Emerald Fire (4 page)

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 promise 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.”

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 sightlessly 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.

“What about the police?” she asked. “Aren’t we going to bring them in on the action?”

“There’s no action, not yet anyway.”

“So it’s a reconnaissance mission?”

“Let me guess,” he said with a flat stare, “you like spy novels, don’t you?”

“Occasionally,” she replied, just as the plane bumped hard onto the concrete runway. With a startled gasp, she grabbed his arm and her nails dug in.

“Ouch.” He glanced at her rigid grip and back to her face. “It’s okay, Chloe. We’re on the ground.”

She yanked her hand back in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.”

“You didn’t tell me you were afraid to fly.”

“I’m not.” She looked out the window again. “I’m afraid of landing.” And no matter how many times she flew, it never got any easier.

“It comes with the package, you know.”

She didn’t answer.

“Want to tell me why?” he quietly asked.

His sympathy surprised her. She expected the usual laughter or teasing, not understanding. It caught her off-guard enough that she gave him the truth. “My parents were killed when their plane crashed on landing. I was fifteen.”

He stared at her in silence, a frown settling on his handsome face, and she could’ve kicked herself for the moment of weakness. He’d done nothing but tell her to go home since they met, and she’d just handed him another excuse to leave her behind.

“It eventually fades, you know,” he finally said.