Читать книгу Emerald Fire - Monica McCabe - Страница 11

Chloe gazed out the small charter plane window and admired the sparkling azure jewels of the West Indies. The lush tropical islands rose seductively from turquoise water like paradise found, luring travelers in with a promise of sanctuary. But beyond the sunny beaches and piña coladas, a dark shadow lurked.

She never dreamed that pirates would threaten her effort to prove the mystery of her ancestry. That honor had always belonged to Owen. His father and hers were brothers. Her dad had married money when he tied the knot with Daisy Banks. Owen’s dad drank himself into oblivion. And for reasons she’d never understood, Owen hated her. Like it was her fault he had a lousy life.

Even after that terrible day in the probate’s office when her parents’ will had been read, Owen took the money her dad left him and still hated her. She’d been handed a trust fund and her mother’s extensive genealogy research, then whisked off to live with her mom’s family, Jonathan and Sarah Banks. At the time she couldn’t see past the shock and pain, but her aunt and uncle became a major influence in her life. Now her Uncle Jon needed her. And Chloe needed help to find the Emerald Fire.

She tossed a glance at the man sitting beside her. Who was Finnegan Kane, really? He came across as genuine and serious about his work with a focus she could admire, but then again, a lot of money was on the line. Was that the only thing that motivated him?

“How does someone become a bounty hunter?” she asked.

He looked up from the papers he studied and shrugged. “A knowledge of boats helps, along with good detective skills and a willingness to take risks.”

“How’d you get the job?”

One brow lifted at her question, and he gave a little sideways grin. “Is your faith in my ability really that low?”

“What?” she said in confusion, then realized the unintentional insult. “Oh. I—I didn’t mean—” she stammered.

He just laughed under his breath and closed the notebook he worked in. “To answer your question, I fell into the bounty business. Several years ago I had the chance to do some work for an insurance friend of mine.” He shrugged. “One job led to another, and here I am.”

“Do you like it?”

He leaned back in the seat and sighed. “It’s the means to an end.”

“And by that you mean…?”

His turned his head her direction and stared with those incredible eyes of his. Her pulse jumped slightly, and she frowned at the unwelcome effect.

“I’ve a boat restoration company,” he answered. “But it’s old and needs restoration, too. Bounty money provides me the funds.” A steward interrupted long enough to hand them each an in-flight drink, then moved on.

“What kind of boats do you work on?” Chloe asked. “Wood? Or Fiberglass?”

“Wood, old sailing ships, and custom yachts of the nineteen-thirties and forties.” As he spoke, his face went from shuttered to animated in seconds flat. “There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you take a neglected vessel and turn her back into glory.”

Passion for his work underlined each word. It was a quality she instantly recognized. She’d been accused of being obsessive a time or two. “So you bought into a fixer-upper and are working to re-establish the company?”

He shook his head. “NorthStar is a family business that drifted into disrepair. My great grandfather was the last to actually work it.”

Chloe choked on her sip of club soda.

Finn handed over his napkin, and she used it to dab at watery eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip. So he mentioned NorthStar. It was purely coincidence. “Sorry,” she choked out, “an accident.” She regained her composure and glanced at him in a new light. “Where’s your boat shop located?”

“Mystic, Connecticut. It was a major seaport back in the day, and NorthStar has been in my family since the early eighteen-hundreds.”

She turned away and gazed sightlessly out the plane window. Mystic wasn’t that far from Boston and Weymouth, a two-hour drive, max.

The man from NorthStar will be your guide.

A chill traced her spine. The journal entry had always seemed cryptic, and she’d no idea what her ancestor had meant. The fact that it applied right now, to her finding the Emerald Fire, was just plain eerie.

“NorthStar is a good name,” she managed to say with a calm she didn’t feel. “Did you pick it?”

“I inherited it along with the dilapidated property.”

She clenched her fists and scrambled for what to say next, but the pilot interrupted with a fasten-your-seat-belt announcement and informed the crew to prepare for final descent.

She hated flying. No matter how many times she buckled herself in, and that was more often than she could count, the vibration, noise, and sheer risk of it always bothered her. She tossed a nervous glance out the window until the steward came by to collect empty drink cups.

By then, the chance for more questions had passed because Finn began spouting off commands like a general as he stuffed the ever-present notebook into his pack. “After landing we’ll get a rental car and head straight for Boca Chica. Remember to keep a low profile. Do nothing to draw attention, got that?”

“Quietly slip in and take care of business,” she replied. “Got it.” It was her usual method of operation anyhow. Museum acquisitions could get dicey. Discretion was always the rule.

“Once we hit Boca Chica, we’ll call SafeSail for another GPS reading to update the exact location, then I’ll scope it out.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she replied. “And it’s we. We’ll scope it out.”

The fact that he still referenced the singular was troublesome. To his credit, he hadn’t ditched her in St. Lucia. A good sign, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. She fully expected him to come up with an excuse to leave her behind. All in the guise of protecting her from danger, of course.

“What about the police?” she asked. “Aren’t we going to bring them in on the action?”

“There’s no action, not yet anyway.”

“So it’s a reconnaissance mission?”

“Let me guess,” he said with a flat stare, “you like spy novels, don’t you?”

“Occasionally,” she replied, just as the plane bumped hard onto the concrete runway. With a startled gasp, she grabbed his arm and her nails dug in.

“Ouch.” He glanced at her rigid grip and back to her face. “It’s okay, Chloe. We’re on the ground.”

She yanked her hand back in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.”

“You didn’t tell me you were afraid to fly.”

“I’m not.” She looked out the window again. “I’m afraid of landing.” And no matter how many times she flew, it never got any easier.

“It comes with the package, you know.”

She didn’t answer.

“Want to tell me why?” he quietly asked.

His sympathy surprised her. She expected the usual laughter or teasing, not understanding. It caught her off-guard enough that she gave him the truth. “My parents were killed when their plane crashed on landing. I was fifteen.”

He stared at her in silence, a frown settling on his handsome face, and she could’ve kicked herself for the moment of weakness. He’d done nothing but tell her to go home since they met, and she’d just handed him another excuse to leave her behind.

“It eventually fades, you know,” he finally said.

She glanced down at her tightly clenched fists. “Does it?”

“Some,” he said with a shrug. “I lost my mom a long time ago.”

The plane rolled to a stop, and people began unbuckling and grabbing their overhead luggage. When the aisle cleared, they claimed their own bags and headed into Santo Domingo's Las Américas International Airport. They sailed through customs, rented a Jeep, and before long they were driving the highway east toward Boca Chica.

The rental had seen better days. From the passenger seat, Chloe unfolded a map the clerk gave them and began navigating the way. It wasn't hard. A straight shot down a four-lane highway, and thirty minutes later they were weaving through the narrow streets of town.

Daylight had disappeared by the time Finn found a small boutique motel, one that offered internet and a local café. He pulled in and parked by the lobby, then killed the lights.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“One room,” she blurted out.

“What?”

“We’re sharing, but don’t get any ideas.” She’d no intention of letting him out of her sight for very long. The journal was far too important for her to lose someone with solid experience in tracking stolen vessels.

“Ideas?” He scoffed. “I’m too damn tired to argue, much less harbor lewd intentions. Besides, you’re not my type.”

He climbed out of the car, leaving her to wonder just what his type was. Probably blond with legs up to her neck and sweetly submissive. She was none of those things. And that was fine with her. He might be gorgeous to look at, but this was business, pure and simple. She leaned back in the bucket seat and closed her eyes. It was hard to believe she’d just met the man this morning. A few hours ago, they were strangers. Now they were about to spend the night together in a two-star hotel. Putting so much trust in someone she barely knew should plummet her comfort levels to an all-time low. The fact that it only caused minor hesitation ought to be a warning.

The man from NorthStar will be your guide.

That journal entry had puzzled her for months. She’d spent countless hours trying to decipher what it meant. Now here she was, being led exactly like the entry said, as though fulfilling a prophecy.

She leaned toward the open window and breathed deep the humid night air. She was exhausted, hungry, and thinking crazy. Probably not making the best decisions either, but none of that mattered. Not with so much at stake. Years of research were on the line, and not just hers. Her mother started this journey, and Daisy Banks had been clearly on to something. She’d found a two-hundred-year-old kink in the family tree, one someone had gone great lengths to hide. That journal held the key, pointed to the proof needed to validate her mother’s theory. She refused to lose it. No matter the cost.

Which meant tonight she had to learn a little more about her reluctant partner. If he was supposed to guide her, shouldn’t she at least try to know the man?