Emerald Fire. Monica McCabe

stuck with her. Years’ worth of research was on the line, and no damn pirate was going to take it from her.

      She stopped at her rental Jeep, a brilliant orange nightmare made special for tourists. “This is my car.”

      His look of pure horror had her laughing for the first time since receiving the three a.m. phone call.

      “You actually rented that thing?” he asked incredulously.

      She agreed the color was a tad gauche, but then she had no trouble finding it in a parking lot either. “It’s all they had left.”

      “Well, I’m not riding in a circus mobile.” He flicked his thumb down the row. “Mine’s down there along with my laptop. We’ll go in it.”

      He left no room to argue, not that it mattered. She’d follow him anywhere if he could find the Emerald Fire.

      They climbed into a respectable blue four-door sedan, and Finn unfolded a city map. He spent a minute studying the streets, and Chloe used the distraction to study her reluctant partner.

      He came across as no-nonsense and stuffy. Not to mention uncooperative in working together, but in her peculiar line of work, she’d handled his kind before. The most disconcerting aspect was how darkly gorgeous the man was, no doubt melting every heart from here to the moon. Midnight black hair, deeply tanned skin, and broad shoulders that amply filled the polo shirt he wore, Finnegan Kane could be a cover model for Elite Yachting magazine. How did someone with such appealing blue eyes and sexy brooding lips end up a serious-minded bounty hunter?

      A toned down version of the question hovered on the tip of her tongue, but he tossed the map on the seat between them and fired up the car. Seconds later, they were joining the traffic headed toward the center of town.

      “For the sake of speculation,” Finn said, “let’s say your aunt did it.”

      “Oh, she did it,” Chloe vowed. “I just don’t know how yet.”

      He glanced sideways at her. “You understand that’s a tall accusation. A hundred and twenty-foot-yacht doesn’t easily disappear. She’d have to be connected with the right people and have major money to spend.”

      “Well, Lisa is nothing if not devious. She probably has underworld contacts.”

      “Underworld contacts?” Skepticism laced his words.

      “Yeah, pirates, crime bosses, felons in general.” She knew what he was thinking. Her obvious dislike of her step-aunt colored her perspective. Maybe it did, just a fraction. But the growing body of evidence against Lisa was undeniable.

      “So the wife hires the job done,” he continued as he stopped at a red light. “If she’s smart, she’d order the boat taken far out into the Atlantic and sunk, leaving no chance of discovery.” The light changed, and they began to move again. “That kind of larceny comes with a high price tag. Even if she paid the fee, chances are the thugs told her it was done and sent the ten-million-dollar yacht to the black market.”

      “What happened to honor among thieves?”

      He shot her a world-weary look.

      Funny, she never dreamed that greed would be her saving grace. “Let’s hope what you say is true,” she said. “Because if the Fire is at the bottom of the sea, neither of us wins.”

      He stood to lose a big sum of money. For her, it would be a loss of historical proportions. Eight generations to be exact. She never should’ve hid the old journal on board.

      They were leaving the city and entering the hills, Castries’ version of suburbia. Downtown buildings were a mix of old and new, but on the outskirts the architecture looked reminiscent of the New Orleans French Quarter. The streets were narrow and lined by a menagerie of colorful townhouses sporting ornate wrought iron balconies, a riot of flowers, and the same flirtatious atmosphere of indulgence and romance.

      She wasn’t interested in any of it. The only thing she wanted from her reluctant, albeit gorgeous, partner was help in finding the Fire.

      And to find her Uncle Jon alive and well. His fate worried her to no end. The only solace came from the fact that her uncle was a streetwise and savvy businessman. He could outsmart the best-laid plans, always find the angle. For him to fall prey to pirates was unimaginable. He knew the sea and its dangers. He’d find a way to escape harm.

      He had to be out there, somewhere.

      They crested a ridge, and Finn turned onto another tiny street before squeezing into a parking spot in front of a quaint café on the edge of the hillside.

      Minutes later, they were seated out back on a large deck, their table next to the rail. Sunshine surrounded them, along with palm trees and pink bougainvillea. From under the shade of a deep green umbrella, Chloe glanced down the steep mountainside, then outward to a panoramic rivaling any postcard she’d ever seen.

      Castries spread out below them. A bustling capital city nestled between high volcanic mountain peaks and wrapped around a deep elongated horseshoe bay of vivid blue. In the center of the bay, a mammoth cruise ship commanded the harbor, while small office buildings and multi-floor hotels spread from the airport on the right to Morne Fortune, a hilltop colonial battleground on the left. It was all lush greenery, sparkling water, and sun-drenched tropics. The kind of place tailor-made for honeymoons and romantic getaways, not a rally point for pirates and gold-digging wives bent on murder.

      After they ordered lunch, Finn opened his laptop and began tapping the keys. She leaned over to watch. When Google Earth filled the screen, he typed in SafeSail’s GPS numbers. The globe shifted to the Caribbean and honed in near an island just north of them.

      She caught her breath on a hopeful flare of expectation. “Where is it?”

      “The southern coast of Guadeloupe. But that was hours ago. Doesn’t mean that’s her current location.”

      She stared at the map, at the countless little islands dotting the screen. “Still, it doesn’t look like the pirates are taking the Emerald Fire out to sea.”

      “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