Fire on the Moon
Fire on the Moon
(Decorah Security Series, Book #19)
A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel
REBECCA YORK
Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York
CONTENTS
DECORAH SECURITY SERIES
OFF WORLD SERIES
PRAISE AND AWARDS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
EXCERPT OF RX MISSING
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONTACTS
COPYRIGHT
ALL BOOKS by Rebecca York
If you enjoy Fire on the Moon, you might also like to read other Light Street Press books by Rebecca York:
DECORAH SECURITY SERIES
Book 1. On Edge (a Decorah Security prequel novella)
Book 2. Dark Moon (a novel)
Book 3. Chained (a novella)
Book 4. Ambushed (a short story)
Book 5. Dark Powers (a novel)
Book 6. Hot and Dangerous (a short story)
Book 7. At Risk (a novel)
Book 8. Christmas Captive (a novella)
Book 9. Destination Wedding (a novella)
Book 10. Rx Missing (a novel)
Book 11. Hunting Moon (a novel)
Book 12 Terror Mansion (a novella)
Book 13. Outlaw Justice (a novella)
Book 14. Found Missing (a novel)
Book 15. Preying Game (a novel)
Book 16. Boxed In (a novel)
Book 17. Hollow Moon (a novella)
Book 18. Can She Get Home for Christmas? (a novella)
Decorah Security Collection (an anthology including Ambushed, Hot and Dangerous, Chained, and Dark Powers)
And if you like science-fiction romance, you might enjoy the following Rebecca York books:
OFF WORLD SERIES
Book 1. Hero's Welcome (an off-world series short story)
Book 2. Nightfall (an off-world series novella)
Book 3. Conquest (an off-world series short story)
Book 4. Assignment Danger (an off-world novella)
Book 5. Christmas Home (an off-world short story)
Book 6. Firelight Confession (an off-world novella)
Off-World Collection (includes Nightfall, Hero’s Welcome, and Conquest)
PRAISE AND AWARDS
New York Times and USA Today best-selling Author
Two-time Rita finalist in the prestigious RWA writing contest
Recipient of two RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Awards
Recipient of the RWA Centennial Award
Prism Award winner
Affaire de Coeur Critics Choice Award for Contemporary Novel
“Rebecca York delivers page-turning suspense.” ~Nora Roberts
“Rebecca York will thrill you with romance, kill you with danger and chill you with the supernatural.” ~Patricia Rosemoor
“Rebecca York’s writing is fast-paced, suspenseful, and loaded with tension.”
~Jayne Ann Krentz
Chapter One
Had she leaped into the middle of a family feud? Or was this her chance to heal a twenty-year-old rift between two brothers? Francesca Turner wasn’t sure, but she knew that her dying father kept saying he wished he could see his older brother, Angelo, one more time.
She ached to grant that wish. But she wasn’t foolish enough to break the rules and simply invite her uncle to visit. She wanted to see what he was like first, and so she’d done a little research and called him on the phone.
The call coming out of the blue must have startled him.
“This is little Francesca?” he asked, his voice skeptical and at the same time hopeful.
“Yes. But I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“It’s been so long.” His tone took on a note of urgency. “Where are you? Is your dad okay? Can I come and see you?”
“You know it’s complicated. Why don’t I come down there, and we’ll talk first.”
“Of course. Wonderful. I’ll send you the air fare. Just give me a few days to finish some important business.”
She’d agreed, and now here she was pulling into the driveway of his place in Naples, Florida—in what looked like a very plush neighborhood.
She hadn’t told Dad about the trip. It was a secret—until she could be sure everything was okay.
There was a fence around the property. And when she pressed the buzzer on a post beside the high gate, she could see a camera inspecting her through the side window of her rental. Then a disembodied voice asked her to state her name and date of birth.
She blinked. That was what they always asked when you were calling to make a doctor’s appointment—to double-check it was really you. The request from her uncle was like a little jolt from a stun gun, and she wondered if she’d made a serious mistake coming down here.
She looked behind her, wondering if she should just back up and return to the airport. Then she told herself she was overreacting.
When the gate swung inward, she proceeded up a curving driveway bordered by lush foliage you’d only see indoors back home in Massachusetts. Among the green leaves were low plantings of bright impatiens and begonias that had long since been killed off by frost in New England.
The house had been invisible from the street, but as she rounded a bend, her jaw dropped. The white stucco structure sparkling in the tropical sun was the size of a small apartment building, but a lot more stylish, with shady verandas, a huge second-story balcony, a four-car garage and a front door that looked like it had been stolen from a Spanish castle.
As soon as she parked her rental Hyundai in the brick-paved circular drive, the massive door opened, and a short, dark-haired man wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt stepped out. He looked so much like her father that her breath caught. Well, she corrected herself, like Dad had looked before he’d gotten sick. But the prominent nose, the deep-set eyes and the wavy dark hair were the same.
As she climbed out of the car, he hurried to the driver’s side, seeming a little nervous, and she suspected that he was wondering how to act, now that she’d arrived.
“Honey, you’re all grown up. And you’ve turned into a beauty like your momma.”
Mom had died a couple of years ago, and Francesca still missed her.
“I’m sorry you didn’t want to stay with me,” Uncle Angelo continued, then looked like he wished he hadn’t said it.
“I didn’t want to put you to any trouble,” she answered cautiously. Really, she had good reason to keep some distance between them.
“Well, I’m so glad you came. Come in. Come in. You must be worn out from your trip.”
She studied his tanned face. Now that the greetings were over, she saw that his features were drawn and his eyes darted around the garden before coming back to her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just trying to finalize a business deal.” He led her into an entrance foyer as large as Dad’s living room back home, then through to a covered veranda. The view swept down to the Gulf, where she saw a wrought iron fence blocking direct access to the beach. She might have asked him if he ever went down there, but she didn’t want to start off this reunion by bringing up his security concerns.
Searching for something to
say, she murmured, “This is a beautiful setting.”
“Yes. I was lucky to find the property.”
At one side of the seating area was an alfresco kitchen, where he opened the fridge and brought out a bright red plastic pitcher.
“Fresh-squeezed orange juice,” he said. “A perfect welcome to Florida. And some little sandwiches. Chicken salad. Tuna. Ham and cheese. Egg salad. I had my housekeeper make them before she went home for the day. What’s your pleasure?”
It was hard to focus on the question because she was having trouble taking in everything. Before he’d started getting nostalgic, her father had called Uncle Angelo a selfish bastard, and this man was all solicitude. Or maybe he was working overtime to show he’d changed since the good old days.
She put two triangular sandwiches on her plate—tuna and ham and cheese.
“Try the orange juice,” her uncle urged. “The oranges are from the trees right over there.”
Dutifully she picked up her glass and took a swallow. “It’s good.”
“How come you decided to contact me?” Angelo asked.
“Dad’s not doing too well. He’s had Parkinson’s disease for a couple of years, and it’s gotten worse.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. What about your mom?”
“She passed away.”
“So you’ll be alone in the world when your father dies.”
She nodded.
“All the more reason it’s good you phoned me. We gotta keep in touch.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet bag. Opening it, he took out what looked like an antique gold locket.
“This was your grandmother’s. Dante’s and my mom’s. From the old country.” Dante had been her dad’s name before he changed it.
She stared at the piece. It looked old and valuable. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, I’ve had it for years, but I don’t have a daughter. I’d be so happy if you’d take it.”
She fingered the scrollwork on the front. “I . . .”
“Put it on. and wear it with pride,” he urged.
She hesitated, then slipped the heavy gold chain over her head and felt the locket settle against her chest.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “It looks like it was made for you.”
Since he obviously wanted to get closer to her, maybe it was the right time to ask, “What happened between you and my father?”
He shifted in his seat, looking like he wished someone would come and rescue him.
“You know how it is when you get mad at someone and can’t let it go?”
“Actually, no.”
Before he could elaborate, a flicker of movement down by the beach caught her attention. Two large tough-looking men dressed in knit shirts and jeans were coming across the sand toward the fence.
As Angelo turned to see what had caught her attention, he made a strangled sound.
“Oh no. Not now.”
“What?”
“Come on. Quick.” He turned and took her arm.
Dragging her up, he propelled her toward the house. Inside, he headed back to the front hall and opened the double doors to the coat closet. He swept the hanging clothing aside and pressed the edge of the back wall. A door slid open, and he shoved her into a dark, closed space. “Don’t make a sound if you don’t wanna get dragged into this.”
Quickly he closed the door, and his footsteps receded.
It had all happened so fast that she hardly had time to absorb his words. But as the implications slammed into her, she started to shake.
Voices drifted toward her from the back of the house.
“Don’t try it, old man,” a threatening baritone advised.
She heard something that sounded like a fist slamming into flesh, and someone made a gagging sound. She had to assume one of the men had hit her uncle.
God, if she could only call 911 and ask for help from the police. But her phone was in her purse, and it was still on the table on the veranda.
Oh no. Her uncle had shoved her into this hidden space at the back of the closet, but the men had surely seen her pocketbook and knew she was here.
One of the men was speaking again. “You think you can go up against the boss?”
“I’m not.” Her uncle answered, his voice sounding high and thin.
“What would you call it?”
“I was going to let him in on it.”
“Sure.”
There was a pause in the threatening conversation, and she held her breath, waiting for what might come next.
Not more words, only another cry of pain.
She hardly knew her uncle, but it was torture standing here in the dark listening to him being hurt. And there was nothing she could do. If she went out there, they’d just beat her up, too. Or maybe they’d kill a witness.
Could she get out of the closet and make it to the street? She wasn’t even sure how the hidden door worked, and if she tried to open it, the noise might give her away.
“You got one more chance.” The murderous voice threatened from the back of the house.
There was a long pause. It was followed by two little popping sounds that might have been firecrackers. Under the circumstances she was pretty sure they had come from a handgun.
Chapter Two
Francesca stood paralyzed inside the hidden space at the back of the closet. One of those tough-looking men had shot her uncle. Or was that true? She hadn’t seen anything, only heard the voices and what she thought was gunfire.
The question was settled when one of the invaders spoke.
“We gotta get rid of the body.”
“And we gotta find the girl. We both saw her with him on the patio.”
“You think she’s got any information?”
The second man laughed. “She’s got information that we just offed her uncle. You put him in the trunk. I’ll start looking for her.”
“The old bastard’s heavy. I’m not gonna do it by myself.”
“Okay. Okay. You bring the car around.”
Her heart blocked her windpipe. Could she get out while they were removing her uncle’s body? She wanted to sneak out, but what if one of the guys saw her? If he did, she knew she was a dead woman for sure because they’d already killed one person. They’d wanted something from Uncle Angelo, and she didn’t even know what it was.
She heard their heavy breathing as they came into the hall.
“Wait a minute,” one of them said.
“What for?”
Above the roaring in her ears, she heard the other one answer, “The coat closet. Maybe she hid in there.”
As she stood in complete darkness, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she heard the sound of the coats being swished aside again.
When a hand pounded against the wall, her heart stopped for a moment—then started to thump so loudly that she was sure the man would hear it.
And if she fainted, he’d hear her fall to the floor.
Stiffening her legs, she forced herself to stand rigidly in place, afraid to even lean backwards.
She wasn’t sure how long she waited there, listening to him rummaging around. Each second stretched into minutes as she prayed that he wouldn’t figure out that there was a hidden compartment at the back of the closet.
Finally, she heard footsteps withdraw and dared to slowly let the breath she’d been holding trickle out of her lungs. Still she waited for long moments before daring to move. She hadn’t had a chance to examine this space. Now she took a step back and then another until she softly bumped into a horizontal surface. Maybe the space was four feet deep. And when she walked from one side to the other, she found it was perhaps six feet wide—which meant that she could lie down if she wanted. She also discovered that there was a set of shelves to her right. It held a few bottles of water and a flashlight. Was there a crack where the light might show? Afraid to find out, she held the light in her hand like a club, thinking how ineffective that would be against men with guns.
Letting herself slide down the wall, she pressed her back against the hard surface, and drew her knees up to her chin. When the bad guys didn’t find her, she could get out of here and run.
There were noises coming from other parts of the house—probably from the men searching. Sometime later, she heard them talking.
“No go?”
“She’s got to be in here somewhere.”
“I think she got away somehow.”
“Not likely. With the body gone, we’ve got time to keep searching for her.”
Because her watch lacked a lighted dial, there was no way to judge time. Was it dark out there? All she knew was that she had stepped from a sunny day in Naples, Florida, into hell.
###
With the long-legged strides of an athlete, Zane Marshall ran along the beach. As a werewolf, he would have preferred to run in his animal form, but there were too many people in the mansions that lined this exclusive stretch of sand. The wolf would have to wait for a trip to one of the area’s nature preserves or state parks where he could slip in after the gates were closed.
He’d come down to Naples, Florida, on a job. A hysterical homeowner named Chuck Cruise, who had heard about the track record of Decorah Security in the paranormal field, had called Frank Decorah with an urgent plea. Strange things were happening on his property, and he was convinced his home was under attack from a malevolent spook trying to drive him away. He was desperate for Frank to send an agent down right away. Zane had been glad to take the assignment because he’d been feeling restless in his usual routine. When he arrived, he listened to a long recitation about peculiar lights and threatening sounds coming and going in the night. He told Cruise he’d get to the bottom of it and set hidden cameras around the property. The surveillance had paid off. He’d gotten footage proving that the spook was really a vengeful neighbor who was trying to scare the spit out of the Decorah client. The perpetrator was angry about trees that screened both properties from the road. Cruise had paid his garden service to cut then down, and the neighbor had retaliated. Zane figured out what was going on but had almost gotten shot in the process. After that he’d decided he was due a little R and R in the sunshine state, and Frank Decorah had given him a week off.