Emerald Fire by Monica McCabe Page B

switches on the helm, and floodlights illuminated the water in front of them. Though it clearly marked their position, they were running full throttle in unfamiliar territory. It was that or risk running aground.
    When Jonathan whipped the wheel to steer them around a bend, the sudden move flung Finn and Chloe sideways, both grasping the captain’s chair. Chloe ended up flush against him, and an ill-timed spark of awareness burned in his gut. Based on her short intake of breath and wide eyes, she had felt it, too.
    “My girl has plenty of power and agility.” Jonathan’s words snapped Finn back to attention. “Keep the stinking pirates at bay, and I’ll get us out of here.”
    Finn believed him. Jonathan wore a mantle of determination as he focused out the fly bridge. The Fire was his ship. He’d know what she was capable of.
    “When you hit open water,” Finn said, “hang right and head toward Boca Chica.”
    “Aye, aye, Mate.”
    Finn turned to Chloe. “You stay here where it’s safer.”
    “Like hell!” came her heated reply. “I’m not sitting here while you two have all the fun.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue, just loaded her arms with as much ammo as she could carry. “Race you to the back deck.”
    She was out the door in a flash, leaving Finn no choice but to grab his own weaponry and follow. This Chloe was a far cry from the prim and proper woman he met in St. Lucia. He could usually read people better than that, but it seemed his new partner was a total mystery.
    He made a beeline for the back deck. They had a good head start on the Boca Chica gang, but here the advantage went to the pirates with their smaller and faster boats. The Emerald Fire had power, but needed top speed in open water to pull away.
    As soon as he hit the deck, he heard shouts. The thieves were getting closer. Finn joined Chloe at the back rail where she was popping off rounds into the darkness behind them, slow and methodical. She didn’t even look scared, and that impressed the hell out of him. Most women would be screaming or running for cover, but not her. She was a fighting historian, ready to defend their ground. She didn’t add up.
    He leveled his AR and easily spotted the two boats following them. The lead boat was fast, a twenty-five-footer designed for skiers. It was the second one that made him nervous. That damn high performance, fifty-foot, built for racing, no chance in hell of outrunning cigarette boat.
    Neither one used their running lights, but moonlight reflected off their wake, making them easy targets. He fired off a barrage of bullets at the ski craft. Chloe shot with more precision, aiming and releasing short bursts of gunfire. The men in the skier ducked, but fired back. Finn kept up his firing until the yacht veered sharply left as Jonathan rounded another bend. The maneuver whipped Finn and Chloe to the side, and they dropped to the deck. Finn scooted over to where his additional mags had slid, reloaded, and jumped up again, firing off the stern.
    The skier’s windshield shattered, and a scream ricocheted over the sound of the Fire’s roaring engines. Finn watched with satisfaction as a pirate fell overboard, his comrades not even slowing down.
    Chloe fired again, and when the sound of a sputtering motor reached them, he could’ve whooped in joy. He pumped more lead into the dying speedboat, hastening its demise and causing the cigarette to take evasive action, effectively slowing them down.
    They’d bought a precious few seconds of time. Finn took in their location and noted the narrow inlet waters were beginning to widen. They were approaching the bay.
    “To the bridge!” he yelled at Chloe.
    They both raced back inside and up to the helm. Jonathan had killed the floodlights now that they’d reached the bay, and darkness greeted them out the windshield, broken only by the occasional buoy light. Jonathan immediately veered right, taking the Fire into open water. He jammed the