Page 38 of Fire on the Moon

Zane hoped he wasn’t going to come out with a woman—or a friend—which would complicate things.

An hour and a half later, the mobster emerged from the building, not as steady as he had been when he’d gone in. More good news—he was alone.

As their quarry crossed the parking lot, Zane turned toward Francesca. “We’d better make it look like we have a reason to be here—in case he remembers us. Leaning toward Francesca, he pulled her into his arms across the console. It was awkward with the barrier between them, but he cradled her in his embrace as he pressed his cheek to hers and watched Tuckerman head back to his car.

He could feel her heart pounding as he held her, and he wished to hell he’d insisted that she stay on the boat. No, that wasn’t true. If she were out of his sight, he’d be worrying about her. At least he knew she was safe.

When he heard the thug’s car start up, he moved the controller so he could see the screen. The green dot was moving slowly.

He was thinking he should ease away from Francesca, instead he kept her in his arms. Maybe they both needed the contact because they clung together for several moments. He ached to tip her face up and lower his lips to hers, but he ruled out the kiss. Later, when they had something to celebrate.

“It’s working,” Francesca breathed as she stared at the screen.

“Yes.”

Tuckerman’s car had disappeared, but the tracker was sending out signals strong and steady,

“That’s what they saw when they were following us?” she asked.

“Yes. Only they were using a phone.”

She watched the screen avidly as he turned right onto the avenue, then headed north.

Zane followed for several blocks, staying far enough back so that he couldn’t see the thug’s car, but he knew the man had turned onto a side street. When Zane reached it, he saw they were in a downscale neighborhood of small, one-story houses, most made of faded stucco in various rainbow colors. Some lawns were well-kept. Others were scraggly, and some properties were piled with trash. Although it was now after midnight, lights were on in some of the houses. Most were dark.

When Tuckerman slowed, Zane speeded up, driving past the car as though he belonged here.

The thug’s vehicle had pulled into a driveway at the side of a small yellow house that seemed to be an average-sized dwelling for the area. The yard was full of weeds.

“Now what?” Francesca whispered.

Zane kept going down the street, parking about half a block away. He sat for a few minutes, looking around the area and saw no one out for a midnight stroll.

“We’ll walk back,” he said.

They climbed out and headed for the yellow house.

“We don’t even know if he lives alone,” Francesca whispered.

“Unfortunately.”

They walked slowly past, Zane on the alert for signs that anyone was paying attention to them.

One light in their target’s house was on, and the curtains were open. Zane could see the man walking across a small living room. He stepped into a hall and turned off the living room light.

“I think he’s going to bed,” Francesca said.

“Uh huh.”

They waited for a beat before Zane said, “This is where the phones are going to come in handy.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“We’re both going to check out the back. If we can see in, you’ll stay there, and I’ll go back to the front. When you know he’s in bed, text me.”

“Where will you be?”

“Jimmying the lock on the front door.”

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