of the building, crossed the street, and let myself into the gallery as images of Willow filled my mind. Smiling. Scared. Sarcastic. She’d given me multitudes of expressions in a handful of minutes.

The play of color against black and white seemed to surround her the moment she’d walked out of the house this morning. Her skirt with its parade of flowers and her pink coat had stood out against the dark sky just like her freshly scrubbed face, rosy from the cold air, had danced with the shadows from the streetlamps. Her platinum hair pulled back in one long braid falling almost to her waist had been a halo of sparkling diamonds. Just the sight of her had been enough to catch my breath and flame my imagination, and when I’d stepped closer and caught the scent of her…it had been pure addiction.

She was a multi-sensory work of art, just like the dessert she’d created. Could I even call it dessert? What did you call it? Art in edible form? I’d been surprised and stunned by what she’d shown me. Intricate miniature desserts that, when you took the time to examine each one, had structure and form and smells, but when you stepped back and let your mind register the whole, it was clearly a watercolor landscape brought to life.

I wanted my paintings to have the same visceral impact on your senses as she’d given me by both her own appearance and the art she’d created. Except, I wouldn’t have the advantage of using all the senses the way she could. I’d have to trick the viewer’s mind into believing it could taste and smell and touch what was portrayed.

It was a new challenge.

But first, I had something else to do. Something more important.

As soon as I stepped into the studio on the third floor, I whipped out my phone and placed a call I’d sworn I wouldn’t make.

“Lincoln?” a groggy voice greeted me, but it took only a heartbeat for Hardy to become alert. “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly aware that it was three in the morning, I dragged a hand through my hair. I should have waited until at least dawn before calling him. “I’m sorry. I forgot it was so early. I’ll call later.”

“I’m awake now. No reason to call back. Hold on a sec.” I heard a murmur on the other end and felt even worse. I’d woken his wife as well. After a few seconds, Hardy returned. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I need everything you can get on some local thug named Poco and his boss, Tall Paul.”

“Poco is his nickname. He’s Paul’s muscle,” he responded. “Let me bring up their file.” There was some tapping on a keyboard before he continued. “Poco was born Pacheco Malta to Betty and Tomas Malta. They were a housekeeper and garbage man until they died in a car crash. Poco went into foster care at age fifteen, was arrested for larceny, and met Paul White in juvie. At twenty, Paul took over his dad’s garage and expanded into sports betting. Bought the bar next to the garage and expanded some more. He’s mostly known for his loan sharking and illegal gambling, but he dabbles in a bit of drugs. A local motorcycle club uses his place as their headquarters, although he doesn’t appear to be a member. Nothing about Paul or Poco has caught anyone’s eye enough to take them down. About eighteen months ago, a murder two towns over was attributed to Poco being too aggressive while collecting on a gambling debt, but there wasn’t enough proof to even get a warrant. And as you can’t squeeze money from a dead body, there’s not normally a lot of real ugly associated with their business. You have a run-in with one of them?”

“Not me. My neighbor.”

“The Bristols?” Hardy sounded surprised.

“I don’t know the Bristols.”

“Live on your west side.” I shouldn’t have been surprised he had this much detail about my life and the bad elements in Cherry Bay. I may have walked away from the Secret Service, but they still had to keep an eye out to ensure nothing about me came back to bite Dad in the butt.

“Not the Bristols.” For some reason, I was reluctant to tell him about Willow. Maybe because I knew he’d dig up a file on her as well, and I didn’t want him to tell me her secrets. As messed up as it was, I wanted her to give me her truths because she chose to. It was what had made me stop scouring the internet last night after the basic search. “Any sexual assault charges in that file on Poco or Paul?”

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