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  The engine cut off, and silence fell. Ben felt his muscles tighten as he pictured the unknown boat drifting closer and closer. He whispered another command, and caught the edge of the covering tarp with his left hand, holding the shotgun steady in his right. He didn’t want to let the newcomers get too close, but he wanted them within range of the shotgun’s lethal power. Steady, steady . . .

  “Now!” he barked, and the five of them simultaneously threw the tarps up and trained their weapons on the black bulk of the silently approaching boat. His eyes well adjusted to the dark, Ben could plainly see the dark figures poised on deck, as if ready to jump aboard the instant the hulls touched. A startled shout came from the unknown vessel as the dark figures scrambled into action.

  An instant later, a flashlight clicked on from behind and to Ben’s left, pinning the scurrying strangers in a beam of light and plainly revealing the weapons in their hands.

  Jillian! The realization flashed in his brain at the same time one of the pirates halted, brought a rifle to his shoulder, and jerkily fired in the direction of the flashlight beam.

  “Get down, damn it!” Ben roared at her as the night erupted in gunfire. The pirate craft was only twenty feet away. He pulled the trigger on the shotgun, hitting the shooter and slamming him backwards. Ben pumped another shell into the chamber and fired again, this time splintering the top edge of the hull and sending long slivers of wood flying.

  The flashlight beam still hadn’t wavered.

  Combat was an almost purely physical experience, without room for much thought or reason as instinct and learned technique kicked in. He felt the shotgun bucking in his hands, the heat of it like something alive. He felt the power of the gunpowder exploding, smelled the acrid tang of it hanging in the night air, heard the thunder of it. He also heard the screams and curses, the yells, the groans of pain. All of his senses were painfully acute, time slowing and stretching out so that seconds were like minutes, everything happening in slow motion. He saw and felt and heard everything, was aware of everything. He knew that the men on their second boat were also firing, their attack splitting the pirates’ efforts at defense. He felt the hot rush of a bullet close to his head and instinctively fired again even as he dodged to the side, so they couldn’t zero in on his muzzle flash.

  Then, even through all of the noise, he heard the deep cough as the pirates started their engine and threw it into reverse, slowly backing the vessel away from the riverbank. Ben fired the shotgun a few more times to speed them on their way. When the pirates had enough maneuvering room, they swung the boat around and headed out at full speed. The wake washed against the two moored craft, setting them to bobbing.

  Ben shouted at Pepe to check for any wounded. Then he whirled back to Jillian and grabbed that damn flashlight, but to his horror there was no hand holding it. “Jillian!” he said hoarsely.

  “Here.”

  Her voice was amazingly calm, and came all the way from the stern of the boat. He turned the flashlight around so that the beam shone full on her face, making her blink as she crawled out from behind her shelter.

  Confused, he looked down at the flashlight in his hand. If she hadn’t been holding it, who had? “Are you all right?” he finally asked.

  “Not a scratch. How about you?”

  “I’m fine.” Damn if they didn’t sound as if they were about to sit down to tea.

  Then she held out her hand. “May I have my flashlight back?”

  He didn’t release it, but instead kept it shining in her face. He was beginning to do a slow burn. “This is your flashlight?”

  “Yes, and you’re running the batteries down.”

  He clicked it off. “I told you to stay down,” he said in a very level voice. “Instead you got up and flashed a light right in their faces. Goddammit, you made a perfect target of yourself.”

  “I did not,” she shot back. “I braced the flashlight on some boxes, then reached up and turned it on. I was behind cover the entire time.”

  He thought about covering her behind with his hand and then maybe she would get some idea of just how serious he was. She didn’t seem the least bit excited, as if she got shot at by pirates every day of the week.

  “Don’t you ever—” he began, his voice low and tight, but she coolly interrupted.

  “The flashlight trick works every time as well as letting you see what you’re shooting at. I’ve used it on grave robbers before.”

  He stopped. “Grave robbers?”

  “Sure. Any new site is a target for grave robbers. Humans tend to bury a dead person’s valuables with the body.”

  He had a mental picture of her crouching in an open grave, flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other. He rubbed his face and gave up. “Shit.”

  Pepe approached with a report. Floriano had been hit in the arm, but the wound wasn’t serious. Everyone else was okay. The pirates had been firing wildly, their attack plan thrown into total confusion when they had, in effect, been attacked first. Both boats had taken some rounds, but the damage was slight. All in all, they had escaped very lightly.

  Excitement made the men jumpy and they were slow to settle down, chattering excitedly between the two boats and rehashing the events over and over. Eulogio, as Ben had hoped, had also heard the pirates approaching and had the men on the second boat ready, so they had all been in on it from the beginning. After a while, though, when it became apparent that the pirates weren’t coming back, they began to settle down. As a safety precaution, Ben set a guard, scheduling a change every hour so everyone would have a chance to sleep. The short watch time also ensured that the guard would be alert, just in case the pirates were stupid enough to double back for a second go at them.

  Once the lanterns were out and everyone quieted down, the snoring began surprisingly soon. Ben wondered if they would have been as lucky if that thunderstorm hadn’t roused them. Probably, since both he and Pepe slept like cats, awakening at the slightest unusual noise. But if the pirates had been smarter, if they had cut their engines a lot sooner and paddled in, things could have been a lot nastier. This time, chance had been on their side.

  Jillian had settled down in her previous position on the boxes, and had dropped off as easily as the others. When he thought she was sleeping soundly, Ben moved closer to her and stretched out beside her, straightening his long legs. He wasn’t actually touching her—not quite—but he was close enough to hear her breathing, and that let his taut nerves finally relax.

  The damn boxes were fairly comfortable, he thought drowsily. Or maybe he was sleepier than he’d thought. He dozed, and woke up half an hour later to listen carefully. Everything was calm, the night denizens carrying on undisturbed. Jillian was soft and warm beside him. Instinctively he turned on his side and draped his arm across her waist, cuddling her closer to him. She made an incoherent noise of protest at being disturbed, but didn’t awaken. Instead she adjusted her position against his warmth and then the deep breathing rhythm of sleep resumed.

  Jillian woke up just before dawn, only minutes before the howler monkeys would begin their daily uproar. They were such effective alarm clocks that, after the first morning, she had invariably woken before the noise started, evidently in self-defense against being startled out of her skin.

  Her first rational thought was that she was stiff and cramped from sleeping on the boxes; the second was that, regardless, she didn’t want to move. There was something so comforting about waking up in a man’s arms—

  Whoa.

  That conniving rat.

  She didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d waited until she was asleep, then slipped over next to her so as to give credence to his lie about their sleeping together. It was also a sneaky way to cop a few feels, if he was so inclined, and nothing she had seen about him yet made her believe that he wasn’t inclined. The man was a walking hormone.

  His arm was lying heavily across her rib cage, his wrist snuggled between her breasts, his hand tucked into the little pocket betwee