The Cursed. Heather Graham

said. “According to legend, the Santa Elinora was discovered and salvaged when David Porter and his Mosquito Squadron came down in the 1820s, back when Florida was still a territory, to clean out the pirates. But Porter didn’t keep any documents because officially they were supposed to be stopping pirates, not salvaging wrecks. But lack of proof didn’t stop people from claiming that Porter found the chest and kept it in Key West until he tried to send it up to D.C. on the Wind and the Sea. Most of the people on the island at the time believed that the treasure went down with the Wind and the Sea when she sank, and to this day most people think it’s still there.”

      Jose nodded and smiled slowly. “You would know. Your home is part of the legend of the treasure, and that makes you involved. Are you a descendant of the original owners? Not many left these days who go that far back.”

      “In a roundabout way. I’m a descendant of the original owner’s first cousin.”

      “And you give ghost tours.”

      Hannah lifted her hands helplessly.

      He laughed. “Not to worry—it’s a legitimate business. And people like to be remembered. They like to have their stories told. I’d like my story to be told, one day.”

      Hannah hesitated and then said, “I know that you were working undercover. My friend Detective Beckett was here, along with a Federal agent.”

      “Dallas Samson,” Rodriguez said, nodding.

      “They said you were a good guy.”

      Jose knitted his fingers together and then released them, looking at her with a grim smile. “I’ve been with the FBI about five years. I made a point of getting this case. I’ve spent the past six months trying to get in with Los Lobos. I just made it in, but evidently I did something suspicious, or someone in the gang had seen me when I wasn’t undercover. Or someone betrayed me. I have some ideas. But this case meant more to me than just bringing down the gang.”

      “Oh?”

      “Los Lobos concentrates on ‘priceless’ treasures they can sell on the black market. But when their cash flow is down they deal in anything. Drugs. Human cargo.”

      “Human cargo? Are you talking about slavery? Today?”

      He nodded. “Trust me, it still goes on.” He shook his head. “One case—which at least had a happy ending—involved a young girl in Texas who was set up by a wealthy friend. A man in Eastern Europe offered a multimillion-dollar sum for a blue-eyed redhead under twenty-five. Los Lobos got wind of the offer and acted fast. The young woman went to a party at her friend’s mansion, where she was drugged. Luckily we already had a man watching the friend and she was rescued. As for her millionaire friend, he mysteriously killed himself in lockup while waiting to be taken in for arraignment.”

      “You mean the millionaire was part of Los Lobos?”

      “There are very rich people out there who covet things—and they know that Los Lobos can get whatever will make their collection complete.”

      “How horrible.”

      He nodded. “And we still don’t know who the leader is or the gang’s exact hierarchy. I’d hoped I would figure that out, but so far all I had discovered was that they only communicate with prepaid phones that they use once and toss. But,” he said, “I never reported the real truth of my involvement to my superiors. They won’t let you work a case when you have a personal interest in it.” He seemed to inhale deeply, as if unaware that ghostly lungs didn’t need oxygen. “My sister disappeared almost a year ago. I have reason to believe she fell into the hands of a Los Lobos general.”

      “You mean she was kidnapped?” Hannah asked.

      “Yes. And either she’s being held for the highest bidder or she’s already been murdered, or...”

      “There’s another ‘or’?” Hannah asked.

      He nodded. “I was likely killed because the leader, a man they call the Wolf, discovered that I was FBI. And it’s possible my sister...might have joined them—and that’s why I’m dead.”

      * * *

      Dallas and Liam met Mark, Yerby and the Atkinsons at a little coffee and ice cream shop on Duval. All four looked as if they’d had a long night. Judy and Pete Atkinson were in their late twenties, possibly early thirties. Pete was already balding, but he was slim and fit—even if he was looking haggard right now. Judy was tiny, maybe a full five feet in height, and a little round. Her eyes were a red-rimmed bright blue, making Dallas think of the American flag. Yerby Catalano was pretty, about twenty-two, with dark eyes and long dark hair, while Mark Riordan was probably a year or two older, tall and broad and muscled, as if he played sports. All four were more than willing to talk, they just didn’t seem sure what to say.

      They sat huddled over triple lattes, as if that could drive away the memory of the previous night.

      “Shelly and Stuart are already packing up to head home, you know,” Yerby told them. She shook her head. “Shelly was so freaked out.”

      “I wanted to kill her this morning,” Pete said. He winced. “Bad choice of words. But...we thought that she and Stuart were just freaking out over something imaginary.”

      “Yeah, but I’ve never seen her so upset,” Judy offered. “And Stuart was just as freaked out.”

      Yerby laughed. “We were all thrown—you should have seen us stumbling around like idiots.”

      “Maybe you were stumbling,” Mark said.

      “Hey, you were no better,” Yerby said.

      “None of us was any better,” Judy said apologetically. “We were just...well, for Pete and me, this was our big weekend out. My folks have the kids. We have a four-year-old girl and a six-year-old boy, and we’re both teaching and getting our doctorates. We came down to go a little wild.”

      “Hannah was great, though—you know, Miss O’Brien, the owner,” Mark said. “She calmed them down, and who the hell else is going to give you your money back and send you to a nice hotel in the middle of the night just because you got scared?”

      Yerby lifted her sunglasses to stare at him. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush on her.”

      Dallas could understand that. There was something unique about Hannah. She could snap back with precision, but she was also careful and wary—older than her years.

      “Yerby!” Mark protested.

      She smiled. “Just kidding. I almost have a crush on her and I’m straight,” she said with a grin. “She was pretty cool. But we were wrong—all of us except for Stuart and Shelly. They did see something. A dying man.”

      “And I thank God we didn’t,” Judy breathed.

      “Yeah, that’s why I can’t figure out how we can help you,” Pete said.

      “Shelly and Stuart remember a group leaving Duval about when you did. Do you remember anything about them?”

      “I don’t remember anything about anything,” Yerby said.

      “I do!” Judy said, perking up. “Shelly was kind of unnerved all night. She took all those ghost stories to heart. Anyway, Shelly was walking with me, and she grabbed my arm. Said we should slow down and let that group get ahead of us. Just in case. They looked like trouble, you know? They were all wearing hoodies, so we couldn’t see their faces.” She hesitated for a moment. “It was almost like they were trying to look stoned or drunk when they really weren’t.”

      “Did you see them anywhere else earlier in the night?” Dallas asked.

      “We didn’t really go anywhere except for the tour and the Hard Rock,” Pete said.

      “I didn’t notice them until Shelly pointed them out,” Judy said.

      “Do you remember seeing anyone else