Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

turned into its slip. “That’s him, right?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

      “That’s the boat.”

      She snorted. “You’re such a lawyer.”

      “Unless there’s now a rash of boat thieves running over the island intent on disrupting the general well-being of the citizenry, I assume Jack’s the pilot.”

      “Hell. A wordy lawyer.”

      “I’m well paid for each and every syllable.”

      “Do you ever feel guilty for making that money on the tide of pain and suffering your clients have to weather?”

      Something ugly clenched inside him. “All the time,” he said lightly.

      Part of the tension he felt must have slipped through his tone, because she glanced at him. “Cheap shot. Sorry.”

      “I’m used to it.”

      “So I’m all the more sorry.”

      “I appreciate the—”

      “Hold on. He’s moving.”

      And Jack was.

      He emerged from the cabin with a small box tucked beneath his arm. The box appeared to be made of ordinary, brown cardboard. It measured no more than half a foot wide and long. Jack was whistling as he stepped off his boat and onto the dock.

      For some reason, the upbeat tune made Carr’s blood boil. “Let’s follow him.”

      Malina planted her hand in the center of his chest. “Let’s watch.”

      After a few moments, Jack disappeared up the stairs toward the marina bar—and no doubt the parking lot beyond.

      “We should go after him.”

      “I will. I know where he lives.” Tucking her pistol back into its holster, Malina opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s look around a little first.”

      As they moved slowly along the dock, Carr studied the bobbing American Dream. Something was fishy about Jack’s boat—and it didn’t have anything to do with nets or rods. “I don’t suppose you could turn your head while I pop the cabin lock and see what old Jack had hidden beneath his mattress?”

      “Not yet.”

      Though Malina’s back was to him, Carr raised his eyebrows. “So you’re not saying no? How liberal of you, Agent—”

      “Hang on.”

      As Malina bent to one knee, Carr moved closer to her. More coffee maybe? If so, Jack really ought to find a sealed box to carry his illicit merchandise in. Didn’t the man know about plastic containers? They even had fresh seal plastic bags now. Double-zippered to ensure the contents stayed tightly enclosed.

      “Well, now,” Malina said in a low, excited tone that immediately captured his attention. “It seems your neighbor does have a side business, though I’m not sure how drugs, art or coffee enters into it.”

      Carr moved his attention to her clenched fist, which she held out in front of her. “How so?”

      “It appears Mr. Rafton went for the sparkle instead.”

      When she opened her hand, sitting on a scrap of white cloth, a large, loose diamond glittered back at him from her steady palm.