Page 34 of Fire on the Moon

“He’s a hit man?”

“Well, he’s part of the gang that killed your uncle and went after you.” He looked at his watch. “We have a little time. Do you want to get something to eat at a restaurant around here before we go over there?”

“Sure. That will solve the problem of what to cook. But let me change into jeans and a dark tee shirt first.”

“And a baseball cap,” he added.

“I didn’t see you buy any the other day.”

“I already had a couple with me.”

When she’d put on her surveillance clothing and they’d both donned caps, they drove out of the marina and onto the two-lane road, back toward the shopping center.

There were two fast-food restaurants—a burger place and a pizza parlor.

“Which do you want to try?” Francesca asked.

“I’m not much for pizza.”

They headed for the alternative. Francesca got a burger with the works and a bottle of iced tea. Zane got three plain patties on buns and bottled water.

“You like meat,” she remarked.

“Yes.”

“Didn’t your mother make you eat vegetables?”

“She knew it was a lost cause.”

They took their food to a picnic table under a shade tree overlooking the water.

“It’s low-key and relaxing here,” Francesca murmured as she looked around at the unassuming setting.

“Yes.” Too bad that neither one of them could entirely let down their guard.

He glanced at her before taking his order apart, eating one bun with the three meat patties on it.

She gave him a considering look. “You weren’t kidding about the meat part. Cooking for you is going to be interesting.”

The comment stopped him cold, and their gazes locked.

“That’s assuming a lot,” he said.

“I know. But don’t you think it’s true?”

“Yes.” He hoped with all his soul. He reached across the table and took her hand. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but he kept the words locked behind his lips.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, until she glanced at the buns still sitting on his plate. “A shame to just throw those away.”

“There are a lot of birds around here. They’d probably like them.”

“It’s okay to feed them bread?”

He laughed. “People do it all the time. It’s almost a cliché.”

“But the restaurant won’t like having bird poop around the picnic tables.” She tore up the buns and walked twenty yards down the river, where she scattered the bread.

He watched her lithe movements with a longing he hurried to conceal as she returned.

---