LITMIR.BIZ

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from the main roads by these kind of natural thickets, which meant lots of places to murder at will and in private. Still, once out on the street, a gang of men marching a guy at gunpoint ought to draw someone’s attention sooner or later, unless they were planning a quick bullet in the head once they got him off the beach.

      Instead of murdering him when they should have, they walked him over the bridge and down a dark path into the preserve. Nobody said a word as the sound of the ocean subsided, muffled by thick vegetation and palms and palmettos. The night was impenetrable black, but they herded him along and seemed to know where they were going. He wondered what they were waiting for and why they hadn’t brought flashlights. Nobody would ever accuse them of being geniuses. Novak strained his eyes but couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. All he had to do was take one down, get his gun, and they’d all be dead in minutes. They were pathetic, really. He walked along inside their ranks and tried to remember how the path meandered from the times he’d been in there before. Once he had his bearings, he took a deep breath, poised to make his move.

      High-powered beams suddenly flashed on all around them, blinding Novak and his captors. Dark figures burst out from behind the lights. Shocked, Novak didn’t have time to duck down, but it didn’t matter because the assault was not about him. Whoever these guys were, they were quick and efficient and knew exactly what they were doing. Within minutes, his not-so-tough captors were on the ground, bloodied up and unresponsive. Novak was the last man standing. Then he heard a woman whispering. He started to turn toward her, but something slammed hard into the back of his skull. He went down on his hands and knees and wobbled there, trying to right the tilting ground as the flashlight beams swung about and further disoriented him. He couldn’t quite get his mind to work before the second blow hit him in the same place. After that, he was out for the count, unconscious well before his face hit the ground.

      Chapter 2

      Novak came awake slowly with a hazy awareness that he was neck deep in trouble. He didn’t open his eyes, couldn’t seem to make his eyelids work. His mind was full of fuzz and noise and wavering in and out of focus. He wasn’t able to command his muscles yet. His thoughts kept jumping around, fleeting and illogical. When he tried to move, it felt like a balloon quickly inflated inside his skull. He felt nauseous and sick. Sharp pangs stabbed him in the back of his head, but he could hear the voices. They were soft and far away. It sounded as if he were underwater. He could feel heat, close to him, and he could hear crackling noises. That had to be fire, he thought, confused, and then became vaguely alarmed.

      Fear forced Novak’s eyes open. He was lying on his stomach; his right cheek was pressed flat against the floor. He was outside, in some kind of open structure built a few feet off the ground. There were no walls, and he could see the bonfire. It blazed up like a Viking funeral pyre, shooting up orange and yellow flames, not ten yards away from him. The fire was showering sparks that separated in the heat currents and flitted around like fireflies. He stared at it dully. He had to think straight, because something terrible was going to happen now.

      Novak moved his arms and found his wrists were bound in front of him. So were his ankles. Okay, he was in serious trouble, all right. Whoever had him was not going to be buddy-buddy. He shut his eyes, took some deep breaths, and then looked around with more clarity. There were men sitting around the fire. They were indistinct, as if he peered at them through a fog bank inside his head. Now he remembered those thugs taking him into the dark preserve. Then he remembered the lights flashing on and getting hit. He tried to remember more. The low voices were coming from the men at the fire. When he sensed movement behind him, he instinctively rolled away from it and over onto his side. He tried to sit up but stopped on one elbow when he saw a woman. He was pretty sure she was the one who had been attacked on the beach. She held gauze and a brown bottle in her hands.

      “We aren’t going to hurt you. We saved you from those Skulls,” she told him, backing away a little. She looked frightened.

      Novak found his voice. “Yeah, well, somebody hurt me. Clubbed me in the head, and it wasn’t the Skulls.”

      Somehow he pushed up to sitting and faced her. Now that he could see her better, he figured she had to be Alcina Castillo. She had huge, expressive brown eyes, the luminous kind that reflected light. Right now, they mirrored the fire. She was beautiful, extraordinarily so. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her long dark hair was plaited into two braids that hung over her breasts and reached her waist. She looked really young, and she wore a man’s blue dress shirt that swallowed her slim figure. Her jeans were cut off at knee length, and she wore plain white Keds. She sat completely still and watched him.

      “I take it that you’re Alcina Castillo.”

      She nodded. “And you are Will Novak.”

      Her English was surprisingly good, with no detectible Guatemalan accent. She looked like a full-blooded Maya with high cheekbones and brown skin. “I’m Novak. I’ve been looking for you for a week. Guess you found me first.”

      “If you had not seen us tonight, he would have drowned me.” She paused there and caught his eyes with her extraordinary long-lashed ones. “If you will let me, I will tend to that cut on your head. It’s deep, and you have lost much blood.” She held up the medicine in her hands. “This is only antibiotic lotion and a bandage.”

      When he nodded, she moved around behind him and sat on her heels. He turned slightly to watch her, hoping this wasn’t when she was going to slit his throat. “What did you hit me with?”

      “I did not hit you. Jake hit you with a bat. He is sorry.”

      Novak scoffed. “Yeah? Well, he’s not as sorry as I am. I think he gave me a concussion.”

      “Then you must stay here until you feel better.”

      Then he spotted the boy. He was sitting on the edge of the raised floor with his legs dangling off the side. He looked like a smaller male version of Alcina. He met Novak’s gaze without blinking and said nothing.

      The fact that neither were offering to cut him loose did not escape Novak’s attention. That could not be a good sign for the future of his health. The kid continued to stare at him, showing zero emotion. His blank expression made an erased chalkboard look animated. His dark eyes also glowed in the firelight. His hair was braided too but wasn’t as long as Alcina’s. He was definitely Maya. He had on a man’s white T-shirt that was also too big, rolled-up jeans, and white Nike tennis shoes.

      Sweat was dripping off Novak’s brow and burning when it ran into his eyes. Gnats and mosquitoes were buzzing around his ears and the bleeding head wound. He swatted at them with bound hands. The two Maya watched him, but made no move to untie him. Alcina started dabbing the back of his head with something that stung like fire. He didn’t think they meant him further harm. He wasn’t as sure about all those guys sitting around that campfire. Large timbers had been propped up tepee-style, and the fire had roared high and was snapping and popping. Huge moths fluttered around the light, fighting the sparks. Now that his vision had cleared, he could see about twenty men. Most of them wore black T-shirts, black pants, and black combat boots. They talked together in small groups, but no one looked in his direction.

      Novak winced every time the woman touched his head. He could feel dried blood, and it was making the skin on the back of his neck tighten up. He still wore the gym shorts and Nikes he’d run in. He could feel Alcina’s soft breaths fanning his hair. She touched the deep cut again, and the thudding headache spiked to screaming levels. He edged away so she’d stop touching it.

      “Okay, that’s enough. That’s hurting more than helping.”

      She stopped and stared at him. She couldn’t be very old, early twenties at the most. Her beauty was unusual but undeniable. Firelight danced across her face and carved hollows under her high cheekbones. Her lips were full, but there was a black bruise already darkening her left cheek where she’d been struck. She retained eye contact with Novak without blinking or speaking. After a long contemplation of his face, her mouth curved with a tentative smile. Despite the frenzied fight Novak had seen her put up in the surf, she seemed fragile and in need of protection. Some women used that kind of vulnerable look to get what they wanted.

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