Free Gold of Kings by Davis Bunn

chance,” Storm replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little busy around here.”
    â€œFine. Give it half an hour and I’ll be back with a warrant.” Emma Webb stowed her badge back in her purse. “Now how do you want your eggs?”
    Â 
    TWO BRIDGES SPANNED THE INTRACOASTAL Waterway connecting Palm Beach Island to the real world. Nobody who worked on PBI and lived on the mainland called them causeways. They were simply the roads to work, as in, take the south road because the north is jammed with the tourist brigade. A block east of the north bridge, the road divided and broadened and slowed where the frenetic tide of mainland energy met the barrier of serious wealth. A palm-lined park split the east and west lanes. The northern side facing the park held the Palm Beach equivalent of a strip mall—Kobe-beef burger joints and beach shops selling thousand-dollar thongs. Emma led Storm into the café and stopped at a table by the rear wall. “Storm Syrrell, Jack Dauer.”
    Dauer was the only guy in the place wearing a suit. When he waved Storm into a chair, the motion opened his jacket so his gun and his badge gleamed in the sunlight. Storm was fairly certain he did it on purpose. “Have a seat, Ms. Syrrell.”
    Emma asked, “Coffee?”
    â€œCappuccino. Thanks.”
    â€œI don’t know if our budget will stretch that far.” Dauer watched Emma step to the counter. “These prices, man, I haven’t seen anything like this place since I chased down a suspect in Istanbul. You know Istanbul, Ms. Syrrell?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou sure? Your grandfather did a lot of business around the Med.” Jack Dauer was so lean as to suggest all human kindness had been leeched away. He tapped a large class ring on the back of the empty chair beside him as he inspected her. When Emma Webb returned, he said, “So you don’t know about your grandfather’s Istanbul dealings. What portion of his illegal activities did you handle?”
    Storm sipped from her cup and licked the froth from her upper lip. She remained caught between her conversation with Harry and the thought that all this, even the guy seated across from her, worked off a script of her grandfather’s making. “If you thought I actually knew about unlawful activities, we’d be having this conversation in your offices.”
    The guy had a lizard’s way of flicking his gaze. Hard and totally without emotions of any kind. Over to Emma, back to her. “Sean Syrrellwas under investigation by our offices for a variety of matters. We’re not sure about you yet.”
    Storm met his gaze. “Just exactly which division of which government sent you here?”
    â€œMy badge says FBI, Ms. Syrrell. But Agent Webb and I are part of a multiagency taskforce.”
    â€œInvestigating what?”
    Emma slipped into the seat across from Storm. “We’re looking for clarification on several points. Why is Syrrell’s almost the only high-end dealer to handle salvaged treasure?”
    â€œIs that what you’re investigating? Stolen treasure?”
    Dauer snapped, “Answer her question, Ms. Syrrell.”
    â€œMost houses have become increasingly specialized in order to survive. Sean chose salvaged treasure as one of Syrrell’s main lines.”
    â€œWhen did this happen?”
    â€œTen years ago, maybe more. Sean had a passion for sunken treasure. He collected old maps and early records from past generations of salvagers. He fed them to a select group of treasure hunters.”
    Dauer said, “One of whom was this convicted felon, what’s his name?”
    Emma Webb replied, “Harry Bennett.”
    â€œHarry Bennett is a good man,” Storm said.
    â€œMisplaced loyalty can be a dangerous thing, Ms. Syrrell. What can you tell me about your grandfather’s latest acquisitions?”
    â€œI have no idea. Sean was