And then I heard a creak of a heavy foot on wood. Even way down deep in the dream, I could tell that it was stealthy, because it stopped so suddenly and there was a hiss of a voice. No words, just the kind of sound one person makes when someone else has been incautious.

And I knew that I was in trouble.

I came awake all at once and launched myself out of the deck chair, diving, rolling, coming up ten feet from where I’d been just as lightning cracked and thunder boomed. Only it was really a muzzle flash and a bullet punching into the chair.

In that split second of fiery light, I saw them.

Two men, guns in hand, standing at the top of the gangway.

I had no gun, but there was a shark rifle under the topside control panel. I dived for that, tore it from the clips, and came up firing.

A hollow click. Of course it was unloaded here in port.

I was already in motion, though, using the darkness, swinging the rifle like a club even as both of them fired. Something burned a line along my right side, but I didn’t care. The rifle stock caught the first man on the temple. I’d put all my strength and all my fear into that swing, and his face disintegrated. He sagged sideways and would have fallen if not for the hand ropes.

The other man turned and fired at me, but I was ducking and surging forward in a driving tackle that took us both down the gangway. His next shot went high, and I kept ramming until we were on the dock. The angle of the gangway and the force of my impact made him stumble and fall, and I landed on him, dropping my knee into his crotch with devastating effect. He screamed, but I chunked him in the forehead with the stock of the rifle, and the scream died.

Lights were coming on in the neighboring boats. People began yelling, telling whoever was setting off fireworks to damn well stop.

There were no more shots.

I crouched over the second shooter.

“Sorry!” I yelled into the darkness, trying to make my voice sound like a drunk’s.

The unseen neighbor told me to sober up and go the hell home.

My heart was hammering as I fished for his handgun, but it was gone. Dropped in the fight. I rose up into a crouch and scouted around, sticking to the darkest shadows. No one else seemed to be moving.

I ran back up the gangway and saw a shape detach itself from the blackness. There was a glint of moonlight on a pistol barrel.

But it was in Jean’s hand.

“Joe…?”

CHAPTER 152

ABOARD THE SOPHIA YIN

FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA