Page 115 of Duty and Desire

Trying to be Every Guy.

And he probably usually wore trousers. Or chinos. A suit. Way too uptight to wear jeans. Way too obsessive to let go even for that.

Mo knew this because of his neat haircut.

Clipped perfect. Not overly styled. His hair laid that way because it was cut to lay that way. And Mo’d lay money down the man went to the barber no less than once every three weeks.

Clean, close shave. Baby skin. Perfectly trimmed sideburns.

Hand on the table next to a bottle of beer that was untouched. Mo could see the thin line of foam at the top in the neck. The guy didn’t drink, not alcohol.

Fingers rat-a-tat-tatting a nervous strum on the table.

Careful placement of his position, not in the front row, not in a booth at the back, so as not to appear too eager, not pretending to be too aloof, or worse, hiding. Second row of tables, side stage, where he could see Lottie.

But his eyes were on Mo.

When he saw Mo had eyes on him, casually, too casually, he tipped his chin to acknowledge the eye contact, then turned his attention to Lottie.

Bland face, carefully bland. No reaction to the best one-woman show anyone in that room had ever seen. No visible reaction to a beautiful woman with a fantastic figure in a sequined bikini and high heels twirling upside down on a pole.

And no open display of hatred or disgust, for certain.

No one, not a soul except the waitresses, and even they stopped serving when Lottie performed, had eyes on anything but Lottie when she danced.

There was all this, and Mo could read a person, it was an important part of the job.

But the most important part of it all was that Mo would lay his life on the fact he saw that guy looking at cucumbers in the produce section of King Soopers on Sunday.

Mo felt a curl in his throat and heat hit his gut.

This was their guy.

Mo didn’t move, even though, from the second night on, Hawk had fitted the team at Smithie’s, including the bouncers, with earpieces and wristband radios.

This was where training was crucial.

This guy bolted, not a man on the mark knew it was him and he might be able to outrun Mo if Mo had to take off from hiscurrent position. Though the team would see Mo make a break for him, he could slip through a crowd like this and do it easy.

Then, if he got free of the building and didn’t park in the parking lot, which he likely wouldn’t considering Smithie had cameras all over and they were visible, when he got out of camera range and to his car, they’d have no clue who he was or where to find him. And obviously, no car on camera, no make and model or license plate.

He needed a tail that night.

No, he needed put out of commission that night.

Mo couldn’t lift his arm and alert the team, the guy might see him and know he’d been made.

His body screamed to do it.

No.

It screamed at him to rush the man and incapacitate him in a way he’d never recover.

But it wasn’t Mo’s job to take down the guy. He couldn’t rush him from his position backstage.

It was his job to stay on Lottie.

So he had to hold.