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He shot her a circumspect look. “Tell me something true and I’ll think about it.”

“What does that even mean?” she replied with a scowl. “No more of these games. What do you want, Saint?”

“What if I told you I wanted theSyrenfor my troubles?”

Her jaw unhinged with incredulity. “My ship?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she bit out.

“That’s my price, Your Ladyship. Take it or leave it.” Raphael had no idea where the mocking moniker came from. Perhaps it was on the heels of thinking of her as nobility.

“It’s Captain,” she snarled. “I could kill you with no one the wiser.”

“But then you still wouldn’t be any closer to Smugglers Cove.” He winked and shot a smug smile that he knew would infuriate her to no end. “And I am the only one who knows the exact coordinates…and theonlyone with the status not to have you shot and sunk before you dared to breach the bay.”

She glared at him through suspicious eyes. “Just who the hell are you?”

“Your guide, should you so choose. It will only cost you one little ship.”

Raphael didn’t actually need her ship. He planned to use one of his own once he got to Nassau. He would have one or two vessels in port there, but he wanted to see how far she would go. And then he wanted to find out why. Greed drove most smugglers, but somehow, he didn’t think that was her motivation. No, this went deeper. He remembered her intense expression when he’d mentioned Dubois, like the focus of a spider catching sight of a fly nearing its web.

Had the man wronged her in some way? Raphaelwouldn’t put it past him. His uncle had a trail of enemies as wide as the Atlantic.

“Fine.” It was a growl, but the admission shocked him. “But you must promise to take care of the crew.”

“You have my word.” Her fingers clenched and Raphael was sure she was imagining them around his neck. “Lovely doing business with you.”

“Fuck you, Saint.” She seethed as he stood and walked toward the door.

Raphael grinned and blew her a kiss just as a compass from the desk came flying in his direction. He ducked with a chuckle as it thumped into the wall. “I’m not your type, remember. And keep that instrument handy. You’re going to need it.”

Six

“Cap’n, we have a stowaway.”

Lisbeth stared at Estelle, not taking in her quartermaster’s words. Her mind was much too consumed with thoughts of murder. How excruciatingly painful could she make it? Could she torture Saint for the information? Perhaps she could truss him up with rope and drag him behind the ship for an hour or two. Bind him to the mast to roast in the hot sun without clothing. She blinked that idea away rapidly.

That festering rotter. How dare he demand her ship as payment? Lisbeth hissed through her teeth and tugged on the snarls of her hair. The rat’s nest was thanks to an utterly sleepless night because of the contemptible deal she’d made with an equally contemptible man. Surely such a steep price was not worth the information—or his unguaranteed boast of protection—that he’d offered in exchange? She hissed again, clenching her fingers on the railing.

God damn her eyes. It was. She’d payanyprice if she had to.

After so many months, Smugglers Cove had always been just out of her reach. Infiltrating Dubois’s circle and bringing the slippery criminal to justice was the point of her entire mission…the whole reason behind her undercoverrole as a smuggler for the past two years. The bloody ship wasn’t even hers. TheSyrenwas a captured blockade runner belonging to the American government that had been outfitted and loaned to her specifically for the purposes of the mission. Lisbeth had no idea why she was so upset. Her crew would be fine. But Estelle and Smalls were her family. She blinked and scrubbed at her temples.

“Bess.”

Whirling around, Lisbeth glowered at her looming quartermaster. “What the bloody hell is it?”

Estelle’s stoic face was carved from stone. “We have a stowaway.”

Why on earth was Estelle bothering her with something so trivial? Lisbeth’s irritation grew as her head pounded. Couldn’t her second-in-command handle simple matters? It was a common enough occurrence whenever they made port, with people looking to escape their lives. She scowled. “It’s not the first time this has happened, is it? Put them in the brig until we get to Nassau.”

“Not this one, we can’t.”

Estelle jerked her chin over her left shoulder and Lisbeth followed her stare to where two people stood on the lower deck—one huge and the other half his size, attempting to hide behind his much bulkier frame. Oh, the fates had to be playing tricks on her…because that couldn’t be a shame-faced, cowering Narina being held by Smalls. Lisbeth placed a balled fist against her forehead, her vision misting slightly as she fought to control her cascading emotions.

They were already four hundred nautical miles awayfrom Bridgetown. Turning the ship around when they were a day away from Nassau would be senseless, but Narina’s presence onboard changed everything. Soon, theSyrenwouldn’t even be hers to command anyway. It would behis. The man watching her from the stern, casually peeling an orange without a care in the world.