“It’s a trail, which means we’re not the only ones here. There probably will be people at that beach. Looks like we’re okay, Gilligan.”

Marissa found herself grinning. “Gilligan? Since when am I Gilligan?”

“You could be Ginger.”

“My hair’s not red.” Dishwater mouse about covered it.

“Hair can be dyed.” Linda glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve already got the body.”

Just when Marissa thought the day couldn’t get any more surreal, Linda was . . . flirting? With her? She did not have a curvaceous, bombshell body. And it was an absurd thing to be thinking about, stumbling along through the jungle after officially being shipwrecked.

When they passed a primitive but clearly man-made distance marker, Marissa laughed to herself. So much for bug buffets and using eyeglasses to light a fire. Heck, there could even be a decent place to sleep and a real toilet by the end of the day. If there was such a thing as the perfect shipwreck, maybe this was it.

On the other hand, this trail could have been blazed by other castaways and they’d find a long-abandoned camp with graves and one last skeleton watching over them. She was certain she’d seen just such a tableau in some old movie. “But your life is not a movie.”

“Huh?” Linda glanced over her shoulder.

“Sorry. I have a habit of talking to myself out loud.” Marissa stepped over a tangle of roots. “Comes from working by myself a lot.”

“What do you do? Computers?”

Marissa nearly said, “No, I do women. I only work with computers,” but thought better of it. It wasn’t all that true, given how few women she’d actually dated, let alone slept with, in the last decade and a half. “Programming, yeah. How about you? Park ranger?”

Linda laughed. “No, I’m just fortunate enough to spend most of my time exploring. I like rock climbing, hiking, snorkeling, spelunking—name it and I like it.”

Marissa wanted to ask what Linda did for money but that seemed too much like she was prying. “Bungee jumping?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then the abandon ship was an adventure to you.”

“After the scary part, I guess so. Certainly, it’ll be a story to tell many times over drinks. Antonio said he’ll get copies of the photos to everybody, so be sure to give him your e-mail address. I wish I had one to give him.”

“Antonio? Oh, the guy with the camera. Okay.” Marissa decided that pictures—since nothing terribly tragic had hap-pened—would be great mementos of this experience. They’d make for an interesting holiday missive.

“Hey, Linda?”

“Mmm?”

“If I’m Gilligan, who are you?”

“I thought we agreed you were Ginger.”

“Okay, if I’m Ginger, who are you?”

It was only a short glance but the unquenchable humor was infectious. “I’m the financier with a yacht, come to take you away from all this.”

“Oh.” Think of something witty, she told herself. Think of anything. But nothing came to mind, not over the stunned babbling of her inner skeptic, the one that kept shouting, “She is not flirting with you!”