“Here be dragons. I guess when you booked your honeymoon, you didn’t consider that.” Jude tried to wrap her wrists but since he was holding a gun, couldn’t. He motioned Shauna over to help.

“You’re smugglers. You steal boats. You kill people for drug money,” Carolina said.

“You have a fighting chance!” Shauna said.

Jude pushed the gun hard into her back. “Rich bitch.”

Shauna offered up an apologetic shrug, then looped nylon rope around Carolina ’s wrists.

Carolina twisted quickly and kicked Shauna’s knee out from under her. Shauna fell.

Jude, startled, momentarily lost position, then aimed at Carolina. Behind him, Tom lunged. Smoothly, he grabbed the gun out of Jude’s hand and turned it on him.

Carolina wrestled free of the nylon ropes holding her wrists. She jumped up and pulled Shauna into a headlock.

“What the hell!” shouted Jude, staring down the barrel of his own gun, held by Tom, pointed at his face.

Sirens sounded.

Tom swiveled the younger man around, then pulled Jude’s hands behind his back, locking them in cuffs.

Shauna, quicker to recover than expected, stood, smacking Carolina ’s head with a tightly balled fist. Then, while Carolina reeled, ignoring the gun pointed at Jude’s head, Shauna threw herself toward Tom.

Tom’s right arm struck her on the fly. She collapsed heavily onto the deck, panting, looking up at him, teary-eyed with pain.

Carolina jumped onto Shauna. Shauna wriggled and fought until Carolina pinned her like a wrestler to the deck. She cuffed her.

Tom and Carolina sat the two down on a bench a few feet apart from each other, where they drooped unhappily in the brilliant moonlight.

“Honeymooners?” Shauna frowned. Tom and Carolina faced the younger couple, each holding a gun, pointing steadily at their chests. “I could swear he French kissed you.”

Carolina didn’t react.

“I hope the money makes up for those ugly big, wet lips of his slobbering all over you.”

“Who are you people, anyway?” Jude asked, leaning against a cushion, legs shaking slightly, eyes narrowing. “You don’t sound local.”

“Special Ops,” Carolina said. “We’re out of St. Thomas, working along with the Royal Virgin Islands Police Force.”

“We hunt pirates,” Tom said.

Carolina picked up her fallen sarong and tied it around herself all the way up to her chest, the Caribbean’s version of New York City ’s bulletproof vest.

Aerial view: Brilliantly lit boats rock and blaze over the black sea toward the yacht at center, from all directions.