Pirate's Passion

by Lisa Kessler

  Why did they all pale in his memory the moment Char walked out of his dressing room? Maybe it had to do with all the conversation, instead of throwing herself at him when he opened the door.

  He got into his truck and was starting the engine when it hit him.

  She knew the shanty.

  He’d seen Char singing along, and not just the chorus that everyone knew. She sang the words to every verse. Plus, she’d asked why he sang such a familiar tune tonight. Did she know the words to some of his other shanties as well?

  Intriguing.

  And that was…unsettling.

  Some of his mates on the crew whispered about the loneliness of immortality over the years, but Keegan had never experienced it. Women were to be enjoyed, revered, and finally set free. Unlike his quartermaster, Colton, love wasn’t in Keegan’s vocabulary. Hadn’t been for lifetimes. His crew was his family now, and he was their pilot. It was enough. A perfect balance.

  He didn’t pursue women; he merely accepted their affections.

  But as he drove out of the parking lot, he caught himself wishing he had followed Char. He wanted to find out how she knew those long-forgotten melodies and why one text message on her damn cell phone would send her running from his arms.

  Pointless.

  But still…

  He parked the truck and grabbed his coat and bag. He lived in an apartment over a southern family-style restaurant on River Street. Although he’d grown accustomed to life on land, he still couldn’t sleep without the familiar sound of rushing water.

  Jogging up the back steps, he opened the door and slipped inside. After a cold shower, his head cleared. Thankfully.

  Pretty soon he wouldn’t even remember her name.

  …

  “What do you mean, you know? No one has ever seen the Holy Grail.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a legend.”

  Agent Bale pulled in a slow breath, straightening in his chair. “Most of the crew of the Sea Dog still lives here in Savannah. They haven’t aged because they all drank from the Grail a few days before the ship sank.”

  Her jaw went slack for a second, and while she wanted to laugh this guy right out of her office, the temptation of being able to actually meet someone who lived during that time period in history made her pulse race.

  “It’s impossible,” she whispered.

  “I assure you it’s not. I’ve met them.”

  Her head was spinning. “If you know the story is true, then why do you need me?”

  He lowered his voice. “Because the Grail is missing, Dr. Sinclair. There are whispers on the black market that the cup is for sale. If the Grail granted the Sea Dog crew immortality, then it’s imperative we recover it before it falls into an enemy government’s hands.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “You believe some other pirates drank from it first, before the Sea Dog crew stole it, and now they’ve taken it back.”

  “It’s a working theory. We’re examining a few different angles right now.”

  She crossed her arms. “If another crew found it first and drank, why would they need it back now? They’re already immortal.”

  “That’s not really relevant to your research.” He paused, staring her down. “Can I count on your help in this investigation?”

  She rubbed her forehead. Was she seriously considering that the Holy Grail might be real? Maybe she was dreaming. No more rum. Ever. She cleared her throat. “I’ll see what I can do, Agent Bale.”

  “Thank you.” He stood. “My number is on the card. You can call me anytime, day or night.”

  She stared at the card, still semi-convinced she must be sleeping. She glanced up before he stepped out. “One more thing.” He stopped and turned back. “I want to meet them.”

  “Who?”

  “The Sea Dog crew.”

  He shook his head. “Not a good idea. This is classified, and I’m your contact.”

  “Are you serious? Who would I tell?” She crossed her arms. “Who would believe me? I’d be the laughingstock of my peers.”

  He paused and gradually started to nod. “True. I’ll see what I can do.”

  After the door closed, she grabbed the mouse and opened the Sea Dog folder on her hard drive. Part of her obsession with the sinking of the Sea Dog had nothing to do with it happening just off the coast of her hometown.

  Captain Ian Flynn and his crew were an anomaly for the time period. While pirates of the 1600s and 1700s were notorious for raping and pillaging, Captain Flynn had strict rules forbidding his crew from engaging in attacks on innocents. Their thievery was restricted to the high seas and high stakes. Anyone disobeying his code of conduct was immediately parted from the ship, often violently.

  Over the years, she’d struggled to fill in the blanks, but it seemed unless you were on the crew, no one else knew, and those who were removed from the crew were often never heard from again.

  The mystery of it all had fascinated her for years.

  Skimming the names of the crew, her heart stuttered when she got to the pilot.

  Samuel Keegan.

  It couldn’t be.

  She never would have even considered the possibility before, but now… His frock coat was definitely from that time period. No way someone had sewed that beauty today. Those weren’t machine stitches. She dragged her fingernail across the button on the mouse without clicking it. She’d been to four Scallywags concerts, and twice Keegan ended the show with pirate shanties so rare, she’d only read lyrics for them. The melodies were lost more than a century ago.

  At the time, she’d figured he’d written new music to accompany the songs.

  But what if he’d been alive, singing the tunes on the deck of the Sea Dog?

  This was nuts.

  The guy she’d made out with at the pub probably chose Keegan as a stage name after he moved to Savannah. He could’ve come through her museum and read about the wreck of the Sea Dog and selected it from the list of the crew.

  She shut down her computer and grabbed her purse. If she was going to dig even deeper into the piracy records from the 1700s, she needed a good night’s sleep first.

  And if she got lucky, Keegan might make an appearance in her dreams, and maybe in her fantasy she’d stay long enough to get his pants off this time…

  …

  Keegan woke up to the sound of his cell ringing. He sat up, cursing under his breath as he grabbed the device. “Yeah?”

  “It’s John. We might have a lead on the Grail.”

  Keegan was wide awake now. None of them healed as quickly as they used to. After Eli, their gunner, nearly died in a car wreck, they decided to take another hit from the cup, only to find it missing.

  “Where are you?” Keegan got out of bed and stared at the Savannah River outside his window. River Street was already bustling, and farther downstream, the replica of the Sea Dog was moored, her pirate colors blowing at the top of the mast.

  “I’m on the Sea Dog with Colton and Skye,” John said. “How soon can you get here?”

  “Let me grab a shower. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Keegan ended the call and tossed his cell onto the bed. Since the cup went missing, an agent from the federal government had made contact with them. He was helping the crew locate the cup in the hopes the band of pirates could steal it back without implicating the US in the operation.

  Keegan didn’t give a shit about politics, but the adventure, the chance to be privateers again, lit a fire inside him he hadn’t realized he’d lost over the years. He had a purpose again, a hunger in his belly.

  Suddenly Char’s face filled his head, that moment she’d stared at his half-naked body and admitted she didn’t want to leave.

  And now that hunger dipped even lower.

  He got out of the shower, grumbling at himself. He definitely needed to get laid. Soon.

  After donning a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, he jogged down the stairs and into the street. When he stepped onto the Sea Dog, the first t
our of landlubbers was already on board. He dodged the docent and her group of picture-snapping tourists, heading for the stern.

  He smirked at the Crew Only sign as he passed by and finally found his boatswain, John Smyth, muttering to Colton and Skye.

  “I’m here, mates.” Keegan leaned on the railing. “What have I missed?”

  Colton Hayes was the quartermaster of the Sea Dog and probably one of the tallest on the crew. Definitely one of the best damn pirates Keegan had ever had the honor to sail under.

  A few weeks ago, Colton became infected by love. His lass, Skye, was a local psychic and, by all rights, seemed to be a fine woman, but the notion of “love” twisted Keegan’s gut. Monogamy was no life for an immortal pirate.

  Skye smiled at him. “Hey, Keegan. Sorry we missed your show last night. How’d it go?”

  He shrugged. “We rocked the place.” He looked over at John. “Hope you didn’t wake me just to chat.”

  Of their crew, John was the glue that held them all together. Sure, he stuck his nose in everyone’s business, but Keegan didn’t begrudge him. As the boatswain, John had always divvied up the plunder, made sure they had enough provisions on board the ship, and settled squabbles. John also prided himself on being fair, honest, and true.

  Maybe that’s why Keegan had no use for love. He had John.

  Keegan wiped his nose, biting back a smile.

  “Skye got another vision of the fountain in Forsyth Park, and this time there were two figures.” John glanced at her. “You tell him.”

  Skye smiled, shaking her head. “Wish I could give you names or something more specific, but I think the vision was a meeting at the fountain. Two men, one tall and the other about a foot shorter and stout. They also wore serpent rings, if that means anything.”

  “Fuck.” Keegan’s gaze snapped up to Colton. “Serpents?”

  “My thought exactly.” Colton nodded, his expression grim.

  Skye frowned. “Will someone clue me in, please?”

  “There used to be some blokes who called themselves the Serpent Society.” Keegan stared out at the water. “Safe to say they were no friends of ours.”

  He wasn’t sure how much of their past Colton had shared with his new beloved, and Keegan wasn’t going to be the one to cause a rift in their lovers’ paradise by explaining her new beau was deadly with a pistol and cutlass.

  Colton spoke up. “Skye knows pirates have blood on their hands, Keegan.”

  He raised his gaze to his quartermaster. “Then why don’t you tell her why they may want us dead?”

  Colton sighed. “After the Sea Dog sank, we didn’t lay as low as we should have in Savannah. The Serpent Society claimed to protect the Lord’s treasures, and when stories were whispered about the Holy Grail, they started hunting my crew. I thought I killed the last member more than a hundred years ago.”

  John cleared his throat while Skye digested the information. “If those bastards are still around, they could drink from the cup and come after us.”

  Keegan crossed his arms. “Have we told our friendly government agent yet?”

  “No.” Colton shook his head. “I’m not sure how much trust we can place in Agent Bale. He’s not crew. Besides, he’s trying another angle right now anyway. Last he told me, he was checking with some historian to see if there might be anyone else who drank from the cup before we did.”

  “They might need another hit from it even more than we do.” Keegan raised a brow. “Smart guy.”

  John pointed toward shore. “I called you because the others are working day jobs. You’re the only one free to dig around with the locals and see if you can ferret out the Serpents.”

  “Ah.” Keegan chuckled, dropping his hands to his sides. “I have another gig tonight, but I’ll put in a few hours. What shall I do with the vipers if I find them?”

  “We need them alive.” John’s gaze moved around their small circle. “They may be our only link to the cup.”

  Keegan dipped into a flourished bow, allowing his true accent to color his voice. “Dangerous winds be blowing, mateys.”

  Colton scoffed. “Just be careful, Keegan.”

  “Aye, Quartermaster.” He glanced at John. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

  Chapter Three

  “Here’s your shrimp po’boy from Bob’s with extra sauce just the way you like it.” Her assistant and only friend, Louise, dropped the bag on her desk.

  Charlotte tore her eyes from the scans of yellowed handwritten letters, her brain slowly transitioning from old English to the southern drawl of her silver-haired assistant. “Oh. Thanks, Louise.”

  Louise took the chair across from Charlotte. “What’s cookin’? Your desk looks like you’ve been runnin’ all over Hell’s half acre.”

  Charlotte chuckled, unwrapping her sandwich. “Just checking up on some leads about the Sea Dog wreckage.”

  “Some diver find somethin’ new down there?”

  “Not exactly.” Normally she’d spill to Louise in a heartbeat, but, as bizarre as it sounded, this was a matter of national security. When did her life take this strange turn?

  Louise leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice. “You gonna tell me about last night? Did you say yes for once?”

  An image of shirtless Keegan filled her head, and heat crept up her neck. “I had too many rum and Cokes for sure.”

  Louise rolled her eyes. “You tellin’ me no men asked you to dance?”

  “Dance?” Charlotte eyed her food. “No. Not that I recall.”

  Louise tsked, crossing her arms. “Don’t hold out on me.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “I might’ve gone backstage and kissed the lead singer of The Scallywags.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Louise grinned. “Sounds like the night of yes was a success.”

  “One night. That was all I agreed to. I’m staunchly back in the ‘no, I’ve got to work’ camp again.” Charlotte took a bite of her lunch and groaned. “Oh my God. This is amazing.”

  Since she woke up this morning, she’d been so focused on the project that she forgot to eat breakfast, and it was almost three o’clock now. No wonder she was tempted to swallow her sandwich whole.

  She glanced over at Louise. “If I’m not out of here when you leave, drag me out kicking and screaming.”

  Louise chuckled and stood. “All right, but remember it was your idea.”

  Once Louise was gone, Charlotte turned back to face her screen. She hadn’t found any evidence that another pirate crew had discovered the Grail before the Sea Dog, but she did find something interesting on the manifest for the Santa Maria.

  In the late 1700s, Spain’s armada thrived in spite of the rise of privateers. The Spaniards started planting false manifests on ships, hoping the bait and switch would keep pirates chasing the wrong vessel. And judging by the Santa Maria’s, they’d tried the same tactic to bring the holy relic home safely.

  She skimmed the Spanish galleon’s manifest, jotting down notes. According to the documents, the Santa Maria was carrying a hull full of cornmeal, wheat, and rice. No mention of gold or treasure of any kind. She frowned, rubbing her forehead.

  How did Captain Flynn convince his crew to chase the Santa Maria?

  She flipped through more printouts on her desk. The Gallardo landed on Spain’s shores carrying the actual grain cargo. She rested back in her chair, her mind spinning. She was veering off course. Maybe she missed something on the Santa Maria.

  With a frustrated sigh, she reached for her mouse again, pulling up the only letter she could find about the ghost ship Santa Maria. The unmanned ship ran aground near Jamestown in Virginia a few weeks after the Sea Dog sank outside of Savannah.

  She scanned her notes again, but this time something caught her eye. The body count included guards who probably doubled as crew and a single monk. Winged scavengers had consumed the bodies. They were identified by their clothing and the ship’s log. The inspector noted that the monk still w
ore a gold ring in the shape of a serpent with ruby eyes.

  Didn’t monks take a vow of poverty?

  Her fingernails clicked on the back of her mouse while she read the report again. If the Sea Dog crew really was still alive, maybe Captain Flynn could shed some light on where he got his intel to attack the Santa Maria? If someone loaded up the holy cargo, they might’ve talked at port. The walls had ears.

  This was getting her no closer to finding that Grail.

  She pulled up the spreadsheets of title owners in Savannah from 1795 to 1850, searching for the captain of the Sea Dog crew. A jolt of excitement zipped through her veins. There were a few familiar names on some of the land deeds.

  Agent Bale was telling her the truth. The crew did survive the sinking of their ship, but they hadn’t tried to cover their tracks. The deeds were all dated after the crew of the Sea Dog had been presumed dead.

  There weren’t any databases or death certificates in the 1700s, and no photos of the crew existed. The land purchases probably didn’t raise any eyebrows at the time.

  Two deeds were paid for by Ian Flynn, the captain, one for Drake Cole, the ship’s carpenter, and another for John Smyth, the boatswain. She ran her finger along her screen over the final signature. Samuel Keegan.

  His deed was signed twenty years later than the others. He would’ve been an old man for the time period. Most didn’t live past fifty, not to mention the yellow-fever outbreak in Savannah that killed almost half the population of the city at the time.

  She jotted down the address and opened another window. Did he still own it?

  The address came up. The St. Mary’s Home. It belonged to the Catholic diocese now. Her nails rapped on the mouse again while she took in the new information. Why would he donate his property to an orphanage?

  It wasn’t named after him. Maybe he’d sold the property, and someone else donated it long after Keegan had taken up a new identity. She stared through her open office door. Had something happened to compel Samuel Keegan to offer a sanctuary for the children of Savannah who lost their parents to yellow fever in the 1800s? It didn’t seem to fit with the seductive rock star she’d nearly undressed backstage.