Page 14 of Fire on the Moon

As she lifted the chain over her head, he kept sweeping his gaze through the lot. When she handed him the jewelry, he turned it over and looked at the back. It was flat but with an indentation running all around the edge.

“I think that backing comes off,” he told her.

He reached into his pocket for a multipurpose knife. Selecting the screwdriver blade, he handed the pendant back to Francesca, along with the blade. Before the black car could get through the traffic jam and into the parking lot, he drove to the other end and onto the cross street, heading for the water.

Francesca tried to wedge the screwdriver head under the seam at the back of the locket. Instead, it jumped out of the channel and skidded across the surface, scratching the gold.

When she winced, he ordered, “Don’t worry about that. Just get it off.”

Teeth gritted, she went back to work and was finally able to pry off the backing. There might have been a photo of some long-dead loved one inside. Instead, she pulled out a small round disk which must have been placed there recently.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A tracker.”

She caught her breath. “Should I throw it away?”

“No. Hold on to it for a while. I’ve got a better place to ditch it. And give me back the knife.”

She returned the tool as he drove along the street that paralleled the Gulf. Since it wasn’t ideal beach weather, he knew more people would be shopping than spreading blankets on the sand, which made a state park along the Gulf an ideal location for his purposes. He turned off at the one he liked best, especially for his nighttime wolf runs along the water. He waved the yearly pass he’d bought at the guard in the gatehouse, then drove through, knowing the bad guys would have to stop and pay a parking fee before following him in.

He had been to this stretch of natural waterfront at night and during the day. There were a lot of parking areas strung out along the road that ran parallel to the Gulf, each separated by several hundred yards of native vegetation. Most guys might not have cared about what grew there, but a werewolf was always interested in the natural surroundings—both the flora and fauna. He headed for a stretch of blacktop that featured a thick screen of sea grape bushes, tall grass, sea oats and beach palms between the parking facilities and the sand. There was also a huge stack of driftwood piled up, probably part of the cleanup after a storm.

As he’d anticipated, there were few people enjoying the park, which fitted in well with his plans—to lead the thugs to the tracker so he could snap their pictures. But he couldn’t do it until he knew Francesca was safe.

He pulled into one of the parking areas where a couple of paths led through the vegetation to the beach and pointed in the direction of the water. “Go down there. Hunker down in the underbrush. I’ll be back for you as soon as I get rid of them.”

Her suddenly panicked face made the breath clog in his throat. She looked like she was afraid he was going to leave her stranded, but he didn’t have time to say more than, “Trust me. I’ll come back and call. . . honey.”

She gave him a tight nod and got out, heading for the greenery bordering the sand. If he could have kept her with him, he would have, but he needed her as far away from the action as he could manage.

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Francesca ran toward the Gulf, wondering if they had poison ivy in Florida—or something worse. She found a wide-leafed bush about five feet tall and ducked under the low-hanging branches. Twigs caught in her hair, but once she had scrunched herself into place, she didn’t reach to brush them away. As she caught a glimpse of Zane’s car heading for the parking lot exit, her stomach clenched. So far she thought he’d been straight with her, but what if he figured she was going to get him killed. What if he was using this opportunity to ditch her?

No, she told herself. He wouldn’t do that. Hoping she believed her own assurances, she considered his strategy. He could have thrown the tracker into the mulch of a flower bed at the shopping area. Instead he’d come here. He must have some plan, and she wished he’d had the time to share it with her.

The morning air was chilly, and she shivered, hoping she wasn’t making too much noise by shaking the leaves around her—and hoping a snake didn’t come slithering toward her through the tall grass.

Her thought about wildlife wasn’t too far off the mark. As she peered through her leafy cover, she saw a raccoon waddle out of the vegetation and head toward the nearby picnic area. It looked like it was scavenging for food, but she knew they could carry rabies. She wanted to scare it away, but she couldn’t exactly leap up and start shouting and waving her arms. What if she ended in the hospital having to get shots in the stomach to ward off the disease?

Find a burnt hot dog or something, she silently told the animal, and stay away from me.

It took her advice, picking up a discarded potato chip bag and reaching inside, scraping up some crumbs before dropping the bag and going in search of better pickings.

The animal’s departure left the area in silence except for the sound of the waves sliding against the sand.

She knew her life could depend on staying quiet and calm, but she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest.

Where was Zane? Was he okay, and was he really coming back for her?

###

Zane kept driving toward a hiding place he knew, a small parking area screened by short palms and a low building that must be for maintenance equipment. When he’d hidden the car, he sprinted back the way he’d come, ending up in another parking lot where he tossed the tracker into a trash can that had been stationed in the greenery several dozen yards from the blacktop on the side away from the water. Breathing hard, he had just dived into a clump of low palms when the SUV swung into view.

He holstered his gun, got out his phone, and activated the camera. Soon enough, three burly men clambered out of the black vehicle. They were the same guys who had showed up at the house this morning. One was staring at the screen on his mobile, as he led the others into the underbrush toward the trash can.

Zane snapped their pictures from several angles as they turned to inspect the refuse container.

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