The boots moved on, and Max allowed himself to breathe. Without making a sound, he reached out a hand and parted the brush enough to see. Two men stood by the water. One held Baby by the collar, and the dog writhed in the air. The men laughed, and Max looked at Lola, the print of his hand still visible across her mouth. Her eyes were narrowed, promising murder. Damn, if she had an assault weapon, he would have been tempted to lay odds on her.

Max returned his gaze to the three men and watched them search the brush and tall grasses. They moved away from the blue hole and headed back down the hill. Max returned the knife to his boot, and he pulled his black T-shirt over his head. He ordered Lola to stay put and was surprised when she actually did. Keeping to the shadows, he followed the three men as they moved back toward the beach. A fourth man sat on the edge of a small inflatable that had been pulled up on the sand, two oars stuck out of the sides.

One of the men held up Lola’s dog and they passed him around as if he were some sort of prize. Baby barked and snapped while they all laughed and talked at once. Max hoped like hell Lola stayed where he’d left her and couldn’t see what was happening with her dog. He wouldn’t put it past her not to charge down the hill like the wrath of God.

Max lifted his gaze to the Dora Mae, which seemed to list even farther to port. He tried to recall if he or Lola had left anything aboard that could be tied to them. He didn’t think they had. Anchored next to the Dora Mae was a forty-foot open-hulled speedboat. Known within law enforcement and in the drug business simply as a “go-fast” boat because of its speed, its sole purpose was to retrieve water-tight drums of narcotics and outrun drug interdiction. The Coast Guard also called them powdercrafts for obvious reasons.

Typical of go-fast boats, this one had no identifying markings of any kind and was painted the same color as the waves. The craft’s three 250-horsepower engines should have made enough noise to wake the dead. Yet he hadn’t heard them. He’d been face down in Lola’s cleavage and nothing had existed beyond her. Nothing beyond her rich brown eyes looking up at him with desire. Nothing beyond the touch of her satiny skin and the taste of her mouth. She captured his attention to the exclusion of all else, and that was dangerous. Real dangerous. Max had never been so careless. It wouldn’t happen again. He couldn’t afford to let it happen again. Their lives depended on it.

Over the sound of surf and the dog’s continuous yapping, Max could hear very little, but what little he was able to gather confirmed his worse suspicions. They were members of the Cosella cartel, searching for drug drops scattered by the storm.

Sticking to the shadows, he moved a bit closer. He watched and listened, and it wasn’t hard to determine that these four men weren’t a very organized bunch. More like four guys screwing off when the big boss wasn’t around to watch them.

All four jumped into the inflatable raft and rowed to the yacht, taking Baby with them. They held him over the side as he squirmed and yelped, and Max decided right then and there that if given the chance, he would make them pay. He wasn’t a big fan of dogs, especially yippers, but any man who got off on torturing something weaker deserved to suffer as well.

Exactly if and when Max would have time or opportunity to rescue the dog, he didn’t know. He turned from the scene, and after a ten-minute climb back up the hill, he found Lola where he’d left her, with her bare feet planted by her butt, her arms around her knees.

“Where’s Baby?”

“I couldn’t get him yet,” he told her instead of telling her the bad news, that he didn’t think he could get him without someone getting killed. “I doubt they’ll hurt him. You are a different matter.”

“How do you know? How do you know they aren’t nice people? Maybe they’ll take us to Miami.”

She’d been crying. Even with her eyes all swollen, she still looked like a sensuous treat, and he had to remind himself not to let his mind wander in that direction. He held out his hand, pulled her to her feet, and got serious. “Do you remember I told you that someone might be looking for me?”

She brushed the dirt and leaves from her behind. “Drug people?”

“Yep.”

Her gaze shot to his. “Drug people have my dog?”

“For now.”

Max picked up the duffel bag and handed Lola her purse.

“Do you have a plan?”

Not yet. “I’m working on it.”

Without a word, she followed him, and within five minutes they were at the cliffs overlooking the beach. He wondered what she’d do when she found out he might not be able to save her mutt. That his life and her life were too big a price to pay. He wondered if she’d ever forgive him. He wondered why he cared one way or the other.

It wasn’t as if everything that had happened was completely his fault, and it wasn’t as if he had any deep affection for that pain-in-the-ass dog. Once he returned home, he doubted he would ever see either of them. Lola would go off and live her life, completely free of him. And he would live his life free of her. Once they were back in the States, he doubted she’d give him more than a passing thought.

He held aside a branch and let her pass in front of him. So, why should he risk his life for a dog? Why should he care what she thought of him? He shouldn’t, but he did, and the bitch of it was, he didn’t know why. If he knew, then he could do something about it. He could stop it. Kill it. Cut its head off.

The branch swung back into place, and he told himself he cared about her because he felt responsible for her. It was just too damn bad he couldn’t make himself believe it completely.

They found a shaded spot under a Caribbean pine at the edge of the cliff. Winds and storms had twisted the branches that grew away from the ocean and toward the ground. The thick needles provided perfect cover and padded the hard earth. They peered over the side of the cliff and watched the beach below, taking turns with the binoculars he’d shoved in the duffel before leaving the Dora Mae that morning. They watched the men unload booze and fishing chairs from the yacht, then the four jumped into the go-fast boat, but much to Max surprise, they didn’t leave. Instead they off-loaded a big boom box and a red cooler before rowing back to the beach. They set up chairs, cranked up the music, and prepared to party.

“Do you see Baby?”

Max searched the area until he found the dog tied to a chair with a piece of rope. “I see him.” If he were by himself, he would have chosen a position near the action and waited for an opportunity to act, like when one of them walked into the trees to take a leak. But with Lola, he didn’t dare move closer.

“Max?”

He lowered binoculars and looked at her. “What?”

“Are you a good secret agent?”

“I’m not a secret agent. You’re thinking of the CIA. The agency I work for doesn’t exist.”

“Well, whatever you are, are you good at it?”

“The government thinks so. Why?”

“Because,” she said as she took the binoculars from him and stared down at the beach. “I think we can maybe knock all those guys out, or wait until they pass out, get Baby, and steal their boat.”

He’d already thought of that, except his plan didn’t include knocking anyone out. “I’m one step ahead of you.”

“So, what’s our plan?”

“Our plan is that you stay here, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I want to do something.”

“No.”

“Max…”

“Lola, I can’t work if I have to worry about you.” He took the binoculars back. “I know what I’m doing. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“The last guy who told me to trust him put my naked pictures on the Internet.”

“Well, I’m not that guy.”

She ran her hand up his arm and patted his shoulder. Just a friendly touch, an innocent gesture, that sent pure fire to his groin, like she’d reached in his pants and touched something else. Damn.

“I know,” she said, “so what’s your plan?”

“First off,” he answered, and gave his attention to the men on the beach, “I can’t do a thing until it is completely dark. That will also give them a chance to drink a bit more.”

“What if they leave?”

“They won’t. They’ll probably pass out where they are or crawl onto the Dora Mae to sleep it off.”

“What then?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Won’t know for sure until I get down there. We have at least an hour to kill.”

The men on the beach cranked the boom box, and the longer they drank, the louder it got. Their choice of music consisted of salsa, Latino, and, of all things, Guns N‘ Roses. Just before sunset, they lined up empty bottles on the beach and sprayed them with automatic weapons fire. Baby wisely dove beneath the chair as the men shot up the sand. The palm trees and Caribbean pine were next, then the cliffs. Max and Lola hit the ground on their stomachs. Max covered her with his body as bullets strafed the limbs several feet above their heads. While Axl Rose belted out, “Welcome to the jungle,” shredded needles and bark chips fell onto Max’s back.

“Fucking idiots,” he swore.

“Max?”

“Yeah?”

She turned her head and looked at him, her mouth a breath away from his. Through the shadows of the pine, the orange and gold fingers of the setting sun touched her face and settled in the strands of her hair. She started to shake and he held her tighter. “I don’t like being shot at,” she said.

“It’s not my favorite.”

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I’ve been afraid for so long now.” Moisture welled up in her eyes and a tear slipped from the corner. Her breath hitched as she battled to hold it all in. “And I’m scared.” She lost the battle and a deep sob racked her chest. “I’m tired of being scared. I just don’t think I can take any more.”