Emerald Fire. Monica McCabe

“Boca Chica is safe and quiet. We have good business, happy people on vacation.”

      Finn smiled. “There is difficulty in balancing tourism and potential crime.”

      “It is difficult, sí.” The captain relaxed back in his chair, but his fingers formed a steeple as he gazed at them with obvious assessment.

      It was time to bow out gracefully.

      Finn stood. “We appreciate your time, Captain. We’ll be heading back to Santo Domingo this afternoon.” He shook hands with the man and ushered a mulish-looking Chloe back out to the car.

      “What was all that blathering about?” she demanded the minute they were outside the police headquarters. “Why didn’t you insist on his cooperation?”

      “Because, if I had, we’d stand no chance at all of finding the Emerald Fire.”

      “Why not?”

      “Boca Chica police are in league with the pirates.”

      “You can’t know that!”

      He opened the door to the rental for her. “I’ve been at this a long time, Chloe. I know the signs.”

      With a look that clearly spelled frustration, Chloe climbed inside. He shut the door and circled around to the driver’s seat.

      “Where to now?” she asked as he backed the Jeep out of their parking spot. “Because we aren’t leaving this town.”

      “Market Square,” he replied. “We need some supplies.”

      “Supplies for what?” she asked, her expression doubtful. “And what signs are you talking about?”

      “Take a look out there.” He thumbed toward the window. “In depressed foreign economies like this one, local authorities are well paid to look the other way. In their defense, they probably don’t have many sources of income. Turning a blind eye toward piracy is a small price to pay to keep their department afloat.”

      Her shoulders sagged in discouragement. “So if the police are in cahoots with the bad guys, our odds of getting the Fire back are slim.”

      “Not necessarily.” Finn had one more idea.

      Chloe tossed a hopeful glance his way. “Meaning?”

      A herd of goats rushed onto the road from a tree-lined field, and he braked hard, their duffle bags hitting the back floorboard with a thump. The old Jeep idled roughly as they waited for the last goat to cross.

      Finn used the time to lean close to her, brush her hair away from her ear and whisper, “You want to steal the yacht back?”

      Her eyes widened in shock. Whether from his nearness or his words he couldn’t tell, but their close proximity had a strong effect on him. Or maybe it was the memory of last night, the feel of her soft skin, the way she tasted, the surge of lust that hit him when she arched her back while in his arms. Up close in broad daylight like this, he could see pale, barely visible freckles sprinkled across her nose. Why he thought that was appealing, he didn’t know, but the urge to kiss her would’ve knocked him down if he wasn’t already sitting.

      “Steal the—are you serious?” she whispered back.

      He’d completely lost all common sense. If all it took to distract him was a few freckles, captivating eyes, and lips that begged to be tasted, then he was in deep trouble. He settled back in his seat, forcing his brain to take control again.

      “Oh, God.” Chloe closed her eyes, and when they reopened, he saw an excitement that suddenly made him nervous. “We’re going all James Bond aren’t we? I’m so on board with the idea.”

      Well, hell. He’d done it this time. The goat herder waved at them when the last of his flock cleared the road, and Finn put the Jeep in gear, beginning to roll. The plan to steal the yacht occurred to him last night, an idea likely borne of sexual frustration, and he’d only himself to blame. If he hadn’t been a total idiot out to prove a point, he wouldn’t have lain awake for hours afterward, thinking up the most insane way to carry out this job.

      “We’ll have to act fast,” she was saying. “No long-term planning, just do it.” She was already working scenarios, and it scared him. He expected reluctance, not enthusiasm.

      “You realize this is dangerous, right? The pirates will fight back, and we’ll probably get ourselves killed.” He was trying to discourage her, but he should have known better.

      “Fight fire with fire I always say,” she said with a shrug.

      He doubted she said that, but he’d play along, especially when there was no other choice. They pulled into the local shopping district, and she asked, “What’s your plan?” with too much zeal to suit his comfort level.

      “I’m sort of winging this one.”

      She frowned, rubbing at her chin in thought, and he inwardly cursed. He used to have good judgment. A level head. There was no logical reason to give a woman like Chloe an opening to cook up trouble. She’d comply without hesitation.

      “Look, you might think you’ve fallen into a spy novel here, but what we’re talking about doing is foolish and risky.”

      “I never thought otherwise,” she replied with meekness that he didn’t believe for a millisecond. “Shall we pick up a couple rocket-propelled grenade launchers while shopping?”

      She’d no doubt meant it as a joke, but the thought had crossed his mind. In fact, he intended to load up on enough ammunition to be the envy of underworld crime operatives everywhere. But he wasn’t mentioning that to her just yet.

      * * * *

      Two hours later, Chloe had to admire Finn’s single-minded steamroll through the market place. They’d thrown together a shopping bag full of black clothes, flashlights, flares, a local map, firearms, a few things of unknown purpose, and a whole new level of anxiety regarding the people of Boca Chica.

      The town was a strange mix of potential gone wrong. Nearby resorts screamed luxury, but here at the marketplace, bleak signs of poverty were everywhere. Occasional traces of a happier, color-soaked past peeked through the deteriorated streets and buildings, but today’s commerce had a hard edge as locals scratched out a living on the few brave tourists who strayed to their beaches and shops.

      Chloe wasn’t sure she liked the calculating gleam that lit the eyes of every vendor at the sight of their cold hard cash. Not one of them batted an eyelash when Finn inquired about buying things that, if not illegal, probably should be. Military surplus was sold like black market contraband, and it didn’t take long to acquire enough firepower to take out a small army. Or a pirate stronghold.

      That hard reality challenged her nerve. Her line of work at the Foundation required risk. She was used to taking chances. Reclaiming lost cultural artifacts wasn’t for the faint of heart. But raiding a pirate den and stealing back a hundred and twenty-foot yacht was a definite first.

      Her bounty hunting ticket to the Emerald Fire had a serious death wish going on. And here she was, following his lead because she wanted the Fire just as desperately as he did. Correction, he wanted the yacht—she wanted what was hidden on board.

      They’d pushed their way down a busy sidewalk and veered into a small shady park with an open bench. Once out of the harsh noonday sun, the temperature dropped from high-intensity sauna to an acceptable level of hot, and they took a seat. Finn began ripping open their purchases, strategically placing them in their backpacks while Chloe gathered the destroyed packaging. She walked it over to a nearby trashcan and tossed it, all the while glancing curiously at the people moving by on the sidewalk.

      They were a mash up of local and tourist. She wondered what drew them here. And what kept them here. About to turn back, the sight of a familiar face several store fronts away made her gasp. She knew the man that rounded a street corner and disappeared.

      “Uncle Jon!” she shouted