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jerked backward, pretending he was hit, then clutched his gut and pitched forward into the dirt, where he lay still as a stone.
    Damn, that was good—you still got it, Denton. So long as they bought it.
    It was hard as hell to just lie there, facing away from them into a green island jungle, waiting to see if Francisco would shoot again just to make sure—and hit him this time. His heart beat like a drum against the ground, and a bead of sweat rolled ticklishly down the side of his face—but he couldn’t reach to wipe it away.
    And then the next urgent problem struck him—Kat. He’d told her to hurry. Which was exactly what he didn’t need her to do now. Don’t rush, kitten—take your time. Put on some lipstick or something. Don’t find me like this, don’t see me and scream—and for God’s sake, don’t let them see you.
    “What the hell are you doing now?” Carlos’s voice echoed, growing closer, which meant the yacht was getting closer, too. Shit, don’t come ashore.
    “Got to make sure the son of a bitch isn’t breathing,” Francisco said. Shit, they’re coming ashore.
    “He’s dead already, for Christ’s sake. You happy now? Let’s go! There’s a boat, somebody else here.” Listen to your brother, Francisco. Go the hell away.
    Silence pervaded then, and Brock could practically hear Francisco thinking it through. He prayed the evil brother made the wrong decision and just believed Brock was dead.
    “Where could that key be?” Francisco muttered, a little lower, almost as if to himself but still loud enough for Brock to make out. “Where the hell could it be?”
    “Don’t look at me for this one, bro. You lost it. So I guess you can tell Omega it’s your fault we got nothing to give him tonight.”
    “Maybe I wouldn’t have lost it if I hadn’t been dealing with the asshole fed you let into our business!”
    Brock smiled, glad he was looking away from them and didn’t have to hold it in. So the key did unlock the artifacts. Maybe today hadn’t been so lousy, after all. He’d managed to keep the Morales boys away from the Mayan treasures—and he’d gotten to see an all-grown-up version of Katrina Spencer, something he’d wondered about more than once over the years. Just get the hell out of here before Kat shows up, he willed the brothers. Then she can get me to shore, and I can get somebody following you guys before the whole operation is blown.
    He was almost on the verge of feeling confident until Francisco said, “Well, whoever else is on that island, they ain’t getting off it anytime soon,” then fired his .45 again—one, two, three, four gun blasts, apparently at the gas tank of Kat’ s boat judging from the earth-shattering boom of the explosion that followed and the ensuing fireball whooshing upward. Shit!
    Heat scorched his skin as bits of wood, metal, and other boat debris rained down all around him, and it was all he could do to remain still and not follow the instinct to cover his head. Just breathe evenly, dude. And don’t move a muscle.
    When the air turned mostly quiet again, he heard one of the girls uttering, “Oh my God!” and Francisco laughing. Guy got a kick out of blowing things up, he guessed.
    Carlos yelled, “Jesus Christ, sometimes I think you’re crazy!”
    “Just getting the job done,” Francisco replied, then let out another peal of deep, bellowing laughter.
    “Come on, man,” Carlos urged, “let’s get the hell out of here—now.” “You in a hurry to get somewhere, little brother?”
    Carlos sounded troubled, another indicator that the younger Morales wasn’t cut out for a life of crime. “I just want to get away from all this shit—clear my head. Maybe then we can figure out where you left the key.”
    Just then, Brock heard a twig snap, spotted a flash of pink among the green leaves and palm fronds before him—getting closer fast, and he knew Kat had come running to see what the hell had just happened.
    “Stay where you are,”