I got my tight, wet jeans off, then my shorts, which I ripped in two.

Beth said, "Boxers? I took you for a jockey guy."

Ms. Penrose seemed in a playful mood for some reason. Post-trauma survivor euphoria, I guess. I tied the pieces of cloth around my feet.

Beth said, "I'd donate my panties, but they were so wet when I changed on the boat, I didn't bother to put them back on. Do you want my shirt?"

"No, thanks. This is okay." I pulled my jeans back on, then the shoulder holster against my bare skin, then the slicker, then the life vest. I was so cold now, I was starting to shiver.

We checked Beth's bullet wound, which was seeping some blood, but otherwise seemed all right.

We continued on along the dirt road. The sky was darkening again, and I knew the eye was traveling north and we'd soon be in the back end of the storm, which would be as violent as the leading edge had been. I whispered to Beth, "This is about where Tobin anchored. Careful and quiet from here on."

She nodded, and we both moved north, off the trail and through the woods back down to the edge of the bluff. And sure enough, about fifty yards off-shore was the Chris-Craft, and I could see it straining in the swells against two anchor lines that Tobin had set fore and aft. In the dim light, we could see the Whaler on the beach below, so we knew Tobin had come ashore. In fact, there was a line from the Whaler that ran up the bluff and was tied to a tree right near where we were crouched.

We remained motionless, listening and peering into the darkness. I was fairly certain Tobin had struck off for the interior of the island, and I whispered to Beth, "He's off to find the treasure."

She nodded and said, "We can't track him. So we'll wait here for him to return." She added, "Then I'll arrest him."

"Miss Goody-Two-Shoes."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, Ms. Penrose, that one does not arrest a person who has tried to kill you three times."

"You are not going to kill him in cold blood."

"Wanna bet?"

"John, I risked my life to help you on that boat. Now you owe me one." She added, "I'm still assigned to this case, I'm a cop, and we'll do it my way."

I didn't see any reason to argue what was already decided in my mind.

Beth suggested we untie the line and let the waves take the Whaler out, thereby cutting off Tobin's line of retreat. I pointed out that if Tobin approached from the beach below, he'd see that the Whaler was gone and he'd be spooked. I said to Beth, "Wait here and cover me."

I grabbed the line and lowered myself the fifteen feet down to the Whaler onto the rocky beach. In the stern, I found the plastic crate that I'd seen when the Whaler was in Tobin's boathouse. There was an assortment of odds and ends in the crate, though I noticed the air horn was gone. Fredric Tobin had probably figured out that I'd figured him out and he was ditching little pieces of the puzzle. No matter-he wasn't going to face a twelve-person jury.

Anyway, I found a pair of pliers, and I pulled out the shear pin that held the propeller to the drive shaft. I found some spare pins in the crate and pocketed them. I also found a small fish scaling and fleshing knife in the crate, which I took. I looked for a flashlight, but there wasn't one on board the small boat.

I pulled myself up the bluff using the line, my underwear-wrapped feet digging into the sandy bluff. At the top, Beth reached out and helped me up.

I said, "I took the shear pin out of the prop."

She nodded. "Good. Did you save it in case we need it later?"

"Yes. I swallowed it. How stupid do I look?"

"You don't look stupid. You do stupid things."

"That's part of my strategy." I gave her the pins, and kept the knife.

Beth, to my surprise, said, "Look, I'm sorry for some of my nasty remarks. I'm a little tired and tense."

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm cold. Can we… huddle?"

"Cuddle?"

"Huddle. You're supposed to huddle to conserve body heat."

"Right. I read that someplace. Okay…"

So, a little awkwardly, we huddled, or cuddled, with me sitting at the base of a big toppled tree trunk, and Beth sitting across my lap, her arms wrapped around me, and her face buried in my chest. It was a little warmer that way, though in truth it wasn't' sensual or anything, given the circumstances. It was just human contact, as well as teamwork and survival. We'd been through a lot together, and we were close to the end now, and we both sensed, I think, that something had changed between us since Emma's death.

Anyway, this was also very Robinson Crusoe, or Treasure Island, or whatever, and I guess I was sort of enjoying it as boys of all ages enjoy matching themselves against man and nature, I had the distinct impression, though, that Beth Penrose was not sharing my boyish enthusiasm. Women tend to be a little more practical and less likely to have fun splashing in the mud. Also, I think, the hunt and the kill don't appeal much to females. And that's what this was really all about-hunt and kill.

So, we huddled there awhile, listening to the wind and the rain, and I watched the Chris-Craft roll and pitch in the waves, straining at the anchor lines, and I kept an eye on the beach below, and we listened for footsteps in the woods.

Finally, after about ten minutes, we unhuddled and I stood and worked the stiffness out of my joints, noticing another, unexpected stiffness in the old crankshaft.

I said to Beth, "I feel warmer."

She sat at the base of the fallen tree, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She didn't reply.

I said, "I'm trying to put myself in Tobin's shoes."

"At least he has shoes."

"Right. Let's say he's making his way inland toward where the treasure is hidden. Right?"

"Why inland? Why not along the beach?"

"The treasure may have been originally found near the beach, maybe on one of these bluffs-maybe these are Captain Kidd's Ledges-but the Gordons would most likely move the loot out of the shaft or hole where they'd uncovered it, because the hole could easily collapse and they'd have to dig again. Right?"

"Probably."

"I think the Gordons hid the treasure somewhere in or around Fort Terry or maybe that maze of artillery fortifications that we saw when we were here."

"Possible."

"So, assuming Tobin knows where it is, he now has to pack it out, through the woods and back here. It may take two or three trips depending on how heavy the loot is. Right?"

"Could be."

"So, if I were him, I'd go get the loot, bring it back here, then get it down to the Whaler. I wouldn't try to get the Whaler back to the Chris-Craft in this weather, or try to transfer the treasure in those waves. Right?"

"Right."

"So, he's going to wait in the Whaler until the storm blows out, but he'd want to get moving before dawn, before the helicopter and boat patrols get out and about. Right?"

"Right again. So?"

"So, we have to try to follow his trail and jump him as he's recovering the loot. Right?"

"Right-no, not right. I don't follow that line of reasoning."

"It's complicated, but logical."

"It's actually bullshit, John. Logic says we stay here. Tobin will be back here no matter what, and we'll be waiting for him."

"You can wait for him. I'm going to track down the son of a bitch."

"No, you're not. He's better armed than you are, and I'm not giving you my piece."

We looked at each other, and I said, "I'm going to find him. I want you to stay here, and if he shows up while I'm gone-"

"Then he's probably killed you. Stay here, John. There's safety in numbers." She added, "Get rational."

I ignored this and knelt beside her. I took her hand and said, "Go down to the Whaler. That way, you can see him if he comes along the beach or if he goes down the rope. Take cover down there among the rocks. When he's so close to you that you can see him clearly in the dark, put the first round in his midsection, then move in fast and close and put a bullet in his head. Okay?"