Emerald Fire. Monica McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ over beer, proper and prim society girls. And this one had that look in spades. Even her steps were measured. Four steps left, stop and stare at the water, then four steps right, stop and stare. If he were a betting man, he’d pin her for one of those organized people. Everything in its place, all patterned, tucked, and perfectly pressed.

      She’d never last a day in his world.

      Nearby seagulls screeched, gathering on the tall pylons of a private pier as a fly-bridge fishing boat chugged up to the dock. A deckhand jumped off to rope her in place and tourists began off-loading with their catch of the day.

      She noticed, too, and turned to leave, aiming his way with that supercharged stride. But her eyes were downcast, focus inward, as she rounded a tiny inlet and made for the parking lot.

      In less than two minutes, she drew within earshot, and he made his move.

      “You’re looking for the Emerald Fire?”

      Miss Smooth and Proper froze, then slowly turned to stare at him, all wary and distrustful. “What if I am?”

      “If you are, that makes two of us.”

      Her eyes narrowed. He’d been wrong when he thought they were brown. That description didn’t do them justice. They were the color of topaz, warm, sultry, and strangely compelling. And they glared at him in defiance and suspicion.

      He needed an olive branch, a big one to reach beyond that thorny barrier.

      “I’m with Boston Marine Insurance,” he tried. “And we’re interested in finding the missing yacht.”

      A finely arched brow lifted, but her expression didn’t soften. “Let me see your credentials.”

      Finn opened his wallet to display his investigator ID and handed her a business card for good measure.

      She studied both then glanced up at him. “Well, Mr. Finnegan Kane, you’ve arrived awfully fast,” she said. “The Fire was only reported missing yesterday afternoon.”

      Her skin looked sun-kissed, like Mediterranean blood ran a generation or two back. And the woman definitely came from money. Perfect posture, velvety brown hair pinned into place, and well-rounded curves wrapped in designer digs.

      “In my line of work, it pays to act fast. I hope you packed some cooler clothes,” he said as he pointed to airline tickets poking out of her shoulder bag.

      “Of course I did,” she scoffed and tucked the papers deeper into her purse. “What do you want Mr. Kane?”

      She was direct—he’d give her that. “How about your name for starters?”

      She tapped his card against her fingers, debating, but it didn’t last long. He gave her a point for that one.

      “My name is Chloe Larson,” she finally said. “Jonathan Banks is my uncle.”

      Well, damn. That’s a twist he didn’t need. Emotional ties spelled interference, especially if they were strong. This had potential problem written all over it, and he stared at her in silent indecision, debating the most profitable path to take.

      “You do know who Jonathan Banks is, right?” she said sarcastically when he hadn’t replied. “I mean, how good of an investigator are you if you don’t know who owns the boat you’re searching for?”

      And that just proved his point. Trouble had already started.

      “Why are you here?” His words came out curt, matching a mood that just soured.

      “I’d think the answer is obvious,” she snapped. “But if you’re here to verify Lisa Banks’ insurance claim, I’ll warn you right now, she’ll be filing for his life insurance next. Probably sometime in the next sixty seconds.”

      Finn lowered his head to gaze at her over his sunglasses. In his line of work, animosity always proved interesting. Dark emotions inspired crime.

      “So your aunt’s after money,” he said. “Duly noted.”

      “That woman is not my aunt.”

      Nope. No love lost there. “Then you should be thrilled I’m here,” he said.

      She used her hand to block the sun from her eyes. “Meaning?”

      “I’m here to recover the Emerald Fire, not verify a claim.”

      Her brows dipped even lower, if that was possible. “You’re a bounty hunter?”

      Why did she make that sound bad? He might be offended, but decided forgiveness better fit the circumstances. “I prefer Marine Recovery Specialist. And I’m damn good at what I do.”

      She continued to glower at him. Definite trouble all right, but if he played his cards right and she shared whatever information brought her here, her determination to find her uncle might pay off.

      “So how’s this work?” she asked with the first hint of speculation. “You find my uncle’s boat, turn it in to authorities, and the insurance company writes you a check?”

      “Roughly.”

      “How much?”

      Okay, that was a little personal. He wasn’t getting anything more than industry standard, but she stared at him with a frosty expression that needed to melt. So he answered her. “Ten-percent the yacht’s value.”

      He watched her calculate the amount, wrapping her head around the seven-digit figure he desperately needed to take home. The words “critical importance” barely covered this job. He’d too much at stake to even contemplate not finding the yacht.

      “Rather an exorbitant paycheck, don’t you think?” Chloe asked.

      “Not from an insurance company’s perspective. A million dollar bounty is cheaper than a ten-million dollar claim.”

      She still frowned, so he added, “I don’t get paid if I don’t deliver.”

      And they wasted time standing here talking. Every minute that passed, the odds of finding a stolen ship sank faster than a lead anchor. But at least she was nodding in understanding. He’d take that as progress. “Why don’t we sit over there and talk about it?” He pointed to an empty picnic table perched at the edge of a break-wall.

      She chewed her bottom lip for a second, then turned and made for the table without a word. Finn followed and took a seat opposite, his back to the water. The incoming tide splashed against the concrete bulwark behind him, and a brisk wind loosened a few strands of her hair, but she paid them no mind as she set her bag next to her on the bench seat.

      “So,” she began matter-of-factly, “you find the Fire, and the insurance company gets out of paying the claim.”

      There she went again. “Why do you make that sound like a bad thing?”

      Her smile grew. It was a slow and wicked display that immediately set him on full alert. “I’ve no idea,” she said too sweetly. “It’s an excellent policy. We need to do all we can to find Uncle Jonathan СКАЧАТЬ