Page 20 of Fire on the Moon

Chapter Seven

Zane found a message from Frank Decorah, authorizing him to do what he already had done. Although he’d expected it, he couldn’t hold back his feeling of relief as he composed an answer, starting with an update on what had happened since their last communication. He’d initially thought the safest place for Francesca was Decorah headquarters. Now he told Frank they needed to stay in the area to get more information. But he also wanted some help from headquarters. After describing what had gone down this morning, he said,

“The uncle’s name was Angelo Lucci. The father went into the witness protection program about twenty years ago as Glen Turner. Presumably his last name was also Lucci. And Francesca thinks he was mob connected. I’ll check up on Angelo from this end and also on the Web.” He finished by switching to his phone and sending the pictures he’d snapped of the men who had come after him and Francesca. “These are the guys who tried to kill us. If you can get a line on any of them, I’d appreciate it.”

After checking his other mail, he prowled around the Internet looking for anything else that might be helpful. Apparently Angelo Lucci had kept a low profile after arriving in Naples. Property records told Zane that Lucci had moved to his current home fifteen years ago, but there was nothing else about him online until his house had burned down the night before. As far as the authorities knew, he was missing. Which meant they hadn’t found a body in the ashes of the house. But Francesca had heard the men talking about disposing of the body. What had they done with the uncle—weighted him down with rocks and left him in the water somewhere? Or had they used a bone saw to dismember him—Saudi Arabia style.

The grisly thought made him glance up at Francesca. Apparently she hadn’t read his thoughts because she was still pretending to be absorbed by whatever was on the TV.

He swivelled toward the window, noting that the sun was low in the sky. He’d managed to spend a lot of time avoiding the woman a few yards away. When he swung toward the bed where she was camping out, he found her looking at him.

“Are we going to stay in this room ignoring each other for the rest of the evening? Or can we go downstairs and have something to eat?”

He considered the request. They’d been cooped up in a confined space for hours together, and ordering room service was only going to prolong the togetherness. But he’d chosen this hotel because nobody was likely to wander in off the street, and the kind of guys who had showed up at his rental in the morning would stand out here like a dogcatcher at a fancy dress ball.

“There are a couple of restaurants downstairs. We’re probably dressed well enough for the more moderate one.”

She might have come back with some kind of snappy remark. Instead she just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

The restaurant was along a covered walkway that looked out toward the pool. Since it was early, they had no trouble getting a seat at a table for two.

“Can I have a drink?” Francesca asked.

He considered the question. “You can. I’d better not.”

“Then I’ll just have iced tea.”

When the waiter came, she asked for the tea. Zane stuck with water. For dinner she ordered a seafood risotto. He got an expensive dry-aged-beef burger and fries.

Despite his assessment that having a meal outside their room was safe, he kept scanning the dining room but didn’t see anyone who looked like a threat.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he asked, “You like Italian food?”

“My mom liked to cook it. Luckily, Italian is a fairly standard American ethnic cuisine. Nobody thought it weird that Mrs. Lisa Turner made it a specialty.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re a burger kind of guy?”

He shrugged. “It seems easiest.”

Again, the conversation lapsed. He heard her drag in a breath and let it out before saying, “In the car we reached for each other. Now you’re working to keep your distance.”

He answered with a tight nod.

“Why do I feel so drawn to you?”

The blatant question was the crux of the issue between them, and just her asking it made his skin feel hot and cold at the same time.

He should keep his mouth shut, but he heard himself saying, “A genetic trait in my family.”

“Oh come on. What’s that supposed to mean? You give off some kind of pheromones that attract Italian women?”

Now what was he going to say? That when a werewolf met his life mate, there was no escaping the relationship? Right, she’d love to hear that she’s fallen into the arms of a wolf.

He was saved from answering by the arrival of the food. When the waiter had left she said, “Well?”

Automatically, he took a bite of the burger and chewed. The meat was a lot more done than he liked, and he wanted to throw away the bread, but he chewed and swallowed before saying, “The men in my family click with a certain kind of woman?”

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