Emerald Fire

Chloe Larson is a historian obsessed with clearing the name of her grandfather, eight generations back. After his heroic exploits during the Prussian Wars his life slid sadly into oblivion and madness, taking with him the location of a queen’s priceless emerald jewels. But the discovery of a cryptic two-hundred year old journal written by a man history declared insane might offer a clue.

Finnegan Kane is a top-notch marine bounty hunter on the hunt for the Emerald Fire, a 120-foot Sunseeker yacht stolen by ruthless Caribbean pirates. It’s the kind of dirty work that keeps his antique ship restoration business afloat, but that doesn’t mean he has to put up with the fiery demands of an admittedly gorgeous historian. But when Chloe offers the one thing that practically guarantees success—the GPS coordinates of the Fire’s location—he has no choice but to forge into uncharted waters.

With danger at every turn, Chloe and Finnegan must battle against the odds to decipher a historical legacy and settle a score against a family gone mad.

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Jewel Intrigue series

Diamond Legacy

Emerald Fire

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Jewel Intrigue series

Monica McCabe

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Copyright © 2016 by Monica McCabe

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First Electronic Edition: July 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-654-0

eISBN-10: 1-60183-654-6

First Print Edition: July 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-656-4

ISBN-10: 1-60183-656-2

Printed in the United States of America

To anyone who has the courage to explore outside the lines. Here's wishing your journey to be filled with a lifetime of curiosity, imagination, and grand adventure.

Modern day piracy is a very real danger for those on the high-seas. From power boats to luxury yachts to commercial fleets, vessels are stolen, crew ransomed, and companies extorted for excessive amounts of cash. Worldwide losses are estimated at over $16 Billion annually. And it’s not just the African coasts. South China Seas, Indonesia, South and Central America, and the Caribbean are all hotbeds. Despite this harsh reality, piracy is very difficult to combat. International waters offer no safeguards. Anti-piracy measures are being enacted on a global scale, but it's complicated and costly to prosecute. Maritime companies are encouraged to take Self-Protective Measures and are beginning to hire private security personnel for their ships. While all this makes excellent material for movies and fiction novels, the threat to global commerce is substantial and far-reaching. Marine insurance rates have soared and the use of Recovery Specialists is just one method to help control sky-rocketing cost of claims. It's a lucrative and dangerous line of work, but is utilized for everything from luxury yachts, to cars, to fine art and exceptional jewels. A skilled bounty hunter is a valuable asset and worth their weight in gold.

There is never a shortage of people to thank in the creation of a novel. Many hands are part of the process and all help make the creative work the very best it can be. I'm grateful for every contribution, big or small. And a huge thank you to my friends at Music City Romance Writers. This journey wouldn't have happened without the years spent honing my craft with you all. And to Corinne DeMaagd, whose
excellent skill as an editor is only surpassed by her love of family and adventure. May the wind forever fill your sails.

Finnegan Kane adjusted his sunglasses against a brilliant Caribbean sun and scanned the picturesque harbor. Yachts, cruisers, and skiffs dotted the vivid blue water of Castries Bay. A veritable postcard of idyllic island life to a tourist, a complicated crime scene to a marine recovery specialist like Finn.

Paradise masked a deadly secret.

“It’s like I said,
mon
. Nothing to see.”

St. Lucia’s harbor clerk wore the standard island uniform of shorts, loose shirt, and sandals, but the carefree island attitude was missing. Finn didn’t care. There wasn’t room for sympathy in his budget, and with the kind of money at stake here, he’d make as many enemies as needed.

But the uncooperative clerk had a point. Piracy troubled the islands, and stolen yachts rarely left a trail. In a span of minutes, lines were cut, security systems disabled, and easy money sailed away.

Bad odds for recovery, but impossible never had stopped him before. Clues always hid in the details, and he needed a timetable. “When did the
Emerald Fire
first appear in the harbor?”

“Four days ago,” the clerk answered. “Pretty boat. Sleek and tricked out. She berthed in Trou Garnier, that upper cove past Pointe Seraphine.” He pointed across the harbor to a deep inlet.

A stiff breeze snapped a harbor flag above them and stirred the mustiness of wet wood from the city’s industrial pier. Finn breathed deep the familiar calming scent and did the math. The
Fire
arrived in St. Lucia on Tuesday, was last seen late Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon Boston Marine Insurance received word she’d gone missing. He’d jumped a plane that night and arrived at the Harbor Master’s office Friday morning. That meant thieves had roughly a day and a half head start.

Discouraging news. The Caribbean was chock full of small islands, hidden inlets, and desperately poor residents more than willing to turn a blind eye. The
Fire
could be anywhere by now.

Still, he had a trick or two yet to play. “You questioned all the captains in the harbor?”

The clerk’s eyes shifted away, giving Finn his answer. His jaw hardened in anger. Not only were local authorities uncooperative, they displayed a total lack of concern for proper procedure. Any missing ship, especially a ten-million dollar luxury yacht like the
Emerald Fire
, required thorough investigation.

“Any clues?” he persisted. “Descriptions?”

“We talked to most of them,” the guy hedged. “Nobody saw,
mon
.”

Finn snorted. “You’re lying.”

He got a drop-dead glare for an answer.

“Know what I think?” Finn couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. “You ignore protocol and allow piracy to occur unchecked. You might as well hand thieves an open invitation. Boaters out there deserve to be warned.”

This time the clerk didn’t hide his exasperation. “Know what happens if I start talking stolen vessels?” He waved his hand with a snap of his fingers. “Tourist dollars go bye-bye.”

Finn made a fist, fighting the urge to hit something. That was exactly the kind of attitude crime adored and a good portion of the problem in trying to stop it. But that wasn’t his battle. Right now he needed information. “I’ll have a look at your piracy reports now.”

Based on a resentful go-to-hell expression, his watchdog wanted to argue. But he couldn’t deny an insurance investigator access, not one who could make trouble in paradise.

“Nothing to see in those books,
mon
.”

“Maybe not, but I want to look anyway.”

Clearly annoyed, the guy pivoted on his heel and marched away from the pier.

Finn followed, unconcerned. Making people mad went with the territory. Call it an occupational hazard. Say the words ‘insurance adjuster’ and cooperation fizzled. Not that he cared. He kept it in perspective. It was a job, one he was good at and paid well.

They silently marched across the crowded cargo yard toward an unremarkable wood slat building painted a nondescript harbor gray. It squatted inside the curve of a city street, nearly invisible on the industrial edge of town.

Once past the front door, however, all that changed. It became a 1950 Panama Jack movie set, complete with bamboo palm ceiling fans, WWII military-issue metal desks, and shuttered windows open to catch island breezes. Finn half expected a khaki-clad bloke with a fedora and dangling a cigarette to ask the immortal question, “What’s up, Joe?”

Instead, his belligerent clerk rounded the counter, grabbed a thick logbook, and plopped it on the long stretch of Formica between them.

“St. Lucia waters are safe,
mon
. No pirates live here.”

Maybe not, but Finn bet they hung out nearby. Facts didn’t lie. Thousands of ships disappeared each year, marine insurance rates soared, and Caribbean waters were certainly not immune. But he wasn’t here to argue statistics. He let the comment pass, flipped open the log of missing vessels, and began to scan the most recent.

An argument began filtering in from another room. A feminine voice, smooth and cultured, clashed with a sharp male baritone. Frustration sounded on both sides. Finn ignored it and kept at the piracy reports. Until he heard two words that guaranteed his involvement.

Emerald Fire
.

He glanced up at the clerk. “What’s going on?”

The guy shrugged indifferently. “Don’t know.”

Finn bit back a retort and made a show of studying the reports again, but in reality he strained to hear more. He only caught snatches of conversation.

“Unimportant…missing boat…log reports…sent alerts.” The man’s voice, clearly exasperated.

She sounded softer, harder to hear, but definitely arguing the point. Half a minute later, they stood in the doorway of a connected office.

“Look miss, it really doesn’t matter who called in the report. It’s not our job to investigate missing persons. Talk to the police.”

“The police sent me here to you!” Anger crackled in the air around her, and Finn blatantly stared.

“There’s nothing more I can do.” The man tossed his hands up in a move worthy of the theater. “Rest assured, if something surfaces, I’ll be the first to call you.”

Finn recognized deflection when he heard it. The lying barnacle had no intention of keeping his word.

She knew it, too, since her full lips compressed into a thin line. But she had little choice in the matter. The interview was over. Straightening to a full five-foot-five, if that, she jotted something down on a piece of paper and handed it to the guy. “My phone number, in case you change your mind and decide to be helpful. Thank you for your time.”

While she stormed across the lobby, Finn watched her every step. The pearls and buttoned-up blouse screamed proper and conservative, but the fury in those magnificent light brown eyes of hers threatened to burn the house down. She sailed right past him, huffing something about astronomical incompetence.