Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Then she listened to Smithie, and after, Hawk, total eye contact, short head nods, complete focus.
No interruptions.
No hysterics.
No backtalk.
Almost the same when he was going over things with her.
Sure, she balked at the shower gig. Sleeping in her room. He got that. It was an intimacy and invasion of privacy she wasn’t ready for.
She still didn’t give him shit and make him spend half an hour explaining precisely why he knew what he was doing, and she had to listen to him.
And she’d agreed not to bring in Eddie or Lee and his boys.
This, Mo knew, was to protect them. Those men had lived through a lot while claiming their women. Car bombings. Kidnappings. One of their women shot. Another one raped.
There’d been peace for a few years. They’d had weddings. Made babies.
It was all copasetic, or as much of that as it could be with Rock Chicks in the mix.
They’d go apeshit at that letter.
And Lottie knew it.
So she agreed immediately to protecting them by keeping them in the dark.
It was the smart call.
But for her, it was more the loving one.
Charlotte McAlister was a class act. Funny. Smart. Talented. Thoughtful. Together. Professional.
And sexy AF.
Yeah.
This job was totally going to be torture.
“Jorge, other side,” Hawk said in his ear and Mo turned his head to look at his boss who was standing behind him. Mo was unconcerned and unsurprised Hawk got the drop on him. If the man wanted to, he moved like a ghost. “Need you a minute.”
Mo only left his place to follow Hawk when he looked across the stage to see Hawk’s second in command, Jorge, standing there.
Jorge was not watching Lottie, his attention was on the crowd.
This was good.
Mo trailed Hawk as he walked down the back hall past the dancers’ dressing room to the end where there was a door to the back. Quieter there, but you could still hear the music.
Hawk stopped and turned.
Mo stopped and shifted slightly to the side so he wouldn’t have to waste the nanosecond it’d take if he had to make a full turn to get back to Lottie if she needed him.
“You saw her first set,” Hawk noted.
Mo nodded.
Hawk jerked up his chin.
Then he asked, “You gonna be able to do this?”
Hawk Delgado was not stupid.
And he knew his men.
“Fuck no.”
His boss didn’t look surprised, but he started to look impatient.
“Mo—”
“But I’ll do it,” he finished.
“It’s just a job. Her job. Three sets. A couple songs. Then she sits back in the dressing room because Smithie doesn’t want her mingling,” Hawk told him something Smithie already briefed him on.
Smithie didn’t want her mingling not because it made her seem elusive and exclusive.
He did it because he knew, like Mo knew, that a lot of men were assholes, those who weren’t were whackjobs, and the ones who were neither of those were at home with their wives.
In other words, Smithie didn’t want her in danger.
Where she was now.
Because she stripped.
“I’m on it,” Mo stated.
“It’s just her job, Mo. She’s good at it. She’s famous for it. But to her, it’s how she pays her mortgage,” Hawk told him.
He didn’t need another lecture about stripping that day (or ever again).
But he was surprised Hawk would press this with him.
Mo had four older sisters.
Hawk knew Mo had four older sisters and a mother, all of whom Mo looked after since he had his first coherent thought, so no way he’d ever be down with a woman taking her clothes off for money.
That didn’t matter.
It wasn’t about it being her job.
It was about it being his job to protect her.
And he could do that.
“I’m on it, Hawk,” he repeated.
Hawk gave him a look.
Mo just stared at him.
Hawk got his meaning and because he did, he shared, “Callin’ in a favor with a friend at the FBI. That religious fanaticism shit, Lottie might not be the first for this asshole. Sent him a copy of the letter, he’s gonna run it through their system to see if there’s any language quirks that match.”
Good.
Mo nodded.
“Postmark gives us nothing,” Hawk carried on. “Doing an analysis on printer, toner, paper, envelope, stamp. Stamp was self-adhesive, so no DNA, also no print, which does not bode well. Could be some on the flap. Took prints off the letter. Got one of our friends at DPD to run ’em.”
Lottie hadn’t touched the actual letter, just a copy.
The actual letter would have his, Hawk’s, Smithie’s and maybe the perp’s prints on it.
Mo hoped like hell if it did, the guy was in the system so this could all be over and quick for Lottie, but also for him.
“Jorge and I had a sit down with all the bouncers and bartenders on tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll hit any who were off tonight. And the dancers,” Hawk continued. “Askin’ if anyone’s seen someone that gives off a bad vibe, a regular that creeps them out, anyone who’s said something that’s off.”