Page 46 of Fire on the Moon

“Yeah.”

He was thinking how badly he’d screwed things up. First he’d almost gotten killed at the Tuckerman house. Now he’d almost scared the shit out of Francesca.

Taking the water and the pill from her, he swallowed the medication. She was watching him, and he was afraid she was going to bring up her previous question. Was he in a cult? He’d said, “No,” but maybe there was a kind of truth to the question. He couldn’t tell her that the men in his family were under an ancient Druid curse—or had been given a gift by the Druid gods, depending on the way you looked at it.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better,” he answered automatically. Mostly he was thankful that he didn’t seem to have an infection.

“That’s good, but I’d better change your dressing.”

He waited while she got more bandages and antiseptic, then unwrapped the dressing. They both looked at the arm.

“It’s healing fast.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t add that werewolves had excellent powers of recuperation.

She swabbed him with antiseptic and replaced the bandage. When she looked up, he saw something in her eyes.

“What else is on your mind?”

She swallowed. “Yesterday you said the bad guys might assume we left town. After last night, they know we’re still here.” She swallowed. “Do you think the one I hit with that flowerpot is dead?”

He reached for her hand. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Okay. I’m trying to reassure you. The only guy we know is dead is Tuckerman—because I shot him.”

“He shot you first. And you have a recording of what happened on your phone. It shows you didn’t go there to kill him—or rob his house. You wanted information.”

He sighed. “I don’t think the recording alone buys us much. He didn’t really admit to murder or arson. If I’d had more time, maybe I could have gotten the truth out of him. We need more proof. And it doesn’t help that I took the other guy’s wallet. I should have left it and just taken his ID.”

“We were in a hurry. Maybe there’s something on the morning news programs.”

“There’s no TV on the boat, but let me fire up my computer and find out.”

He’d laid the machine on the shelf at the side of the bunk. She brought it down, and he booted up, shifting so she could sit beside him and see the screen while he found the Web site of a local station. The headline was, Murder in Quiet Neighborhood. Man and Woman Suspected.

Beside him, Francesca gasped.

Quickly he scanned the text. Apparently he and Francesca had been spotted leaving the house after gunshots were heard. A neighbor had gone over and found one man dead in bed. Another had been taken to the hospital with blunt force trauma to the head. The apparent motive was robbery. The man who left the house appeared to be wounded, although that had not been confirmed.

Zane cursed under his breath. He hated seeing such a blatant identifying characteristic.

Francesca was as jumpy as he was. “The guy I hit could die. Or he could wake up and say who we are.”

“If he wakes up, he’s not going to identify us. He’d have to explain how he knows us. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about that or his involvement in your uncle’s murder.”

“Is he one of the men who was chasing us? Or one of the men the big dog mauled on the beach?”

He tried not to wince when she mentioned the dog. Did he look like a dog, or was she just unable to comprehend that a wolf had been on the beach? Hadn’t he told her the animal was a wolf? He wasn’t sure.

“Did the guy look like anyone you saw?” he asked her.

“It was the same type. I mean build, haircut. Tough looking.”

“I’m assuming he was one or the other. It’s unlikely that Tuckerman was involved and his roommate wasn’t.”

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