Her heart was pounding, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back. Jack’s associate gave a triumphant exclamation, raised his primed gun, and pointed it directly at her. At least it was she and not Westman. He would have a chance . . .
She squeezed her eyes shut, said a quick prayer, and then the blast exploded in her head.
Her body jolted and swayed, and she waited to fall.
And waited.
She opened her eyes, then widened them. The man with the pistol lay in a heap against the entrance to the cave—what had been his head was a mass of blood and tissue.
“No sand in this one,” Westman said from behind her. She glanced at him, saw that he was lying on his injured side, the pistol in his good hand. While she watched, he slumped back down, his eyes closed.
No, Stephen. Hold on, she prayed.
Then she turned back to the dead man, swayed, and her chin scraped something sharp and pointed. She looked down and saw Jack’s sword directed at her, the tip grazing her face. There was a smile on Jack’s old, withered face. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Put that sword down.”
He laughed. “Just like yer grandfather, ye are. Ye got no pistol, no sword, and yet yer issuing orders.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been told I can be a bit headstrong.”
“So was yer Nathan ’ale. Pity I was only able to do away with Cap’n Doubleday.”
“You?” She felt as though a physical blow had slammed into her. “You killed James Doubleday?”
“And now it’s yer turn.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
Hours of playing pirate with her brothers, under her grandfather’s coaching, had prepared Josie for just this moment.
One-Eyed Jack lunged, and Josie skirted to the side at the last minute. Jack’s sword cut through air, and he stumbled forward. Josie swiveled and lunged, kicking him hard in the gut.
He bent over double, glaring at her with hate. She took a step back and tripped over Westman’s leg. Pinwheeling her arms to keep her balance, she went down anyway, falling beside Westman. She hit the sand and Westman clutched her arm.
He pressed warm metal into her hand. In the dim light, the jewels in the dagger glowed with eerie brilliance.
One-Eyed Jack reared up, his sword ready. Josie rose to her knees, took a deep breath, and flung the dagger, just like her grandfather had showed her.
Her aim was true, and Jack fell back, the dagger protruding from his good eye. His body went rigid, his back bowing, and his mouth a rictus of pain. His legs spasmed before Josie turned away.
She sobbed, grabbing at Stephen and pulling him close. The blood had spread, and his entire back felt damp to her touch. “Stephen.” His eyes were closing, his head lolling back. “Stephen, hold on.”
He opened his eyes and gave her a wary smile. “Always carry an extra weapon,” he rasped. “Learned that in India.” His eyes closed, his smile faded, and he slipped into unconsciousness. Josie lay him down, placed her head on his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. The thump was sluggish but steady.
She rose to her knees, staring down at him. “Don’t die, Westman,” she ordered him. He didn’t move, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please don’t die.”
She looked at the carnage around her: two dead men, a cave full of treasure, and a man whose lifeblood was draining away. How much more bad luck would the treasure bring?
One-Eyed Jack was lying face up, and moonlight glinted off the jewels in the dagger. James Doubleday’s dagger, the one from the bank vault. She hadn’t even known Stephen was carrying it. Had he heard Jack’s confession? Did Stephen know he had avenged his grandfather’s death?
Now she knew for certain that her own grandfather was not the murderer. Perhaps that was the real treasure, the vindication of her grandfather’s name, even if the secret would remain in this remote cove forever.
In her hand, Westman’s fingers jerked and then went still. She squeezed him tightly. He’d saved her life. He’d protected her, put her safety ahead of his own. “You’re the real treasure,” she whispered. “All this time I was searching, and you were right here.”
He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t hear, but his chest rose and fell, and Josie buried her face in her hands. If he died, it was her fault. If he died, it was her greed, her obsession that killed him.
No more. She was through with this treasure. She didn’t want it anymore—couldn’t stand to look at the shining doubloons without bile rising in her belly.
All the senseless death, all the risk, all the sacrifice. And for what?
