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chicha,” Cara added, shaking her head. “But whatever. Live and let live.”
    Tobin watched Lefebvre trot up to Rodrigo. The angry gestures he made in their direction hardly suggested
live and let live
. More like
kick the hell out
.
    But, of course, Rodrigo didn’t want to let Cara out. And from the looks of it, Rodrigo won, because Lefebvre turned from him and stomped away.
    Apparently, even tiny jungle villages had their share of rivalries and intrigues. It might have given him a good laugh if Cara wasn’t stuck in the middle.
    The old woman finished painting his arms with a satisfied sound and shooed them over to an open-sided hut. They sat on a log by a tiny spit of a fire, eating dinner while a dozen little kids looked on like this was their favorite television sitcom — the one with the funny gringa who didn’t know how to eat with her hands. He had a leg up on Cara in that department, for sure.
    Lefebvre scowled from the shadows, sitting apart from the rest, while Rodrigo and an old man who had to be the local chief ate quietly across the way.
    Lefebvre, he wasn’t sure about, but the villagers didn’t mean Cara any harm. For one thing, he believed Rodrigo. For another, the villagers’ smiles were too genuine, their patient nods too indulging. They seemed delighted to share what they had, piling not only Cara’s plate but his too with a big meal — of what, he couldn’t quite tell. Rice and a side of meat that was tough and gamey.
    “Tastes like chicken,” he announced to no one in particular.
    “Yes, but is it?” Cara whispered.
    “Do you really want to know?” He’d seen some kids catch frogs earlier and spotted a snake carcass — a big one — hanging by a shed.
    Cara shook her head.
    “You been eating like this all week?”
    “Yeah,” she sighed and rapped her knuckles against the log. “Knock on wood, I haven’t gotten sick. Yet.” Then she jutted her chin toward the tiny old woman stirring the rice pot. “But they’ve been really nice. Feeding me, showing me how they make baskets, everything. The only thing they don’t let me do is leave.”
    “Ah, but tomorrow is another day.”
    He didn’t have to look to know she was shooting him a suspicious look. “Tobin, what are you doing here?”
    The same question he was asking himself. What was he doing here, other than getting a hard-on just from sitting next to his Italian princess? Was he going to bust her out of this joint or not? A couple more days stuck in the rain forest didn’t suit her, but it sure suited him. Sunday — the day they’d let her go — was four days away, and four days with Cara was more than he ever thought he’d get a chance at. Four days to imprint every part of her on his mind forever. Her scent. Her voice. Her laugh, if he could coax it out of her again. Four days spent filling his tanks with every impression he could stuff in his memory before she marched out of his life once and for all.
    Tempting. Very tempting.
    Except that wouldn’t be right, and he knew it. Better to stick to the plan. Get Cara out. Maybe get a little bit of closure. Then he could finish out the next month on the beach, head home and…do what?
    Cara, as usual, seemed to be reading his mind. “So, what are you doing in Panama, anyway?”
    Other than rescuing her and surfing some fairly sweet breaks? But that wasn’t what she was asking, and he knew it.
    “My granddad died last winter,” he started, then stopped when Cara put a hand on his and turned those coal-black eyes on him, wide and sincere.
    “Oh, Tobin. He was so sweet.”
    His heart tightened just a little, like it always did when he thought of the only person who’d ever really believed in him. “Yeah, he was the best.”
    And for a minute, the two of them sat there quietly.
    “He left us his boat,” Tobin started again.
    Cara’s eyes went wider, and he just about drowned looking in them.
“Serendipity?”
She said it in a reverent