Juan bent double, his hands on his knees, and coughed until he vomited. He wiped at his lips and looked across the lagoon at the lifeboat. “Sloane,” he croaked. “Are you okay?”

Her head emerged from behind the cockpit coaming. The fire’s shifting light couldn’t hide the roundness of her eyes or give hue to the pallor of her skin. “Yeah,” she said and then firmed her voice. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah,” Juan replied then turned his attention to the flaming ruins. He could no longer hear Papa Heinrick’s cries but he forced himself closer. The roof was moments from collapsing and the heat thrown off by the blaze forced Juan to shield his face with an arm as he moved closer. The smoke burned his eyes and sent him into another paroxysm of coughing. His lungs felt like they were filled with ground glass.

Cabrillo used a length of wood to rip down the burning flap of cloth that Heinrick had used for a door. He could see nothing because of the smoke, and was about to edge into the burning structure when a gust came up and parted the soot like a curtain. For a moment Juan had a clear view of the bed and he knew at that instant the sight would haunt him for the rest of his life.

What remained of Heinrick’s arms were still manacled to a bed frame, and despite the ravages of the flames on the corpse, Juan could tell the old man had been tortured before his shack had been set on fire. His gaptoothed mouth remained open in his final scream of life while the blood pooled under the bed sizzled.

The roof collapsed in an explosion of flames and sparks that licked at Cabrillo before he could turn away. None of the embers could burn through his wet clothes but the sudden surge of adrenaline galvanized him.

He sprinted back to the water’s edge and dove in, striking out for the idling lifeboat. Because it rode high in the water, he made for the vessel’s bow and used the anchor chain to heave himself up to the deck. Sloane was there to help him slide under the railing. She said nothing about the pistol shoved into the waistband of Juan’s trousers.

“Come on.” He took her hand and together they jogged down the length of the boat and jumped into the cockpit. Juan hit the switch to raise the anchor. He firewalled the throttle as soon as it lifted from the bottom, and used his palm to spin the wheel furiously.

“What are you doing?” Sloane shouted over the roar of the engine. “That was a ski boat. They’ve got a five-minute head start and can outrun us by twenty knots or more.”