hadn’t removed his dark swim mask.
He stopped abruptly. “No noise,” he whispered. “I’m going back for the other one.”
She heard a hiss, like something sliding into place. She stared around her at the darkness. Even the stars were hidden beneath racing clouds, and there was no moon to be seen. Miki had no idea where she was or how she could wiggle free of his restraints. He’d saved her life, but she didn’t trust anyone who slapped cuffs on her without a word.
She stumbled forward and a furry body shoved at her leg. A low canine growl rose from the darkness, freezing her in place.
“Good boy.” The man’s voice was almost too low for Miki to hear. “Guard.”
Miki swayed, dazed and exhausted, but determined to escape. She didn’t move, listening to footsteps crunch over the sand. Something brushed her feet again.
The dog. Big one. Lots of hair.
She was almost too tired to think straight. Who were they and why where they here—wherever here was?
She sank to one knee, too tired to move.
“You won’t get past the dog,” the man said roughly. “Don’t waste your time trying.”
Cool air brushed her face. Miki sensed more than saw movements nearby.
And then her rescuer—or her captor—vanished into the water.
Huddled in the blanket, shoeless, cold and miserable, Miki felt her thoughts blur. The world had turned into an endless nightmare. Nothing made any sense. She stared into the darkness, trying to stay awake, but her thoughts kept looping and tangling like cotton candy.
Trees hissed. A bird cried. Then Miki heard a loud splash somewhere to her left. She was certain she’d heard the man call softly to his dog. Then there were faint movements near the beach and more splashes.
She reacted by pure instinct, running in the opposite direction. She had to hide until she understood what was going on and whom she could trust. She tried to move quietly, barely able to see inches in front of her as she crossed the sand, her feet cut by stones and shells.
Must have lost my shoes during the crash. Blast it, she’d loved those bright red sneakers that matched her favorite Hawaiian shirt. Leaning against a tree to catch her breath for a moment, Miki discovered that she’d lost her favorite angora shrug, too. She had designed and knitted the fluffy little sweater with ruffles, during downtime while Vance bickered with the models and Dutch tinkered with the two Cessnas’ engines.
Vance.
Dead.
Dutch.
Lost at sea. Probably dead.
Somehow the sweater didn’t seem so important after that. She bit back a sob and kept moving, forcing her way through bushes and tall grass that shredded her feet further. She staggered through a patch of mud, hit water and then stopped to listen for sounds of pursuit.
All she heard was the hiss of the wind.
Her hands hurt where the Jerk had cuffed them in front of her. Wincing, she shoved and twisted against the heavy restraints.
No luck.
And there was no time to waste. Miki remembered seeing the glint of a stream when the creep in the wetsuit carried her up the beach, so she followed the dark curve of water rather than pushing farther inland. Five minutes of steady climbing later she was breathless, standing at a small pool surrounded by tall grass. From the sound of it, the stream fell sharply, spilling into a space somewhere to her left. In the dark she had no idea how far down the waterfall went, and she couldn’t distinguish the roar of the water from the rustle of the trees. A bird shot from the right, and Miki guessed that her captor was close.
Exhausted, she sank down on a rock. She couldn’t go back and she couldn’t go forward. One wrong step would send her out into space, wherever the waterfall went.
She shivered, fiercely cold and badly frightened. Then she closed her eyes, relying on her photographer’s memory to reconstruct everything she knew about this place.
Water glinting to her left. Rocks straight in front of her, a dark mass that was probably a cliff. Bushes and grass to her right.
As she stood in the restless night, putting together the pieces from memory, she caught a musty smell. It reminded her of the dust mixed with mold of an old basement. She had gone caving once with Kit O’Halloran, her best friend back in Santa Fe. The experience had been fascinating, and Miki was sure the smell was a current of air carried from underground. Could she find the source by smell alone?
She had to find it. She also had to avoid breaking her neck in the attempt.
She slitted her eyes and looked from side to side, using her peripheral vision, which was more effective in darkness. Working slowly from bush to bush, she came to a wall of rock where the musty smell grew more intense. She followed it until cool air gusted directly onto her face. Kneeling in the mud beside the pool, she searched carefully.
The opening, when she found it, was tiny. Whispering a prayer that she wouldn’t meet any snakes, Miki squeezed through and didn’t look back.
WHERE THE HELL HAD she gone?
Max stood on the beach, staring at the empty place on the sand where he’d left the woman from the plane. He’d called Truman away briefly when the strap on his tactical vest had broken, and before he had been able to give the dog the defective piece to hide, the woman had bolted.
Truman bumped his leg tensely. Well trained to make no noise, the dog was clearly excited. Max hefted the pilot off his shoulders, set him on the beach, then leaned down to pet the golden Lab.
Bump, turn, sit.
Bump, turn, sit.
The dog was giving Max a message to follow, indicating the direction by the way he sat. The interior of the island.
Max scratched Truman’s head and gave the two-tap signal to go. Instantly the dog shot across the sand, silent despite his size. Speed and keen intelligence were his specialties, and Max was glad to have him along as backup. Things were quickly growing messy in ways that no one had planned.
Not that Max had expected this mission to be easy.
The dog slowed, sniffing the ground. When he trotted back, he carried a soggy mass that might once have been white, but now was the color of day-old vomit.
Max studied the wad of fabric in Truman’s teeth. He remembered the white thing that had been tied around her shoulders when he’d lugged her out of the water onto the beach. When Truman bumped his leg again, eager to continue the chase, Max gave him the two-tap freeing command. Go.
Given the woman’s resourcefulness, he had no more doubts.
She had to be working with Cruz. Rescuing the other passenger he’d seen would have to wait.
MIKI HUDDLED IN THE DARKNESS, shivering. What in the heck was she doing?
Her knees were bleeding and her cheek was bruised where she’d
