Emerald Fire (12 page)

“Everyone with a death wish, maybe.” She brought her bare feet up to the seat and wrapped her arms around her legs. “That’s an adventure I never want to repeat.”

Finn angled his head to the side as he eyed every delicious inch of her, from her tousled bedroom hair to her girly pink toenails. “You are a strange one, Chloe Larson.” Nothing about her made sense.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“I mean it in the best possible way,” he said with a cheesy grin. And to his surprise, he actually did. She really wasn’t what he’d expected.

“As flattering as that sounds”—her tone implied that it wasn’t—“gun battles and life and death situations are not my cup of tea.”

“And yet you jumped into the fray with excitement and handled an AR15 like a seasoned pro.” A fact that still needed answers.

She shrugged, so he continued.

“You also stormed a pirate stronghold, disabled an enemy, immobilized half their fleet, and stole their grand prize. Your bravery amazes me.”

Her eyes widened at his words, and she captured her lower lip between her teeth before a frown settled on her face. He didn’t know what kind of reaction he anticipated, but he wanted her to talk, to spill what it was that drove her to take risks. Because something did. Sane people didn’t run into a deadly situation without good reason.

“It’s okay to accept a compliment, Chloe.” He wanted her to warm up to him, to confide in him. To answer questions like where she learned to shoot, why the name of his company made her choke, and what kind of underwear she wore beneath those loose shorts.

“I appreciate it, really,” she finally said. “I just don’t deserve them. I did what needed to be done.”

“Not many would go the lengths you have for a relative.”

She turned away from him, suddenly interested in the darkness outside the windshield.

To bring that warm brown gaze back his way, he changed the subject, but only indirectly. “Do you think Jonathan will cooperate and stay out of sight?”

“About that,” she said, suddenly all business. “I agreed with the logic of your efforts, but what exactly is your plan?”

She sounded defensive all of a sudden. It didn’t make sense. He was the one with unanswered questions here. “You know, it wasn’t that long ago when you told me I was the harsh one. When did we trade places?”

She didn’t give an inch. “When I helped you gain Uncle Jon’s cooperation to stay hidden without knowing your ultimate agenda.”

“You know why I’m here,” he declared. “There’s nothing mysterious about it.” Time to lay the cards on the table. “You’re the one with something to hide.”

She didn’t even flinch, just stared at him calm as you please. “That’s crazy. Why on earth would you think that?”

Her cool reserve impressed him. He’d have to try harder. “Well, for starters, you found your uncle, yet you still risked your life to get to this boat.”

“So did you.”

“True, but I had that ultimate agenda. Money. What’s yours?”

She didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she left the chair and moved to stand at the starboard windows, staring out at the night beyond. “It’s a little complicated.”

“It usually is,” he said drily. “Try me.”

A heavy sigh escaped her. “A couple weeks ago I hid a journal in one of the staterooms.” She didn’t turn around as she spoke. “I wanted it back.”

“It must be pretty important to warrant risking your life to get it.”

“It belonged to my ancestor, eight generations back. There are passages regarding the War of 1812.”

“Okay.” Now they were getting somewhere. “And naturally, being the historian in the family, it fell on you to get it back.”

“Don’t sound so skeptical.” She finally looked at him. “That journal is a very important historical document. It details aggressive trade measures President James Madison placed against Britain and how the New England states threatened to secede from the union because of it.”

“I can understand that.” His gut said there was more to the story. “I want to know why it’s personal to you. What’s in the journal that’s important enough for you to fly to St. Lucia and risk personal injury to get it back?”

“It’s my job,” she said simply, like that explained everything.

“Can you be more specific?”

She folded her arms in front of her. “I work for a company that seeks out lost historical artifacts or cultural treasures for a variety of clients. Museums, foundations, even countries. Taking chances is part of the package.”

That explained a lot, but not everything. “I’m willing to bet this job is off the record.”

“It is,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Before my mother died, she was working on a genealogy project. She was trying to make a connection between our ancestor and Prussia’s royal family.”

“And that’s worth risking your life over?”

“It won’t change the course of history,” she replied, “but proving it was important to her, and to me.”

“I still don’t get it.”

She turned from the window and aimlessly walked the bridge. “Historical record may have been manipulated to hide a transgression. That sin may be worse than what they tried to cover up. I’d like to set it straight.”

“A historian’s work is never done, that it?”

She shrugged. “Did you know that when the British burned Washington DC in 1814, our Congress almost moved the capital to Philadelphia? The vote came extremely close to passing.”

She was deflecting. “While that’s interesting to be sure, right now I just question your sanity.”

A smile softened her lips. “History is worth preserving, Finnegan Kane.”

“I agree. History has given me NorthStar. But preserving it, making it viable in today’s world, costs money. That’s why I’ve a new partner”—he waved a hand in her direction—“and steal from pirates.”

She stopped and gave him a questioning look. “What will happen when we get back to Boston?”

“I get this boat turned into the authorities and leave the rest to Sam Brady and your uncle. But if Jonathan wants to make a case against his wife, I recommend he keep out of sight as long as possible.”

“Easier said than done,” said Jonathan from the bridge doorway.

Finn cast an exasperated glance at the man. “Honestly, can no one sleep on this boat?”

The late morning sun blazed high above them, the Turks & Caicos should be fifty or sixty miles ahead, and the three hours of sleep Finn just had wasn’t near enough, but it would have to do until after the supply run. Jonathan should be running an inventory of their supplies, including weapons, while Chloe had control of the bridge. He needed to check on their status.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to shock the tired out of his system. It barely helped. Another splash, and he raked the water through his hair, trying to rub life into his numb brain. Absolutely nothing about this recovery made sense. Why would she willingly risk her life for an old journal? Why had they shared startled reactions to the name NorthStar? And the biggest of all, why didn’t he trust they were home free of pirates?

None of it added up. The only thing he knew for certain was that once they were stocked with supplies and he’d had a chance to talk to Sam Brady, it would be time for a serious chat with Chloe and her uncle. He quickly dried his face and hands on a towel, pulled on a T-shirt, and headed topside.

The
Emerald F
ire had space, something you’d expect on a yacht this size. But the layout had a unique design he’d not seen much in his day. There were access ports everywhere. What looked like a storage closet was actually a set of ladder stairs leading to another level of the ship, or stateroom bunks with cleverly disguised cubbyholes that opened to the galley, engine room, or outside decks.

He now understood how Jonathan could hide on board while the pirates sailed the yacht home. The ingenuity was appealing. As he stepped into the interior passageway, he considered incorporating similar designs in the schooner he was renovating at NorthStar.

A piercing scream cut through his exhaustion, one that was quickly followed by a thud that rattled the deck above him.

Alarm spiked his blood, and Finn burst into a sprint down the narrow corridor, twisting around and up the steps leading to the main level.

“Finn!”

He heard panic in Chloe’s cry and raced through the dining hall toward the stern. Through the wall-sized sliding glass doors to the aft deck, he saw Jonathan struggling with a dark-skinned man, one who had him bent backward over the rail. But it was the black steel military knife poised above Jonathan’s chest that spurred Finn into hyperdrive. He shoved the sliding doors wide and raced out.

“Pirate bastard!” Chloe yelled from the bridge deck above and launched a pool chair at her uncle’s attacker. It slammed the assailant square in the back and startled him enough for Jonathan to shove away from the knife. But he barely made two steps when the pirate plunged the blade into his thigh.

“Noooo!” Chloe screamed, and her feet pounded the port steps as she descended.

Finn hit the murderous pig with the force of a freight train, and the two of them rolled across white fiberglass flooring, taking out two lounge chairs and an ice bucket in the process. The guy was a bone rack, but he could punch like a street fighter and managed to land a couple solid blows. But Finn had learned a few moves himself growing up on the docks, and a quick roll landed him on his feet. He stalked the pirate, gauging his prowess, his desperation. All he needed was a split second of weakness or inattention.

Finn shifted right, feigned left, testing the guy’s reflexes. Plus it had the added bonus of infuriating the unwanted stowaway. It was a tiny piece of revenge that Finn had little time to enjoy. If this guy decided to come out of hiding, it meant reinforcements weren’t far behind.

No, this had to end right now. So when the pirate charged, Finn met him head-on and used the rush of the man’s momentum to slam him against a bulkhead. He bounced back, shaking his head like a dog. Then he bared his teeth in a snarl and went for Finn.

Chloe jumped into the ring just then. She came armed with an oar and swung straight for the attacker’s face, scoring a direct hit. The pirate screamed, blood spurting from his nose as he fell backward. Finn didn’t hesitate and grabbed him, shoving him roughly to the rail. The man glared his hatred as blood ran freely from a broken nose, but Finn had no sympathy.

He wanted to ask him where he’d been hiding for the last twelve hours. Or how much money he’d been paid for the murder of the
Fire’s
two crewmen. Or maybe just knock him around some more for trying to kill Jonathan. The punishment needed to fit the crime. He’d make him walk the plank if they had one.

“Jump,” Finn commanded, pointing over the rail.

Fury glared back at him from the man’s beady eyes, but when he glanced out to the open water and back, an oily smile made the hair on the back of Finn’s neck rise.

That was when the first bullet zinged past and struck the bulkhead above him. The pirate laughed, and Finn rammed a fist into his gut, making the guy double over. A quick glance out to sea revealed two vessels speeding their way. One was that damn cigarette boat, the other an equally fast racer, and both were full of angry pirates.

A jagged bolt of adrenaline filled his blood, and he didn’t waste another second. Grabbing the low-life by the belt and collar, he tossed him over the rail and into the drink.

“Jonathan?” Finn yelled.

“He’s alive,” Chloe yelled back. “Get us out of here!”

Finn raced up the same port stairs Chloe had descended, hitting them two at a time. He leapt onto the bridge deck and didn’t slow down until he hit the navigation console and started flipping switches, ramming the
Fire
into full speed. Her diesel engines roared, and the yacht surged forward as Finn pushed for maximum knots.

It wasn’t enough. Finn could hear bullets spray the hull. Where in the hell had they come from? It was eighty miles south to the shore of the Dominican Republic and fifty or more north to the Turks & Caicos.

The
Fire’s
engines were wide open and cutting through the ocean swell, but their fuel supply was dangerously low. The pirates had the advantage. At full throttle that cigarette boat gulped fuel, but if they filled up on the Dominican’s north shore then they had enough range to reach the Caicos Bank. Not good. Not good at all.

Finn sprinted from the console to the weapons locker and once again snatched the AR15 and ammo drums. He loaded, primed, then grabbed another and repeated the process.

Chloe and Jonathan hobbled onto the bridge and aimed straight for the Nav console. Jonathan dropped into the pilot’s chair, his face chalk white and left leg securely wrapped in strips of a blood-soaked beach towel, but determination etched every pained line of his face.

“We’ve got auxiliary engines,” Jonathan said hoarsely as he pushed buttons and cranked knobs. “They’ll burn diesel like no tomorrow, but they’ll boost our speed.”

Chloe glanced worriedly at the fuel gauge, but Finn didn’t argue. They couldn’t sustain that speed for very long. But hell, conserving fuel wouldn’t do any good if they were boarded. And if Jonathan could steer the vessel, that meant Finn could be firing on the bilge rats chasing them.

“Can you blast an SOS to SafeSail?” Finn asked. Not that it would help them, but at least there’d be a record of the incident.

“Already on it,” Jonathan replied.

Chloe joined him at the locker and began grabbing her own artillery. “We don’t have the fuel to outrun them,” she stated and snatched a nylon bag from a bottom cabinet. She began tossing in bullets, knives, and a variety of handguns.

No sense trying to sugar coat it. She was right. Their chances were slim, so he did the only logical thing left to do in a time of crisis. He pulled her to him and kissed her like a man with nothing to lose.

She stiffened for the briefest second then melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back with the ferocity of a woman up against overwhelming odds and praying for the luck of the Irish. Whatever it was, it worked for him, and for the briefest second, he lost himself in the heat of her embrace.