Page 49 of Fire on the Moon

Chapter Fifteen

Oh God. Oh God. Somebody last night had taken a picture of the car—even though they’d parked well down the street. And that wasn’t all the bad news. Her head snapped up when she saw movement from the corner of her eye. A man who had been in the store looked from the TV to her Chevy.

Her heart was blocking her windpipe as she climbed in the vehicle, tossed the grocery bag onto the passenger seat, and started to back out of the space. A horn loudly sounded, and she slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a collision with a jeep that was barreling along the access lane. The driver leaned out and hurled a curse at her, and she hoped he wasn’t going to pull out a gun.

As soon as the jeep passed, she headed back toward the marina, praying that nobody was following her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to speed back to the houseboat. Instead she drove at a normal pace, checking in the rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure nobody was trailing her.

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As he waited for Francesca to return, Zane kept looking at the time on the bottom right of the computer screen. Finally he sighed and forced himself to stop obsessing. Francesca still had the burner phone from last night. He could call her and find out if everything was okay.

The only thing that stopped him was knowing she’d think he didn’t trust her to make a simple run to the grocery store.

He knew he should take the opportunity to rest, but he couldn’t relax. Instead he kept his ears peeled for the sound of her returning.

Finally, he heard footsteps on the deck. Someone walking fast.

He grabbed his gun and pushed himself out of the bunk, standing on unsteady legs so he could see who was coming.

It was Francesca.

When she pelted across the main cabin and down the stairs, he was pretty sure something was wrong. Her wide-eyed look confirmed it. As her gaze zeroed in on the gun, she made a strangled sound.

He lowered the weapon. “What?”

“Someone took a cell phone video of us on the sidewalk last night. From the back. You don’t see our faces, but it shows us getting into the car. And it shows the license plate.”

“Where the hell did you see that?”

“On a TV in the appliance store.”

“Shit.” He backed into his room and sat down heavily on the bunk. “There wasn’t anything about that on the news earlier.”

“I guess they hadn’t come forward with it yet. Or maybe they didn’t turn it over to the cops. Maybe they sold it to the TV station.”

He considered. “Did anyone notice you—or the car?”

She flapped her arm in frustration. “A guy was looking at the plate. And the checker in the grocery store asked me a bunch of nosy questions.”

“You didn’t tell her where we were staying?” he demanded.

“No. I pretended we were vacationing with our kids. But how many places are there around here to stay? All they have to do is start looking for the car.”

He cursed again. “We’d better split. But we can’t take a chance on driving with those plates. I guess the only good news is that I used my alternate ID to rent the car.” He didn’t say that their fingerprints were in the vehicle.

He sat for a moment gathering his strength. Was it better to leave the Lady Slipper here as a decoy and take the dinghy on the platform off the back? He decided to leave the dinghy in place and take the larger boat, since there was no telling how far they’d have to travel and under what conditions.

“Go to the main room and keep watch. Tell me if you see anyone coming.”

Francesca gave him a long look. “You should be lying down.”

“Later.” As she started for the stairs, he called up a map of the area, checking the waterways and plotting an escape route.

Which was better, to head into the Gulf or take this river inland? And what about the fuel? How far could they get on what was in the tank? Should he take a chance and stop at the fuel pump? Or should he just head out?

Finally he decided not to delay leaving. Opening his medical kit, he reached for a small pill bottle with some emergency doses of amphetamine. He knew that taking one in his condition was risky. But if he couldn’t function well enough to get them out of here, the game was up. They’d be in jail trying to explain to the cops why he’d had to shoot Tuckerman in self-defense. And the cops would tell him a home invader couldn’t claim he had to shoot to keep from getting killed.

Clicking on the secure communications system, he sent a message to Decorah explaining briefly what had happened. Then he headed for the helm.

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