The Heist

protective,” Sam said. “You should see what she takes with her when she goes camping.”
    “I may be rich, showy, and irresponsible,” Eunice said, “but I’m never vulnerable.”
    Griffin laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in ages. Eunice was his kind of woman: sexy, smart, and sassy. He hadn’t met anyone like her since he’d fled the United States. And he intended to make the most of the opportunity that had fallen into his lap, right where it belonged.
    “You still must be pretty shaken up after such a terrifying experience,” he said to her.
    “To be honest, I couldn’t stop shaking until you took my hand to help me out of the boat.”
    Holy crap, Griffin thought. It kept getting better and better. He had a sure thing, and she wasn’t even ugly. She was pretty. Okay, so maybe her hair was sort of chopped off, but it was probably hard to get a good cut in Indonesia.
    “I hope you’ll let me be of even greater comfort to you,” he said. “I insist that you stay here as my guest for a few days. That will give your crew a chance to clean up your yacht and make absolutely sure there isn’t any serious damage. You will find the true Indonesia right here, on this remote paradise, along with the finest amenities, a world-class chef, and the best wine cellar in the region.”
    Eunice Huffnagle flicked a look at her yacht and then at her crew while she considered his invitation, and Griffin seized the opportunity to watch a drop of sweat roll down her chest and disappear into her cleavage. Ordinarily he prided himself on his self-control, but he’d been on the island way too long, and he was afraid to look down and check himself out for fear he was busting out of his shorts.
    Eunice turned back to Griffin. “Thank you, Mr. Dravot, I would be delighted. I’ve never spent the night on an uncharted desert isle before.”
    “We’re on all the navigational charts.”
    “Shhhh.” Eunice looped her arm around his and pressed her breast against him. “Don’t ruin the fantasy.”
    “Call me Daniel,” he said, and led her away.

Griffin loaded Kate into the golf cart and drove her down a narrow sandy trail, about fifty yards inland from the beach, to his house.
    “We have electricity from solar power,” he said. “Plus gas-powered generators in a pinch. Freshwater is collected in cisterns, and there’s a backup desalinization system. There’s also a working farm where we grow rice, fruit, and vegetables, till the land with water buffalo, and raise pigs for slaughter.”
    “But do you have HBO?” she asked.
    “We have all the comforts and conveniences of your yacht,” Griffin said. He pointed to the small mountain that was in the dead center of the island. “I’ve got satellite dishes and radio antennas on top of that mountain. And I have a satellite phone, in case I want to have a pizza delivered.”
    She gestured to the wooden effigies staring out at them from alcoves carved into the mountain. “What are those?”
    “Dead people. It’s a Torajan tribal thing. When someone dies, they carve a likeness of him out of jackwood, use pineapple fibers for his hair, and dress him in the deceased’s clothes and jewelry. The effigy hangs out at the funeral like an invited guest and then gets stowed with the coffin in this big cave, sort of a Torajan mausoleum, in the mountain. Once the coffin and body fall apart, the bones are gathered up and stuck up there on the mountain face with the effigy. It has something to do with them believing their ancestors all came to earth by climbing down some giant bamboo ladder in the cosmos. Maybe this helps them climb back up. But I’d rather not have them staring at me while I eat.”
    His large two-story house was on stilts, with big picture windows and verandas under a massive bamboo roof that reminded her of the bow of the Bugis schooners she’d seen in Benoa Harbor.
    “Then why did you build your house so most of the windows face the mountain and not the sea?”
    “I was required by the government to honor tribal customs, which demand that all homes face north, in the direction of Puang Matua, the creator of all things who built the first tongkonan, or master’s house, in heaven.”
    “You believe that stuff?” she asked.
    “No,” he said. “The only thing I believe in is money.”
    “Then we have something in common,” she said. “How many people are on your island?”
    She wanted to know how many people she’d be up against if she