Free Heart Strings (Black Magic Outlaw Book 3) by Domino Finn Page B

had holdings in a Cayman Islands financial services company named Blue Sky.
    Fact the second: Along with my gang warfare, I'd assassinated Australian real-estate tycoon Henry Hoover. His wealth went to his daughter Emily Cross. Most of his estate by then had been long squandered, but various properties in the Caribbean, notably the Cayman Islands, were part of the inheritance.
    Finally, and perhaps most important, fact the third: Ten years ago I'd boarded a boat for a date with destiny that led to my capture and death. The boat was registered to a defunct charter company on Grand Cayman (think Carla's small-time operation except on this side of Cuba). The business was long gone, but any possible links were worth checking out while I was in the neighborhood.
    I scratched my head and considered my options. Bank accounts, real estate, or the boat I'd been murdered on. Try boring, boring, and about damn time I got answers.
    Destination in mind, I hit a local rental shop. The Caymans are a British territory so everybody speaks English. Even better, they accept US cash. That made it easy for me to flash my passport and rent a scooter. One pair of plastic sunglasses later and Cisco Suarez was out for a coastal ride, albeit on the left side of the road.
    Within twenty minutes, I got my bearings and made it to the address of Stingray Tours, where the boat had been registered. Except the waterside building wasn't a charter company anymore. It was a scuba shop.
    I parked my scooter and entered the storefront. Diving gear lined the shelves and a single old man sat behind the counter.
    "Hi there," I said, just another unassuming tourist. "You guys rent boats?"
    The geezer arched an eyebrow. "We don't do tours."
    It was that obvious I didn't belong. I took the news like a champ. Frowning for a second and then pulling back before I overplayed the act, I said, "My father told me Stingray Tours was the place to get a charter."
    The man widened his eyes. "He must've told you that a while ago, son. Stingray used to do business here but that was years ago. I bought the shop when they went out of business."
    "Out of business?" Crestfallen. "Any idea what happened?"
    "The owner killed himself on a binger." The man said it like he was talking about a piece of food stuck in his teeth. "His wife was his partner and she died in the crash too. No more backers, no more business."
    I shook my head mournfully. "That's too bad. My dad said he had a great time with him."
    "Charles? I doubt it. He was a grumpy bastard." Pot, meet kettle. "Your old man must've been talking about Captain Wallace. He was the talkative one. Did most of the tours."
    I snapped my fingers. "Wallace. That's it. He still around?"
    "Sure is," said the man, losing some edge to his voice. "He's doing his own thing under his own name now. Flipped to the opposite side of the island, but that's not a long drive in these parts."
    I pumped the owner for the details, thanked him, and left the shop. I wasn't looking for the boat anymore. Since it had been stolen and impounded by Miami police, it wasn't worth nosing around for physical evidence here. I hopped on the scooter and blazed a trail to Rum Point Beach.
    It was a winding route that took me around much of the island, but the old man was right. I made it in less than an hour. I had to ask around to find Wallace Sightseeing. I was glad I did because I wouldn't have found it on my own.
    Carla's dilapidated business place was a modern miracle of design compared to Wallace's, which I'd describe as more of a hut or shanty. It didn't have its own dock and no one answered the door. Some stragglers in the mostly residential neighborhood—locals, not tourists—were watching me. So much for breaking in. I smiled and knocked again.
    "He's not there," came a voice from the street. It was an older woman pushing a baby stroller. I didn't see a baby.
    "You a friend of Captain Wallace?" I asked.
    "Not really."
    I frowned, wondering where her baby was.