Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel by REBECCA YORK

existed.
    Well, somehow he’d known she existed, waiting for him to come here. The thought was hardly logical, but he knew it was true.
    “What man?” he asked, struggling to keep a note of accusation out of his voice.
    “Johnny Denato.”
    “The Mafia guy?”
    “Is he?”
    “From what I’ve read in the papers,” he answered, not willing to tell her that the security operatives at Decorah kept up with the goings-on in the underworld. It might help her to know his profession, but if she was somehow questioned about her visitor, the less she knew the better.
    She was silent for several moments, and it looked like she was drifting off into space.
    “Tory?”
    She focused on him. “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay. It sounds like they pumped a lot of stuff into you.”
    “Yes.”
    “You were telling me about Denato.”
    “Right. He came into the club and saw the show, and it seemed like he was interested in me. He asked me to dinner, and I was afraid to tell him I couldn’t go with him. I mean, I knew my manager wouldn’t like me turning down a good customer. Denato and I saw each other after the show a couple of times.”
    His whole body tensed as he waited for her to talk about a sexual relationship.
    Instead, she said, “I kept waiting for him to pounce on me, but he was always a perfect gentleman. I started thinking he was going out with me for the wrong reasons.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like he wanted people to see me with him—but he didn’t really want to do anything . . . sexual.”
    “Then why continue seeing you?” he asked, unable to keep the harshness out of his tone.
    “Maybe he’s gay. Maybe he wanted people to see him with a beautiful dancer.”
    That was one explanation that could make sense. Like that gay guy in The Sopranos who had to pretend he was straight. And when he finally let the others know the truth, they killed him.
    She began speaking again. “He took me back to his apartment last night. It was the first time I’d been there. Or maybe it wasn’t last night. Maybe they’re telling the truth—it was weeks ago, and I’ve been in a fog ever since.” Before he could comment, she hurried on. “And now the worst part. I was in the living room, and he had stepped into the hall to take a call. Men came in . . . and killed him.”
    Brand blinked. “Say what?”
    “He was murdered. I heard the shots. Then I saw him lying in a pool of blood in the foyer.”
    “And you called the authorities?”
    Self-accusation filled her voice. “I should have, but I wasn’t exactly rational. I decided I had to get out of his apartment—and out of town. I thought the cops would assume I was involved. And the murders would find out who I was and think I’d seen them, which I didn’t,” she added quickly. “I was afraid they’d kill me, too. I rushed back home. Then I realized I had to call the police. But it was already too late. Two guys arrive at my door a few minutes later.”
    She heaved in a breath and let it out before continuing. “I got out my apartment window, but they caught me and slapped something over my face, and I woke up in a small plane. On the way here.” She sounded like she was fixing the details in her mind, as though she wasn’t quite sure of exactly what had happened.
    He stroked his hand up and down her arm, trying to imagine the whole scenario from her point of view. It had to be terrifying.
    She gave him a questioning look. “I don’t even know where we are.”
    “Upstate New York.”
    “Okay.”
    She rushed through the rest of the story. “Right before dinner I woke up in a chair in Raymond’s office, like we’d been in the middle of a therapy session and I’d nodded off. That’s when he claimed I’d been here for weeks. Outside in the sitting room, a woman named June was waiting for me. She said we had gotten to be friends, and it was time for dinner. I started feeling muzzy again as soon as I ate.”
    Brand cursed under his breath. It could be all made