Emerald Fire (2 page)

As soon as she cleared the front door, Finn smacked the piracy log closed and pushed it back across the counter. “I’ll be around a few more days,” he said to the clerk. “Be seeing you again.”

The guy looked less than thrilled at the news, but no matter. Right now Finn intended to brave the flames and follow the girl. She wanted information about
Emerald Fire
, which meant he wanted information from her.

Outside he slid his shades back on and scanned the cargo yard. Her high-octane stride had her more than halfway across the container field, aiming toward the ship’s landing dock. He watched her hit the edge of the concrete pier and stop to stare out at the crystal blue waters of Castries Bay.

For a minute, he debated a direct approach, but quickly decided against it. He needed to act fast if he’d any hope of finding the
Emerald Fire
, but she needed a minute to cool down. So he made his way to the parking lot where he leaned against the bumper of his rental to wait.

He’d a direct line of sight on her restless pacing and, based on her short jerky steps, white-hot anger consumed her. Still, she was pretty easy on the eyes, and he enjoyed the view, despite the fact she was clearly the type he tried to avoid. He didn’t go for culture and sophistication, wine over beer, proper and prim society girls. And this one had that look in spades. Even her steps were measured. Four steps left, stop and stare at the water, then four steps right, stop and stare. If he were a betting man, he’d pin her for one of those organized people. Everything in its place, all patterned, tucked, and perfectly pressed.

She’d never last a day in his world.

Nearby seagulls screeched, gathering on the tall pylons of a private pier as a fly-bridge fishing boat chugged up to the dock. A deckhand jumped off to rope her in place and tourists began off-loading with their catch of the day.

She noticed, too, and turned to leave, aiming his way with that supercharged stride. But her eyes were downcast, focus inward, as she rounded a tiny inlet and made for the parking lot.

In less than two minutes, she drew within earshot, and he made his move.

“You’re looking for the
Emerald Fire
?”

Miss Smooth and Proper froze, then slowly turned to stare at him, all wary and distrustful. “What if I am?”

“If you are, that makes two of us.”

Her eyes narrowed. He’d been wrong when he thought they were brown. That description didn’t do them justice. They were the color of topaz, warm, sultry, and strangely compelling. And they glared at him in defiance and suspicion.

He needed an olive branch, a big one to reach beyond that thorny barrier.

“I’m with Boston Marine Insurance,” he tried. “And we’re interested in finding the missing yacht.”

A finely arched brow lifted, but her expression didn’t soften. “Let me see your credentials.”

Finn opened his wallet to display his investigator ID and handed her a business card for good measure.

She studied both then glanced up at him. “Well, Mr. Finnegan Kane, you’ve arrived awfully fast,” she said. “The
Fire
was only reported missing yesterday afternoon.”

Her skin looked sun-kissed, like Mediterranean blood ran a generation or two back. And the woman definitely came from money. Perfect posture, velvety brown hair pinned into place, and well-rounded curves wrapped in designer digs.

“In my line of work, it pays to act fast. I hope you packed some cooler clothes,” he said as he pointed to airline tickets poking out of her shoulder bag.

“Of course I did,” she scoffed and tucked the papers deeper into her purse. “What do you want Mr. Kane?”

She was direct—he’d give her that. “How about your name for starters?”

She tapped his card against her fingers, debating, but it didn’t last long. He gave her a point for that one.

“My name is Chloe Larson,” she finally said. “Jonathan Banks is my uncle.”

Well, damn. That’s a twist he didn’t need. Emotional ties spelled interference, especially if they were strong. This had
potential problem
written all over it, and he stared at her in silent indecision, debating the most profitable path to take.

“You do know who Jonathan Banks is, right?” she said sarcastically when he hadn’t replied. “I mean, how good of an investigator are you if you don’t know who owns the boat you’re searching for?”

And that just proved his point. Trouble had already started.

“Why are you here?” His words came out curt, matching a mood that just soured.

“I’d think the answer is obvious,” she snapped. “But if you’re here to verify Lisa Banks’ insurance claim, I’ll warn you right now, she’ll be filing for his life insurance next. Probably sometime in the next sixty seconds.”

Finn lowered his head to gaze at her over his sunglasses. In his line of work, animosity always proved interesting. Dark emotions inspired crime.

“So your aunt’s after money,” he said. “Duly noted.”

“That woman is not my aunt.”

Nope. No love lost there. “Then you should be thrilled I’m here,” he said.

She used her hand to block the sun from her eyes. “Meaning?”

“I’m here to recover the
Emerald Fire
, not verify a claim.”

Her brows dipped even lower, if that was possible. “You’re a bounty hunter?”

Why did she make that sound bad? He might be offended, but decided forgiveness better fit the circumstances. “I prefer Marine Recovery Specialist. And I’m damn good at what I do.”

She continued to glower at him. Definite trouble all right, but if he played his cards right and she shared whatever information brought her here, her determination to find her uncle might pay off.

“So how’s this work?” she asked with the first hint of speculation. “You find my uncle’s boat, turn it in to authorities, and the insurance company writes you a check?”

“Roughly.”

“How much?”

Okay, that was a little personal. He wasn’t getting anything more than industry standard, but she stared at him with a frosty expression that needed to melt. So he answered her. “Ten-percent the yacht’s value.”

He watched her calculate the amount, wrapping her head around the seven-digit figure he desperately needed to take home. The words “critical importance” barely covered this job. He’d too much at stake to even contemplate not finding the yacht.

“Rather an exorbitant paycheck, don’t you think?” Chloe asked.

“Not from an insurance company’s perspective. A million dollar bounty is cheaper than a ten-million dollar claim.”

She still frowned, so he added, “I don’t get paid if I don’t deliver.”

And they wasted time standing here talking. Every minute that passed, the odds of finding a stolen ship sank faster than a lead anchor. But at least she was nodding in understanding. He’d take that as progress. “Why don’t we sit over there and talk about it?” He pointed to an empty picnic table perched at the edge of a break-wall.

She chewed her bottom lip for a second, then turned and made for the table without a word. Finn followed and took a seat opposite, his back to the water. The incoming tide splashed against the concrete bulwark behind him, and a brisk wind loosened a few strands of her hair, but she paid them no mind as she set her bag next to her on the bench seat.

“So,” she began matter-of-factly, “you find the
Fire,
and the insurance company gets out of paying the claim.”

There she went again. “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”

Her smile grew. It was a slow and wicked display that immediately set him on full alert. “I’ve no idea,” she said too sweetly. “It’s an excellent policy. We need to do all we can to find Uncle Jonathan
and
his boat.”

Her sudden change in demeanor was interesting, but so was the effect of a Caribbean sun on her hair. She had deep auburn streaks, and it took no effort at all to imagine it loose and free, curling around her shoulders. It was a seductive picture, especially if he added something low-cut and provocative rather than the neatly tailored slacks and pearl-buttoned blouse she currently wore.

She was going to be trouble.

“There’s no
we
,” he stated emphatically. “In fact, you should get on a plane and go back home.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find Uncle Jon or the
Emerald Fire.
”

Finn recognized stubborn when he saw it. He came from a long line of Irish stock well versed in the art of digging in.

“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” he said. “And don’t expect me to believe concern for your uncle had you instantly hopping a plane. What’s your stake in this?”

“You think I’m after something?” Chloe put both hands on the table in front of her and leaned slightly forward. “My uncle is missing, Mr. Kane. Do you really need more of a reason than that?”

Aye, he did. Things were never as they seemed on the surface. “Call me Finn. And I hate to break this to you, but the odds of your uncle being alive are pretty slim.”

Her eyes widened a bit at that piece of brutal honesty. “That’s harsh,” she said quietly. “Your bedside manner could use a little softening.”

A sting of remorse nailed him. Especially when another gust of wind blew past them and Chloe reached to tuck away the loose strands of hair. The move was gentle, almost vulnerable, and for some reason, highly alluring. And she was right, his words were callous. Statistics didn’t lie, though, and he shouldn’t either. False hopes never helped anyone.

“Let’s face facts,” he said. “Unless the
Emerald Fire
came well-armed and equipped to fight piracy, it usually doesn’t end well.”

“Pirates?” She laughed in disbelief. “Argh, and I left my cutlass at home. Perhaps I could borrow yours?”

“I’m serious, Chloe. Boats disappear out of these waters all the time, never to be heard of again.” He eyed her small frame and prim outfit. “No offense, but you look like a school teacher. What possible defense could you bring against men using satellite phones and rocket-propelled grenades?”

“For the record, I’m a historian, not a school teacher.”

By the saints. It was worse than he’d thought.

“And we aren’t dealing with pirates here,” she continued, “unless you call Lisa Banks a pirate, which might be a pretty apt description, come to think of it. Uncle Jon’s trophy wife loves money over anything else. I’m beginning to wonder how far she’ll go to get it.”

“You don’t like her much, do you?”

Chloe shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

“What makes you think she’s involved?”

“Several reasons.” Chloe’s fingers massaged her temples as though she had a headache. “Uncle Jon and Aunt Sarah were married over thirty years when Sarah died of cancer. Lisa weaseled her way into Uncle Jon’s life immediately afterward. Six weeks later, they married. Since then she’s spent money like crazy. Clothes, jewelry, lavish trips, you name it. For some unexplainable reason, Uncle Jon doesn’t see the gold digger beneath the pretty exterior.”

“And you do?”

“It’s rather obvious. Lisa isn’t much older than me, plus she never misses a chance to cut me down with innuendo. Just never in front of Uncle Jon. She’s sweetness itself when he’s around.”

“So she’s jealous of you. It wouldn’t be the first time a pretty young wife resented attention given to someone she considers a rival.”

“I’m his niece!”

It was his turn to shrug. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter.”

“Well that pretty young wife is seeing someone on the side.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Positive.” Her fingers began tapping on the table. “The woman is beyond crafty. She knows how to cover her tracks, and she knows how to play Uncle Jon. I’ve caught her in a few questionable situations, but she always has an excuse.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s involved in the
Fire’s
disappearance.”

“There’s more.” She turned her attention out to the bay, her expression troubled. “This whole trip was her idea. She’d found a source for rare black pearls in Trinidad and pushed my uncle to take her to get them. When the day came to go, she backed out at the last minute.”

“Your uncle left without her?” Finn said, surprised.

“Not unusual,” Chloe said and again tucked loose hair behind her ear. “Uncle Jon owns several upscale jewelry stores. He’s passionate about acquiring unique or outstanding gems and minerals. Black pearls would be irresistible. Plus she promised to fly down and join him for the sail back home.”

“So…what?” He was still skeptical. “You think she set up an ambush in St. Lucia? Hired thugs to hit her husband?”

“I spoke to the St. Lucian police this morning. They told me Lisa Banks is the one who called them to report the yacht missing. Then she wasted no time calling Boston Marine to file an insurance claim. What do you think?”

He thought it didn’t sound good. The kind of money at stake here was more than enough motive for murder. It was all too common a story.

“Well, your aunt did one thing right,” he said. “Her enthusiastic call to Boston Marine got me here early enough for a fighting chance at finding your uncle’s boat.”

A ghost of a smile traced her lips. For some reason that made him nervous.

“I might be able to up your odds.”

“Oh? You know which direction the
Fire
sailed away in?”

“Maybe.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her bag. “Team up with me, and you can have this.”

He eyed the paper in her hand with a bad sense of inevitability. “What’s that?”

She unfolded the document and dangled it in front of him. “Last night’s GPS coordinates for the
Emerald Fire
. So, do we have a deal?”

“Where’d you get that?” Finn snapped.

The brusque question meant he was interested. She probably wasn’t the only one to hit a brick wall with local authorities.

“Uncle Jon pays for maritime security services.” She handed over the paper. She was smart enough to know when she needed help, and he had a stake in the outcome. A fact that could work in her favor, if she was careful.

“SafeSail is a high level company.” He pointed to the fax header. “Advanced boat tracking, satellite security systems, hired guns. What grade does your uncle have?”