“Let’s have champagne. Crystal. What years do you have?” Jean Luc asked.
The waiter rattled off his list and Jean Luc ordered the best, if the waiter’s eyebrow raise was any measure. She felt the heat of Dane’s hard thigh as it gravitated toward hers under the table. The warmth she felt was much more than his body heat. She took up the heavy stemmed glass of water in front of her plate, hoping it was the correct one, and took a large swallow.
He touched his leg to hers then, as if in triumph. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as Chauncey engaged Jean Luc in idle conversation about Martha’s Vineyard.
“A decorator. How interesting,” Jean Luc said. He turned to Dane in mock surprise. “You didn’t tell me you had a decorator friend.”
She had no idea if he was onto them and playing games or what he thought of their group at this point.
“I didn’t because he’s Shana’s friend,” Dane said. “Never know who you’ll run into on Martha’s Vineyard.” He didn’t smile.
Shana needed to put Jean Luc at ease. She had to play her part. Dane nudged her thigh with his knee to prompt her act. She leaned forward and, looking straight at Jean Luc, licked her lips.
“Surely your home is as chic as possible—I imagine you’ve no need for a decorator. In fact, I’d love to see it sometime.”
He looked at her with his same smile and paused. She watched his nostrils flare slightly as if he were a wolf picking up her feminine scent and evaluating. She ran a hand under the heavy waves of her hair, unsettling the tresses to create a more tousled look and half covering one eye in the process. The almost imperceptible intake of breath didn’t come from Jean Luc as she’d hoped. It came from Dane. His thigh disappeared from her space. The absence of that warmth unsettled her for a flash.
“I would love to show you my temporary home at the beach, but presently I have visitors who keep odd hours and hold their privacy sacred. Maybe soon. In the meantime, perhaps you can show me your temporary home. I’m sure it’s as show-stopping as you are.”
“I’m sure I told you—I’m staying at the Whittiers’ home. Haven’t you visited already?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Well, then, consider yourself invited. We’ll arrange it.” She looked to Chauncey as if for confirmation and he smiled and nodded.
“Not while I’m there you won’t.” Dane startled her with the ardency of his tone.
Chauncey coughed and took up his glass of water.
“How droll. Possessive in the extreme for a man who just met Ms. George two days ago.”
“I know what I want.”
“Now wait a minute…” Shana knew she had to skate the line for a while before ditching Dane and showing more interest in Jean Luc.
Dane turned to her and reached an arm around her, bringing her close and nuzzling her ear in an electrifying caress. She shuddered. It was no act.
“Not too fast,” he whispered. “Don’t let him have you too soon, ma belle,” he whispered as he nipped at her ear.
The sharp sting sent an exquisite shock through her gut and right through to her pleasure center, spreading heat and goose bumps at the same time and causing a molten reaction. She remained leaning into him even as he removed his arm from her and settled back. Looking into his eyes she saw a flash of lust before he sent a warning glare. Shark eyes. Or maybe they were wolf eyes. All men seemed to have wolf eyes at some point.
She pulled herself back, shuttered her bedroom-eye stare and reached for her glass of water again.
Dane spoke up. “Don’t you worry about Shana and me, Jean Luc. We’re just fine.”
Jean Luc nodded. The waiter returned. Another man refilled her water. Dane ordered for her in perfect French and she had no idea what it was. But it didn’t matter if it was the most delectable dish ever served in the history of gourmet restaurants, she didn’t see how she could eat a bite of it.
On the other hand, when the champagne arrived in the next moment, she couldn’t wait for a big gulp.
The gulp of champagne cooled the impending explosion of his head and his temper, if only momentarily. Dane didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand the company of Jean Luc before he had to beat the man to a pulp. Maybe that would cure what ailed him, but he doubted it. Too much too soon. He turned to his girl and swept a gaze over her. The most unprofessional thought possible popped into his head about how she could put an end to his misery over Jean Luc. This assignment. The world.
She turned to him as she finished half the champagne in her flute and replaced it on the table. There was no apology in her eyes. He didn’t put his glass down and instead gulped down the remainder as if it were a shot of whiskey. Not as satisfying except to see her eyebrows go up. Only a miniscule amount, but he noticed the question in her look, then the empathy.
“How about if we get that waiter back here, Jean Luc? You seem to have a way with him,” Dane said. “I’d like to order a real drink.”
“Certainment. What did you have in mind?”
“Scotch,” Chauncey said before Dane could say anything.
He nodded at the man.
“Whiskey. Jack Daniels for me.”
Jean Luc smiled patiently at them all and looked to Shana, who maintained a bored, disinterested look. Dane bet it was only half faked.
“And you, ma cherie?”
“I’m happy with the champagne. You know, I love how you speak French. The language—it’s so… so…”
“Chic?” Chauncey said.
That made Jean Luc smile and Shana laughed.
“Like you,” Jean Luc said to her. He waved the waiter back over.
“And like you, Jean Luc. You’re the ultimate in charming chic French elegance,” Shana said, lifting her newly refilled glass to him.
Jean Luc ordered their drinks. He nodded but remained cool. Dane would bet his fat uncle Jean Luc wasn’t sure about Shana. Enough small talk.
“So what business are you in these days, Jean Luc?” Dane asked.
“You mean aside from running the surfing competition? I’m a patron of the arts and all that is beautiful in the world. As I’ve always been.”
Dane sensed Shana stifling a giggle. If she tried drinking any more champagne he’d have to spill it on her to stop her.
“And what about you Dane? It’s been so long. What are you up to these days?”
“The usual, old friend. I surf some. I live. I breathe.”
“Ah.”
“One thing is certain—he doesn’t spend a minute decorating his bungalow,” Chauncey said. He took a sip of his scotch and made a face.
They all laughed.
Dane turned to Shana. “We’ll have to surf tomorrow. The waves are going to be perfect.” He reached a hand up and cupped the back of her head, sliding it down the heavy waves of her hair and resting it at the base of her neck on her shoulder. He felt her flinch and tense, felt the shudder under his hand. She looked away and then found her role.
“I can’t wait. It’s been too long. I hope surfing is like riding a bike.”
“You’ll be perfect.” He smiled at her. Her vulnerability pleased him, but then he’d become a sick man when it came to women. He might lust, but there was no way she could make him care. He’d been inoculated by Elena and was emotionally immune to the likes of Shana.
“That I have to see. Where will you surf?” Jean Luc invited himself.
“You’re not invited,” Dane said automatically.
Chauncey choked on his scotch. “Must have gone down the wrong way,” he said and coughed.
“Don’t mind Dane, Jean Luc,” Shana said. “I’m personally inviting you to come and watch me surf. We’ll be at Gay Head. After all, I’ll need some practice for the competition.”
“How perfect. I’ll be there tomorrow. I bet you’ve done a lot of surfing back in Australia.”
“Have you ever been to Australia?”
“I’ve been down under a time or two in my travels.”
&
nbsp; “My family is from Sidney, but I consider myself an international citizen. Mostly I go wherever there’s a beach, sun, fun and waves.”
“Quite a life. No thought to settling down?”
Shana laughed in response, one of those laughs that said, what a quaint notion, but no.
“You’re an unusual young lady, my dear Shana. And a young lady after my own heart. I share your sentiment about settling down.” Jean Luc lifted his champagne flute to her as if in salute. She lifted hers. Again.
Luckily the waiter came by then and delivered the first of their food.
“I’ll have another JD on the rocks and my friend Chauncey will have another Johnny Walker. My lovely companion will have a ginger ale.” Dane finished the order but not before he felt Shana nudge his leg under the table.
The shockwave of awareness woke him to full alertness. It was too goddamned much fun toying with her. He removed his hand from her neck, sliding it down her back over the bare skin of her shoulders and down the silky sheath. He took a long breath that ended up shakier than he would have liked. Or imagined.
She took a breath too. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else. But of course she was relieved. She was wound tight and he’d been no help.
The food and fresh drinks arrived quickly and were shortly followed by visitors to the table. Jean Luc jumped from his chair and his features tightened as if someone was twisting his thumb back under the table. Prior to that moment Dane had thought the man impervious. He looked over the unwelcome visitors with interest.
Jean Luc’s cohorts. A young man, who looked a lot like Jean Luc but lacking his polish and wily wisdom, stood several inches taller than Jean Luc and was accompanied by a young lady. Dane decided that “young lady” was a generous description for the woman who hung on her man like a worn wrinkled shirt. She could have been beautiful. Probably had been, but had given up and confined her efforts to keeping herself high. The only question was which drug enslaved the sad junkie. The third person visiting their table was the odd man out. In every sense. He didn’t fit. It wasn’t that he was shorter and heavier and the opposite of chic; it wasn’t even the disjointed nose and overly muscular arms. It was the dull disconnected eyes. Dane ought to know. He’d encountered dozens of men like him before. This man was in a different category of criminal than Jean Luc or the young couple.
“Roger, Tamara, what a nice surprise to see you here.” Jean Luc reached over the table and shook the man’s hand and nodded at the half-alive woman. Then he turned to the odd man and said, “Ned.”
“Introduce us to your friends,” Ned said. It wasn’t a request.
In his mind, Dane raised his brows.
Jean Luc remained standing and retained his poise, introducing them to his younger brother Roger, Roger’s girl Tamara and Ned. Nods, but not handshakes, were exchanged.
“I didn’t know you were dining here this evening,” Jean Luc aimed his question at Roger, but Ned answered.
“We knew you’d be here and were hoping to join you—and your new friends. Can’t have too many friends.” Ned curved his lips to reveal tobacco-stained teeth. The stains were the serious kind you got from chewing tobacco rather than merely smoking, Dane noticed. The man’s accent and manner reminded him of some people he knew in New Jersey. The people were not friends, but professional acquaintances on the other side of his mission.
Dane spoke up before Jean Luc had a chance. “I’m afraid it’s too late—we’ve already ordered and the table barely fits us four. Maybe another time.” He kept his eyes on Ned, clearly daring him to press the issue while they all waited a lengthy beat for the man’s response. It was curious to Dane that Jean Luc waited for his response without taking up Dane’s lead as he’d expected. Once Ned nodded, Jean Luc sat and promised to see them later.
“Yes, you will,” Ned said, but he didn’t turn to leave.
“I hope you’re all planning to attend the American Invitational Surfing Competition?” Jean Luc smiled.
Shana had her back to Ned and she chose that moment to speak up, answering Jean Luc.
“You know, it’s funny, Jean Luc. My friend, Susan Whittier—the one that I was telling you about—she was planning to enter the competition, but I got a text from her. She says she’s run off with some guy for a spontaneous trip. Funny. It’s not like her.”
Ned interrupted. “She’s probably run away with a man like spoiled rich girls do.”
Dane noticed Chauncey playing James Bond and taking a picture of Ned and each of the others with the tiepin camera he’d brought from Scotland Yard Exchange HQ in Boston.
Shana turned to look at Ned and gave him an unfriendly smile. Ned turned and walked off in a strut stunted by his short legs and limited energy.
Jean Luc’s brother took up the cause of apologizing for the less than wonderful manners of his friend. “He has a toothache and we haven’t been successful at finding a dentist. Do you know of one?”
“All we have here is a pair of surfers and a decorator…” Jean Luc turned to Chauncey and asked, “That is what you do, isn’t it? You’re a decorator?”
“No, I was joking. I’m really an undercover detective. From Scotland Yard, of course.”
Shana laughed loudly and immediately, and Dane followed suit, while Chauncey smiled.
“Don’t scare people like that, Chaunce. You know everyone has someone to hide from the law,” Shana said. She looked at Dane. “Isn’t that right, surfer dude?”
“You mean something, don’t you, surfer babe?” he said and swept his gaze over Jean Luc and back to Chauncey. Miller was a piece of work. He was certainly succeeding at keeping tension high.
“I love to tease. Suffice to say I’m not a dentist,” Chauncey said to Roger, who sported the same shuttered look as his brother.
“Mystery man, eh?” Roger showed a dimple. “If anyone can give me the name of a dentist, it would be appreciated.” He slipped a card from his inside pocket and placed it on the table in front of Shana. The woman hanging on his arm stirred and shot a look at Shana as if she’d just seen her for the first time.
Dane plucked up the card and slipped it into his pocket. The couple left with him propping her up. They didn’t head for another table but went out the front door—the same door Ned exited a minute earlier. They didn’t seem concerned about causing suspicion. That troubled Dane.
“How well did you know Susan Whittier?” Dane addressed Jean Luc.
“I did not. Certainly not as well as Shana knows her.”
Dane knew he was calling their bluff into question. He also noticed that Jean Luc had used the past tense when referring to the missing girl. Not good.
“We went to school together in Paris as teenagers,” Shana said in a bored voice. It was the background story and they had the creds in place in case Jean Luc checked. Dane knew he would. Dane also knew something was off with his so-called friend Ned and it wasn’t a toothache.
“How well do you know Ned? I’ve never seen him around. A new acquaintance?”
“Surely we have something better to talk about.”
“All right. Let’s talk about the police being on high alert and how Shana had to deal with them to ensure her safety and has been questioned repeatedly about her friend,” Dane said.
“You speak accusingly—as if it were my fault. I assure you I am sorry about any trouble her missing friend is causing Shana, but none of it has anything to do with me.”
“You knew her and you lied about it.” Dane pressed.
“I may have met the young woman, but I did not know her. Why do you insist on discussing this when Shana has said she heard from her friend and all is well?” Jean Luc kept his cool in spite of Dane’s heavy-handedness. Someone who truly had nothing to do with it would be a lot more puzzled and curious about why Dane pressed the issue.
“I told you, I’m a suspicious guy. Especially when someone lies. And really especially when that someone shows an interest in my girl.” Dane reached an arm aroun
d Shana’s shoulder and pulled her in.
“Hey, wait a minute. Don’t I get a say in whose girl I am? I’m a freewheeling type if you want to know the truth,” Shana smiled playfully between Jean Luc and Dane.
“Well, I’m not. You’re going to need to make a choice. At least while you’re on the island. And from where I sit”—he pulled her closer still and felt her tense up—“you’ve already made your choice.”
Shana exchanged a knowing look with Chauncey.
“I just love it when men fight over me. It gives me a bigger rush than a push of heroin.”
“Unlike you, my friend—” Jean Luc began.
“And stop calling me your friend,” Dane said, teeth bared at Jean Luc. He was boiling up and it wasn’t all part of the act. Telling himself to simmer down, he added, “We were always rivals—from the minute we met.” That was the absolute truth.
“Have it your way. I’m not afraid of competition. In fact, I propose a friendly wager. Chauncey here looks like a gaming sort. What do you say?”
Chauncey looked between the two as if measuring them up, then rubbed his chin. “I’ll place five-thousand pounds on the girl.”
They all laughed, snapping the tension like a frayed rope. They ate their meals and Shana dominated the conversation, centering it around the impending surfing competition. Jean Luc paid close attention while drinking little. Dane held back from having a third whiskey although his nerves screamed for it. Or was it his soul begging for numbness?
He spent the meal observing everything about their mark and their environs, watching for Ned and anyone that looked like a cohort of his—like someone that could have played an extra mobster on The Sopranos no matter how expensively he was dressed. The tarnish on the inside always showed through the polish if you knew what to look for, and Dane knew. His life depended on knowing. That sliver of survival instinct had worn thin, but it was there. He picked up his water goblet and took a big swig to quench the instinct in case the alcohol had dulled it more than it could stand. He turned to Shana as she laughed in that deep womanly way she had that seemed unexpected coming from her beach bimbo body. Thank God he hadn’t slipped and called her a bimbo. She’d chafed at “girlie” and that was the mildest thing he had for her.
The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series Page 7