Emma watched the dust dance in the ray of sunlight shining through the crack between the drawn drapes. The dust mixed with the sweet smoke from a pipe resting on the oak desk divided the room in two. Harry McCabe and Emma sat across from each other, a strip of light casting the no man's land down the center of the room and Harry's desk.

Inlaid with a leather surface, the large oak desk reminded Emma of her father's study, desk, and office. The blotter on her father's desk was always warm to the touch, and in her mind, for just a moment, she went back to the days and nights when she would sneak into her father's study. The room warmed by the fire in the winter months, where she would read adventure novels of far-off lands, seated in the overstuffed chair. But that was a long time ago, and the passion for reading was no longer her escape. Instead, her life's reality was the adventures described in the penny dreadfuls of the corner newsstand. The west of America had sparked that nation's imagination and turned the young's fancy to venture forth in search of the gold strike.

But here in the Pacific, the life of the privateer still rained. The take your fill and bloody nose of the establishment, pirate life was a mix of dry powder ships, swords in hand, sex, and sandal at every turn. The Brits had all but crushed the pirate kings of the Caribbean. Nevertheless, Emma and her kind in the Pacific held on and drove forward. In the dark times, they bound themselves to a fast ship, a sharp blade, and gunpowder a-plenty for any jackal sent by the Queen or King determined to extend their boney grasp on the seas and islands.

But for now, Emma steered at the man behind the desk. Formulating questions to get the answers she needed. What was he to her? How did she get what she wanted? Should she be polite or brash or call for her Mr. Wolf and his unique talents? He was always there when there was a real need. Emma swept her eye up and down Harry, examining the man and his environment, his books, his bric-á-brac. And she decided this man looked small and petty.

He has the bearing of a moneyman, a counter of coins. But, never the coins in his pocket. Other people's money gave Harry power, borrowed power. So, finally, Emma settled on 'polite.' "That will be how I get what I want," she thought.

"Thank you for seeing me, and please accept my apologies for the interruption," Emma said as she sat in the chair, her hands folded.

"Not at all. Happy to help," Harry replied, clenching his jaw with a noticeable wince.

"Are you all right, Sir? Asked Emma.

"Yes, yes. I am just busy. I have contracts to formalize and a business to run. And Kincade's absence is not helping," Harry said.

"So, we have a common goal, Sir," said Emma.

"Yes? What would that be?" replied Harry.

"Well, that's the very matter. I am here to discuss--I was hoping to ask if you have seen Kincade. It's been two, possibly three days. And, he has not been seen. Nor has he left word with his family, friends, or fiancée."

"I see," said Harry as he reached across his desk, picked up his pipe, drawing it forward for a few puffs.

"I am concerned for Kincade, of course, but I believe he will show up again quite soon. And fortunately for both of us, I can conclude the contracts without him. And, when he returns, we will both be rich," Harry continued.

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Emma looked to the pipe in Harry's left hand, then at his desk. Finally, she looked at his pen, resting on his desk before the inkwell. The leather was stained with a small circle of ink under what must have been the familiar resting place for the pen's nib. Three accounting ledgers were neatly piled on Harry's right.

"When," said Emma.

"What?" replied Harry.

"You said when Kincade returns. Surely, you meant if Kincade returns?" said Emma.

"Surely, if you know he will return, you know where he is."

"Yes, of course, I meant if. But I am sure Kincade will return." Harry replied, lifting his chin. As he did so, he turned his left cheek into the light. A bandage covered his face from the jaw up to his eye.

"Sir, your face…."

"Look here, woman--" Harry cut Emma off, "I have much to do and little time to spend on your fishwife's prattle. Kincade is probably off somewhere with a bottle and will show up soon. And, I wager, with a tale to tell, at that. Now, off with you. I have man's work to be done," said Harry scornfully.

"Did you just say, fishwife!" Emma questioned with a polite smile attempting to mask the anger she felt in a tight smile that her eyes could not.

"I have not been spoken to, like that, in some time. Why do men in this country think they can speak to women as they speak to their dog?" Emma rose to her feet and planted her hands on the front of his desk.

"I will ask you a question, and you will respond politely. I am a lady. And, my family is one not to be ignored or spurned." The meekness she had previously shown was gone now. Instead, she seemed to radiate confidence and power.

Harry looked at Emma, and something in her eyes frightened him. A memory was triggered by the gaze of the woman before him. He had once seen a shark on a fishing trip, in a small boat, in the Wellington harbor, just off Greta Point. It had been a nice day. He had gotten a healthy bite and reeled in a hearty snapper. He'd netted his catch on the surface, reaching for a hooked pole to pull the fish in. But, unfortunately, a shark had followed the catch-up from the deep. And by fate, Harry's prize had been turned into the bait. The monster had breached the surface, grabbing the fish in its great maw, and come crashing down. Capsizing the boat tossing Harry into the water. Harry recovered quickly and started to swim for the shore.

The beast had returned to the surface, and Harry and the shark swum side by side, shoulder to gill, next to each other. Harry remembered looking into the eye of the beast, which had been everything they had warned. It looked dark and lifeless--Yes--, but there had been no evil or demonic intent in the dark, dark eye. Instead, Harry felt the great hunter was looking at him and into him. It saw everything in Harry, past the meat and bone, into his soul. The shark had seemed to not just assess his qualities of him but looked for what was not there, what was not in his soul or heart, as well. Then, with little effort, the shark evaporated into the darkness of the deeps and was gone. That memory flooded back into Harry as Emma looked at him. He could see in her eyes the same qualities of that shark. The woman looking at him was not just a woman of breeding. She was a huntress, and he was the prey.

"Yes… Yes, of course. Please forgive my boorishness. I am under many demands, and this business with Kincade has been most distracting," Harry smiled as Emma returned to her seat. He continued,

"You see, after I met with Kincade, a most amicable meeting to be sure, we parted ways, and I returned home."

"I see, Sir. And your face, Sir?" Emma inquired.

"Well, you see, while on my way home, I was set upon by a gang, and as I defended myself, I could beat back each of the dogs. Finally, however, one of the cowards was able to strike me. Now, please. I do need to finish this work." Harry explained.

"I see, Sir. I am sorry to continue with my inquiries. However, the same ruffians who beset yourself may have also lay in wait for Kincade. Where were you assaulted? And could you describe the men?" questioned Emma.

"I could not describe my attackers. The darkness covered them, and that night's shock clouded my memory. I was, however, just outside of Thistle Inn, close to the Tinkers Club workshops." Emma looked at Harry and straightened, standing still and looking directly into Harry's eyes.

"If my brother does not reappear with a bad hangover and a good story. As you say. I would not be able to predict if those responsible would live much past the next time I was to meet them." Emma's voice was cold and flat, and she turned to leave after ending in a threat.