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disappeared completely from the man’s eyes, replaced with the spark of advantage gained. Simon’s heart beat faster. The odds of survival were getting worse with every passing second. The leader asked the question again and then turned to address his men. Whatever he said rallied them and they laughed, nervously at first, but with growing confidence.
    As the leader turned back, Simon did the only thing he could. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket and took aim squarely at the man’s head. The laughter died. After a brief flash of surprise, the leader narrowed his eyes in a quick study of his opponent. His gaze flicked over the pistol and Simon could almost see him calculating the odds of triumph or defeat. Six bullets. Six men.
    Simon held the pebbled grip in his hand already feeling the sweat forming in his palm. His arm was steady enough, although from this distance they could rush him before he got off more than two shots. Forcing his mind to clear as best he could, Simon met the leader’s gaze. In a silent trial of wills they stared at each other. Simon felt the other men’s eyes boring into him, but he didn’t dare look away.
    The leader held Simon’s gaze with smooth confidence, content to wait for him to falter first. But Simon held fast and the tension grew between them. Adrenaline coursed through Simon’s veins. When the man’s mouth creased into a small smile, Simon gripped the gun more tightly. His finger gently took up the slack in the trigger.
    The penultimate moment dangled on the precipice until finally the leader broke eye contact. Prepared for a veiled signal to the men, Simon held the gun steady.
    As if Simon weren’t even there, the leader turned his attention to someone behind him. Simon dared a quick glance back and saw an injured man just rousing to consciousness. The leader spoke to the man in Chinese, and while the words were foreign the intent was a promise that whatever Simon had interrupted wasn’t over. With one last look to Simon and a brief nod ceding this round, the leader ordered his men to leave.
    Simon kept his gun trained on them as they filtered into the crowd and disappeared down the street. It was only after he was sure they’d gone he let out the breath he’d been holding. One crisis down and who knew how many to go. His palm was slick with sweat and he wiped it on his trouser leg and then slipped the gun back into his pocket. The crowd continued to stream down the street seemingly oblivious to the drama. Each person kept to their own business, averting their eyes and hurrying on their way.
    It was just as well. The sooner he got off this street the sooner he could get the hell out of China. Damn watch. Like a fool, he looked down at his hand—one gun and no watch. The realization was like cold water thrown in his face.
    It has been knocked out of his hand when he’d been struck. Desperately, he scanned the street gathering his hat along the way, and found the watch nestled between two crates of squawking, pungent chickens. He picked it up and prayed it hadn’t been damaged. Aside from a fresh scratch along the case, it appeared to be intact. Of course, he couldn’t be certain until he used it again, and God only knew when the next eclipse was.
    His jaw ached and his head was still swimming.
    Forcing his hat into some semblance of its previous shape, he started down the street when he heard the injured man groan. Simon stopped, but didn’t turn. It wasn’t any of his affair. He had his own problems to deal with. As he took a step away, a niggling voice in his head stopped him. The niggling voice that sounded remarkably like Elizabeth’s had become the point to his counterpoint. Even in the confines of his own mind, he was no match for her. It seemed that despite his best efforts her damnable altruistic nature had infected him. Heaving a defeated sigh he turned back to the man.
    It was the first time he’d given him a good look and Simon realized how truly