darkness.
Pirates had definitely frequented this area, once upon a time.
Spanish galleons had carried gold.
Had Keith truly only been telling a tall tale?
Because human nature never changed. Piracy still existed. She wasn’t frightened by anything sad that might have occurred in the past, because the present could be frightening enough.
Someone was out there. Not a ghost.
Someone very much alive.
3
NIGHT MOVES.
He had expected them.
Someone on the island was playing games.
Innocent games? Searching for legends?
Or games with far more deadly intent?
Keith rose silently and waited just inside his tent, listening, trying to determine from which direction the noises were coming. There was a breeze, so the trees continued to rustle. But he had heard far more than the subtle movement of the palm fronds in the soft, natural wind of the night.
Whoever it was, they had slipped across the sand and into the dense foliage of the interior.
Looking for a skull?
Or was there something more, something entirely different, going on? Perhaps he shouldn’t have told his ghost story. But he had told it on purpose, watching the others closely for their reactions. In the end, though, he’d learned nothing except that everyone seemed awfully easy to spook.
But had he caused this movement in the night?
He eased slowly, silently, from the tent and started across the white sand. Just ahead, barely discernible, the rustling sound came again.
Suddenly there was a light ahead, as if whoever was there felt they had gone far enough not to be noticed.
With the appearance of the light, he knew for certain he wasn’t chasing some nocturnal animal through the trees.
He followed, quickening his pace as he left the beach behind.
FEAR KEPT BETH DEAD STILL for several seconds until her instinct to protect the girls rose to the fore.
She almost burst from the tent, to find…
Nothing. Nothing but the sea by night, the soft sound of the gentle waves washing the shore, a nearby palm bent ever so slightly in homage to the breeze.
She went still, looking around, listening.
Still nothing. She told herself she needed to get a grip. She had never been the cowardly type, and stories were just that: stories. There were real dangers in life, but she had always dealt with them. She didn’t walk through dangerous neighborhoods alone at night. She carried pepper spray, and she’d learned how to use it. She even knew how to shoot, since their friends included several cops, who’d taken her to the shooting range and taught her how to handle a gun, though she didn’t choose to keep one, since her house had an alarm system.
So why was she panicking?
Because in her heart of hearts, no matter what anyone said, she was certain she had seen a skull. And it hadn’t belonged to any long-dead pirate.
No one nearby, no sounds now. She still had to check on the girls.
First she looked down the beach. All the fires were out, and she could see the tents, silent in the night. Keith and his buddies had tied a hammock to a couple of palms, where it swung ever so slightly in the breeze. Down from them, another group of tents, and farther still, a larger tent, all of them quiet and dark.
She hurried over to the girls’ tent and looked in, her heart in her throat. But both of them were in the second of the two little rooms, and they were soundly sleeping. Their light was still on, turning their small bedroom into an oasis and everything around it into a black hole.
She exhaled in relief and started backing out—straight into something solid, large.
In her, terror rose and she screamed.
KEITH HEARD THE SCREAM and froze, his blood congealing at the terror in that shrill sound.
In a split second, he was back in action.
The scream had come from the beach.
Beth!
The light ahead went out, but he ignored it and turned, tearing through the brush, desperate to reach her.
SHE LET OUT A SECOND, terrified scream; then she swung around, ready to fight to the death on behalf of the girls.
There was no need.
“Dammit, Beth,” a voice swore fiercely in the night. “What the hell are you doing?”
She blinked, drawing back with just seconds to spare before giving her brother a black eye.
“Ben?”
“Who the hell did you expect?”
“You scared me to death,” she accused him.
“What’s going on?” Amber asked nervously, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she crawled from the bedroom.
Kim followed, and the four of them wound up in the small outer room of the tent, tripping over one another.
“Nothing,” Ben said irritably.
Just then, as Amber tried to stand, she bumped one of the poles and the tent collapsed on them.
Ben tried never to swear around his daughter, but tangled in the nylon, tasting sand, Beth could hear him breaking his rule beneath his breath.
“It’s all right. The tent just fell,” she heard herself protesting.
But when she twisted to free herself, she only became more entangled.
Then the fabric was lifted from her, and, looking up, she saw the face of Keith Henson, tense and taut as he stared down at her.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded curtly.
“Nothing,” she snapped.
“You screamed.”
By then Ben had managed to escape the mess of poles and nylon and make it to his feet. He was shaking his head disgustedly.
“Sorry, everyone.”
When she looked around, still on her back, she saw that everyone was there, flashlights shining. Had she really screamed that loudly?
Well,
