Page 43 of Fire on the Moon

She looked at his arm. Blood had seeped through the tee shirt bandage, but it wasn’t bleeding freely. That must mean the bullet hadn’t hit an artery. Making a quick decision, she decided the best thing was to get him back to the boat.

But as she drove, she couldn’t stop guilty thoughts from chasing themselves around in her mind. Zane had found her in trouble on the beach near her uncle’s house. He’d done everything he could to help her. She’d felt a rush of connection to him, and she knew he’d felt it too.

Now he’d been shot—trying to figure out why the thugs had killed her uncle and why they were after her. It was only because she’d been looking in the window that he hadn’t gotten killed by the man who came up behind him. At least she could give herself credit for that. But she hadn’t been much help to him otherwise. In fact, as she contemplated her behavior from his point of view, she saw herself as an ungrateful jerk.

The trip seemed to take forever, and she thanked God when she finally saw the sign for the marina. Guilt was still swirling in her brain as she pulled onto the access road and returned to the spot they’d left in the parking lot. With a sigh of relief, she cut the engine and sat for a moment, glad that she’d actually made it.

At this hour of the morning, everything was dark and quiet, and she saw no lights in the office or in any of the boats, although there were lights along the edges of the dock.

Zane hadn’t said a word since he’d put the phone in the cup holder. Pulling into the space hadn’t awakened him, and when she touched his forehead, his skin was wet and clammy and his body was shivering. Did he have a fever, or was this just a reaction to the trauma of getting shot?

“We’re home,” she murmured. “You have to wake up.”

His body jerked, and she saw him reaching for his gun.

Quickly, she put her hand on his arm. “It’s okay. It’s just me. We need to get you onto the boat. I don’t think I can carry you.”

“Right,” he answered, his voice barely audible.

“We have to make sure neither one of us falls off the dock and into the water.”

He managed what she assumed was an attempt at a laugh.

She put his phone in her own pocket and came around to his side of the car, where she unbuckled his seat belt.

“There’s a first aid kit in my suitcase,” he said.

He grunted as she helped him out of the car. When he wavered on unsteady legs, she put her arms around his waist and took as much of his weight as she could. As she pulled him close, she could feel him shivering. She thanked God he’d made it this far, as they climbed onto the dock. It was wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast. But as they started up the boards, she had to keep him from listing toward the water. It was the longest and slowest thirty yards she had ever walked, and when they reached the Lady Slipper, she sighed with relief. But there was still the problem of getting him from the dock to the boat.

“I can’t hold you and pull the boat in,” she whispered.

“I’ll manage.” He slumped against a piling.

Hoping he could stay upright for a little while on his own, she pulled on the rope and brought the craft closer. Still, she could picture him pitching into the water as he tried to board.

“Let’s sit down,” she said, helping him lower himself to the weathered boards. When he’d done that, she climbed onto the bench seat at the edge of the rear deck, then reached for Zane, easing him up and then across the gap between the boat and the dock.

He landed heavily on the bench and sat breathing hard, his shoulders slumped.

“We made it,” she breathed.

Lifting his head, he said, “Check to make sure there’s nobody else on board.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but she knew it was an excellent idea. Quickly she turned on some of the battery-powered lights, then inspected the craft, looking into the bedrooms, the head, and into the storage hatch under the prow before coming back for Zane.

“All clear,” she reported when she returned.

He’d already made it into the main cabin. Lurching down the companionway, he plopped onto his bunk.

After pulling off his shoes and settling him on the mattress, she rummaged through his tool case for the kit. He’d said it was for first aid. She hoped it was a bit more substantial than that.

In the dining area, she looked through the kit. There was a packet of antibiotic tablets, and she figured he’d better start taking those to ward off an infection.

She helped him sit up on the bunk and gave him a glass of bottled water and two tablets which he took before flopping down again. Then she got to the part she’d been dreading—looking at the wound.

With more water, a little soap, and one of the tee shirt bandages, she started gingerly washing off the blood, watching Zane’s face to make sure she wasn’t hurting him too much. When the area was clean, she saw that the bullet had gone into the flesh at the outside of his arm, about four inches from the shoulder. There was an entrance wound and an exit wound, so she had to conclude that the bullet wasn’t still inside him. Thank you, God.

“The bullet exited?” he murmured.

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