Emerald Fire

by Monica McCabe

  “No,” he agreed. “Probably headed for a chop shop.”

  “So we have time, right?”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound encouraging, but as chances went, she’d take slim over none any day. Sometimes that was all you needed.

  He studied the map intently, jotted down a few notes, then flipped to another website. She took a sip of lemonade and watched the Coast Guard site load. “Now what are you looking for?”

  “Maritime reports on crime activity in the area.”

  “You’ll find it listed with the Coast Guard?”

  “That and the International Maritime Organization, the Caribbean NET News, and the U.S. State Department. They all provide current data on missing vessels, petty crime, and piracy.”

  Luck might be on her side with Finnegan Kane. Boston Marine would only employ the best with ten million dollars on the line. While he continued to punch computer keys and scribble on the notepad, she watched the activity in the harbor and contemplated her next course of action.

  Despite all the precautions she’d taken, the journal, the most important piece in her research, got ripped away by a money-hungry schemer. Lisa Banks may have manipulated Uncle Jon into marrying her, but Chloe had seen through the fake affection and red-lipped smile. What she didn’t understand was Lisa’s connection to her miserable cousin Owen. Some key factor was missing that she couldn’t nail down.

  Lately, Owen had become a constant shadow. He’d even turned nice. A sure sign of trouble because Owen was more the sulky, rebellious type who used friendly as a way to manipulate. His latest effort had landed her in this mess. Her job frequently required travel, and when a sudden flight to Warsaw, Poland came up, she’d hidden the journal on the Fire. But then Uncle Jon sailed a week early, and now here she was, desperate in St. Lucia and dependent on a bounty hunter’s ability to do his job.

  God, she hoped he was every bit as good as he claimed. Her family legacy depended on it. If the Emerald Fire fell prey to pirates, then all was lost. The very thought made her ill.

  Lunch arrived and, despite her near overwhelming worry, Chloe’s stomach growled at the mouth-watering plate of blackened jackfish and Cajun fries set in front her. She’d had nothing since airport coffee and a stale donut early this morning, and the spicy aroma pulled her in. She grabbed a seasoned fry and stuffed it in her mouth.

  Finn pushed his laptop to the side but continued his scrolling while he ate. He plowed through his plate of food and sat back, looking over his notes. “I doubt Guadeloupe is their destination. It’s fairly clean as far as piracy reports go. The heavy hitters are Haiti, Jamaica, and Puerto Rico.”

  “Surely the bad guys wouldn’t travel that far north,” she replied.

  “Pirates, Chloe. There’s no other word for them.” He snagged one of her fries.

  Her enthusiasm for the remaining jackfish suddenly waned, and she sat back in her canvas chair. It was time for a hard and fast decision. In for a penny, in for a pound her uncle had always said. Besides, she really had no other choice. She had to trust Finnegan Kane, whether she wanted to or not. But she’d do it in baby steps.

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What if I said I had another chance to zero in on the Fire?”

  He frowned. “I’d say why the hell haven’t you mentioned it by now?”

  “And I’d say because you haven’t agreed to team up with me.”

  He put a hand to the back of his neck and rolled his head. He didn’t want a partner, she knew that, but she also knew he wouldn’t pass on a chance to make that astronomical bounty either. He’d already lost this battle.

  “How about you tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll tell you if it’s worth taking on a persistent pain like you.”

  “How sweet.” She pointed to his laptop. “Pull up SafeSail’s website.”

  He popped another of her fries into in his mouth and tapped on the keyboard. The home page for the security company filled the screen.

  “Go to the page marked GPS hybrid systems.”

  Once displayed on the screen, she pointed to the system her uncle had recently installed. “This is on the Fire.”

  Finn scanned the page. “State of the art GPS…yada…yada…hidden back-up that can be activated via satellite transmission despite the main system being disabled by thieves.” His eyes shot to hers.

  God love modern technology. She just got a partner.

  Chapter 3

  Finn couldn’t believe it. She’d been sitting on a gold mine all this time. Half of him wanted to strangle her for withholding something so critical, the other half wanted to kiss her soundly for handing him that ten-percent bounty.

  “How do you activate it?” he asked her.

  “A phone call. I’m on the approved list and have the passcode.”

  Bloody hell. They’d known each other an hour and a half now, plenty long enough for this kind of confession. What was she waiting for?

  He glanced at the sneak system on the webpage. Timing would be crucial. Activate too soon, and they’d tip their hand. Too late, and they’d lose the yacht all together. He deliberated about a minute before he picked up his cell phone and dialed the number.

  He handed her the phone. “Ask if the system stays on or only activated long enough to get the location. And tell them to send the coordinates to my email address.”

  She hesitated only slightly before taking the phone, but it was enough to reveal that she still didn’t trust him. Too bad. She wanted a partner, and now she had one. At least until they pinpointed the yacht.

  He jotted down the email address for her while she spoke to SafeSail, then he shot a quick email to Sam Brady, his boss at Boston Marine. He’d insisted on frequent updates during this recovery. Not totally unusual, but Finn sensed a stress factor that went beyond the standard urgency. This one was personal, but his boss wasn’t talking.

  A few minutes later, she disconnected and handed his phone back. “They’re initiating the system and it stays on. They’ve also put the Fire on the priority list and will contact us immediately if she moves. We’ll have a current location in a few minutes.”

  “Excellent.” He hailed the waitress for their tab. “We’ll need to move fast. Have you checked into a hotel?”

  “No, and my suitcase is in the Hi-C Orange Jeep.”

  He shook his head. “No suitcases. We need to travel light. We’ll get you a duffle bag and ship the rest back home.”

  She frowned at that bit of news, but if she wanted to play the game, she’d agree to his terms. “The rentals will need to be returned,” he plowed on. “We’ll take care of that separately to save time. I’ll hit the airport and book us the first flight to destination unknown.”

  “No.”

  He lifted a brow in response. “No?”

  “We aren’t separating.” Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. “You’ll have the Fire’s location and nothing to stop you from leaving without me.”

  “It’s what I should do,” he scoffed. “A hell-bent librarian is no match for ruthless yacht thieves, even if you’re crazy enough to try.”

  She started to sputter, and he raised a hand to stop whatever argument she planned. “Don’t worry. I’ve only just met you and already know you’re fool enough to follow me. There’s too much money at stake to have you foul up my chances. I’m keeping you in sight. But first we take care of business. And fast.”

  She leaned back in her chair with a glacial stare and arms crossed. “I’m a historian, not a librarian. You tend to be blunt, don’t you?” she said.

  “If the situation calls for it.”

  “So does this mean we’re a team?” she inquired.

  “For now.”

  She put out her hand. “Shake on it.”

  He eyed her outstretched hand and frowned. A Kane’s word was his bond, something his dad drilled into him since he was old enough to crawl. If he shook, he as good as agreed to carry her along. “You have to pr
omise me something first.”

  Her hand lowered to the table. “What?”

  “I’m the experienced one in this field. I know what we’re up against. To keep us both safe, I need to know that when I say jump, you’ll listen.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “It can mean the difference of life or death,” he intoned.

  “How melodramatic,” she replied. “For the record, I’m no powder puff. I’ve handled tough situations before.”

  “That’s a little hard to believe coming from someone in pearls and pink nail polish.”

  A finely arched brow lifted. “Aren’t good investigators trained to look beyond the surface?”

  “Since we’re in a hurry, how about you save us some time and tell me what exactly you’re capable of?”

  She tapped her fingers on the concrete picnic table. “Well, for starters, I can tie a slip knot, fire a gun, and I hold the trophy in my kickboxing class.”

  Helpful skills, but hardly an endorsement for tactical maneuvers. “Can you assess threat levels, evaluate counter measures, and predict targets?”

  “I do it all the time. It’s called provenance and accessioning.”

  “So if we need to storm a museum, you’ve got the lead. Retrieving a stolen yacht falls into my territory.”

  “So you say. How long have you been doing this?” Chloe asked.

  “Years, in one form or another.”

  Based on her frown, she wasn’t happy with his vague response. “If I’m supposed to trust you enough to jump when you snap your fingers,” she stated flatly, “then you need to be a little more specific with your skill set.”

  He suspected there was more to Chloe Larson than she let on. She wore the trappings of high society, but her gaze was a little too direct and her answers a little too vague. Well, two could play that game. “I’ve been around boats my entire life, I served in the Navy, and this isn’t the first time I’ve tangled with pirates.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated his credentials.

  “You’re the wild card here,” he told her. “If we join forces, I’m taking on an inexperienced partner with emotional connections to the case. That makes you a possible liability.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She waved off his concerns. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

  He was beginning to believe her…slightly. She did have a few things in her favor. Determination, for one. And his gut said that something about her innocent sophistication act didn’t add up.

  But he had no choice. Not really. He desperately needed that bounty money. NorthStar needed some very expensive equipment to survive. If finding the Emerald Fire meant taking on a liability like Chloe, he’d accept. He hated it, but he’d do what he had to in order to keep moving forward.

  She put her hand back up, and he slowly reached for it, dead certain he was about to make a mistake of colossal proportions. Yet the second he grasped her soft hand and stared into those warm topaz-colored eyes, he realized he had never stood a chance. Worse yet, she probably knew it. Bounty money aside, he’d been drawn to Chloe from the moment he spotted her. It wasn’t rational. Nothing about her was his type. She was too demanding, too reckless, and he was fairly certain she was hiding something.

  Still, she had an intriguing way about her, despite being an aggravation he didn’t need.

  He let go of her hand.

  Thankfully, the SafeSail email popped up on the screen and relieved the awkward silence that had sprung up between them.

  Finn immediately plugged the new coordinates into Google Earth and watched as the program zeroed in on the Dominican Republic. It stopped on the south side of the island, just east of the capital city of Santo Domingo. He zoomed in closer. On the other side of a small peninsula lay the town of Boca Chica. Somewhere along that shore, the Emerald Fire sat at anchor.

  He shut down the laptop and tossed money on the table for lunch. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 4

  Chloe gazed out the small charter plane window and admired the sparkling azure jewels of the West Indies. The lush tropical islands rose seductively from turquoise water like paradise found, luring travelers in with a promise of sanctuary. But beyond the sunny beaches and piña coladas, a dark shadow lurked.

  She never dreamed that pirates would threaten her effort to prove the mystery of her ancestry. That honor had always belonged to Owen. His father and hers were brothers. Her dad had married money when he tied the knot with Daisy Banks. Owen’s dad drank himself into oblivion. And for reasons she’d never understood, Owen hated her. Like it was her fault he had a lousy life.

  Even after that terrible day in the probate’s office when her parents’ will had been read, Owen took the money her dad left him and still hated her. She’d been handed a trust fund and her mother’s extensive genealogy research, then whisked off to live with her mom’s family, Jonathan and Sarah Banks. At the time she couldn’t see past the shock and pain, but her aunt and uncle became a major influence in her life. Now her Uncle Jon needed her. And Chloe needed help to find the Emerald Fire.

  She tossed a glance at the man sitting beside her. Who was Finnegan Kane, really? He came across as genuine and serious about his work with a focus she could admire, but then again, a lot of money was on the line. Was that the only thing that motivated him?

  “How does someone become a bounty hunter?” she asked.

  He looked up from the papers he studied and shrugged. “A knowledge of boats helps, along with good detective skills and a willingness to take risks.”

  “How’d you get the job?”

  One brow lifted at her question, and he gave a little sideways grin. “Is your faith in my ability really that low?”

  “What?” she said in confusion, then realized the unintentional insult. “Oh. I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered.

  He just laughed under his breath and closed the notebook he worked in. “To answer your question, I fell into the bounty business. Several years ago I had the chance to do some work for an insurance friend of mine.” He shrugged. “One job led to another, and here I am.”

  “Do you like it?”

  He leaned back in the seat and sighed. “It’s the means to an end.”

  “And by that you mean…?”

  His turned his head her direction and stared with those incredible eyes of his. Her pulse jumped slightly, and she frowned at the unwelcome effect.

  “I’ve a boat restoration company,” he answered. “But it’s old and needs restoration, too. Bounty money provides me the funds.” A steward interrupted long enough to hand them each an in-flight drink, then moved on.

  “What kind of boats do you work on?” Chloe asked. “Wood? Or Fiberglass?”

  “Wood, old sailing ships, and custom yachts of the nineteen-thirties and forties.” As he spoke, his face went from shuttered to animated in seconds flat. “There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you take a neglected vessel and turn her back into glory.”

  Passion for his work underlined each word. It was a quality she instantly recognized. She’d been accused of being obsessive a time or two. “So you bought into a fixer-upper and are working to re-establish the company?”

  He shook his head. “NorthStar is a family business that drifted into disrepair. My great grandfather was the last to actually work it.”

  Chloe choked on her sip of club soda.

  Finn handed over his napkin, and she used it to dab at watery eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip. So he mentioned NorthStar. It was purely coincidence. “Sorry,” she choked out, “an accident.” She regained her composure and glanced at him in a new light. “Where’s your boat shop located?”

  “Mystic, Connecticut. It was a major seaport back in the day, and NorthStar has been in my family since the early eighteen-hundreds.”

  She turned away and gazed sightle
ssly out the plane window. Mystic wasn’t that far from Boston and Weymouth, a two-hour drive, max.

  The man from NorthStar will be your guide.

  A chill traced her spine. The journal entry had always seemed cryptic, and she’d no idea what her ancestor had meant. The fact that it applied right now, to her finding the Emerald Fire, was just plain eerie.

  “NorthStar is a good name,” she managed to say with a calm she didn’t feel. “Did you pick it?”

  “I inherited it along with the dilapidated property.”

  She clenched her fists and scrambled for what to say next, but the pilot interrupted with a fasten-your-seat-belt announcement and informed the crew to prepare for final descent.

  She hated flying. No matter how many times she buckled herself in, and that was more often than she could count, the vibration, noise, and sheer risk of it always bothered her. She tossed a nervous glance out the window until the steward came by to collect empty drink cups.

  By then, the chance for more questions had passed because Finn began spouting off commands like a general as he stuffed the ever-present notebook into his pack. “After landing we’ll get a rental car and head straight for Boca Chica. Remember to keep a low profile. Do nothing to draw attention, got that?”

  “Quietly slip in and take care of business,” she replied. “Got it.” It was her usual method of operation anyhow. Museum acquisitions could get dicey. Discretion was always the rule.

  “Once we hit Boca Chica, we’ll call SafeSail for another GPS reading to update the exact location, then I’ll scope it out.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she replied. “And it’s we. We’ll scope it out.”

  The fact that he still referenced the singular was troublesome. To his credit, he hadn’t ditched her in St. Lucia. A good sign, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. She fully expected him to come up with an excuse to leave her behind. All in the guise of protecting her from danger, of course.