The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “Shana—hello. You think so?”

  “I have a date with Jean—Ruse tonight. I think I can manage an invitation.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” Dane kept his voice even, though his pulse ratcheted up and he felt like grabbing the girl by the hair and … and he didn’t know what.

  “Why not—”

  “Don’t listen to him—” Shana cut off the governor, but Dane cut her off.

  “We don’t want to end up with two missing women. I have a better idea.”

  “I’m listening,” Peter said.

  “We need to turn Ruse.”

  “And by ‘we’, he means me,” Shana put in.

  “No. We ambush him, and by we I mean me, Chauncey and Captain Lynch. Like I said, you get him back to the house and we’ll be waiting for him.”

  “What makes you think he’ll cooperate?” Peter wanted to know.

  “This is where the plan gets sticky,” Chauncey said.

  “We leave him no choice.”

  “You lie to him—make him think you have him dead-to-rights.”

  “Except we don’t exactly have a good story to tell him at this point.” Captain Lynch folded his arms. Dane knew he’d side with Shana.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We tell him we got him on aiding the Brazilians with Ned—tell him the surfing competition is a front for smuggling women—probably not far off the truth—we may find out more about it yet. It’s definitely fishy,” Chauncey said.

  “I’ll go with that,” Dane said. Chauncey nodded.

  “Then that’s our plan?” Shana said. “If you want to know what I think—I think he’d be thrilled to turn on Ned. If it wasn’t for his brother. Don’t forget his little brother dragged him into this mess. He’s Jean Luc’s Achilles’ heel. And that means somehow we need to take care of his brother.”

  Shana had a point. He’d lost sight of the pesky kid brother. That knowledge stung his gut, but he cranked his mind around it to adjust.

  “You’re right,” he said to Shana. “We tell him we have his kid brother linked solid to Ned and his people and if we don’t get his cooperation we’re going to run his brother in for questioning just long enough for Ned to get suspicious about how much he talked. Long enough for Ned to get good and suspicious enough to do what Ned does.”

  Captain Nice smiled. “Now that sounds like motivation that’ll work.”

  “We’re sure Ruse cares about the fate of his brother?” Peter asked for confirmation.

  Shana spoke up. “Absolutely certain. It’s why he’s running the competition and why he’s putting up with Ned, who he’d rather grind under his heel and shove down the nearest sewer drain where he belongs. Those were his words.”

  “Thank you for that, Shana. I feel reassured,” Peter said.

  Chauncey and Captain Nice exchanged a glance between them when Shana frowned. Dane knew Peter was not mocking her, but the others weren’t sure. He’d let them sort it out for themselves.

  “Time to go then. Keep us updated if you get anything worthy of a search warrant. I’m not holding my breath. They’ve got everyone in town towing his party line about his wonderful and exciting surfing competition. All above board.”

  “Nice pun. I’ll check back in at 0600 one way or another.”

  “Give my regards to the mad woman.” Dane snatched up the phone, marched it back to the kitchen and plunked it on the base charger before turning back to the others.

  They rose from their chairs, except Shana.

  “You need to get going. You can’t go on your date dressed like that.” Dane didn’t mean to sound harsh. Captain Lynch flashed him a mean glare. Shana kept her face still, but rose from her seat and walked to the door.

  “Keep in communication at all times,” he said to her as she passed in front of him, in more of a hiss than a command. She didn’t even look at him. Captain Lynch opened the door for her and escorted her through as if she were his date. They left without a further word.

  Chauncey stood in his kitchen, leaning against his counter and contemplating as he finished the last of his beer.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” His words were mild and his look more understanding than scolding.

  Dane shrugged, some of his tension gone with the girl, and would have given Chauncey the “what are you talking about?” response, but the man cut him off before he started.

  “No—don’t bother denying it. It’s Shana. She’s under your skin bad and we all know it. Problem is, my dear man, this mission depends on a clear-minded leader we can all trust to remain rational under pressure—even if thus far it hasn’t been the most dangerous one we’ve all seen. I sense danger lurks underneath if Ned’s attempt to come after you and threaten you are any indication.”

  “Thanks for the lecture. It’s bound to help.” Dane swiped a hand through his hair. It was still wet. His insides still felt twisted. The knifing stab across his shoulder blades reminded him the reprieve in his tension level had been very temporary. She was gone from his house, but not from his head.

  Chauncey snorted. “If you want me to take the lead—or to back you up—let me know. I’ve been where you are. It’s not easy. I know. Damned painful position.”

  “Your wife?” Dane had to know even though he knew already.

  Chauncey nodded. Dane flinched and the sting went through him in a wave.

  “It’s not like that—”

  “Save it.”

  Dane wasn’t ready to talk about it, so they stared each other down for a moment before Chauncey gave him a grim smile and slapped him on the back. No words. Dane’s fondness for the man leapt forward.

  Then he dragged his mind back to the task at hand.

  “I’m going to give Oscar a call to see what he knows. Maybe short cut the official channels. Maybe not good for a search warrant, but good for Shana’s safety. Maybe good intel to help turn Jean Luc.” Dane huffed out a breath, then added, “Our girl was right about the man wanting to protect his brother.”

  “We’ll need to get him off the street. And what about Tamara?” Chauncey asked.

  “Her too. Get Lynch to do it.”

  “You don’t like him.”

  “I like him fine. He’s good at what he does.”

  Chauncey grunted and nodded in understanding. Dane didn’t know what Chauncey understood, he only knew he wasn’t sure about how he felt on the subject of Captain Nice. He pushed his two hands through his hair as if straightening the damp tangle would straighten the confused mess in his head.

  Chapter 17

  Shana hesitated a moment at the stop sign, changing her mind three times before deciding she needed to go back to the house to change clothes, making Dane right once again. She hated that more than anything. She hated being told by him what to do—maybe it was her, but she was more convinced it was him. Other men could tell her what to do, suggest things and she’d do it and even admit they’re right. The governor, for one. She had a feeling he knew what he was talking about no matter how unusual it might be for a governor to be so involved in a law enforcement operation. But then, she was on foreign turf here; it could be the way the crazy Americans always did things. And they thought Aussies were crazy.

  Screeching to a halt in her driveway—or the Whittiers’ driveway—she jumped from the car, mentally going through the list of options to wear on her hot date. She should go with something elegant. And sexy. She thought of the slinky turquoise silk sheath and decided on it, remembering the way Dane looked at her when she’d tried it on for him at the boutique. It would do perfectly.

  As she drove into town her two-way chirped and she realized she’d have to stow it and go without communications. She picked it up for now, depressed the button and spoke, “Shana here.”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “Of course. I’m on my way. Where are you?”

  “I told you, I’m not going to be nearby—that is unless Ned decides to follow close. But I’ll be in communication with Chauncey, who will h
ave eyes on you at all times. Make sure you have eyes on him.”

  “What will he look like?”

  “He’ll be the older, distinguished gentleman with a white jacket.”

  “I don’t know, Dane, there may be too many men that fit that bill. Like—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  She laughed. It felt damn good. Her nerves loosened their grip on her stomach and she took a deep breath.

  “You just keep Ned busy and off me.”

  “You know I will. Captain Nice won’t be far from you either. He’ll be in communication with both of us. Say the word if you’re in trouble.”

  “What’s the word?”

  “How about ‘girlie’?”

  “That’s your word, not mine. How about ‘boy oh boy.’ It’s one I’ve used before.”

  “You’ve used a boy or you’ve—”

  “Not unless you consider grown men as boys—which sometimes they are.”

  “Not this one.”

  “I haven’t used you—”

  “Don’t say it.” There was a grainy, growly texture to his voice, and no humor.

  She laughed, but all her tension came back in spades. Only it settled lower in her gut this time. She felt too much like Dane’s plaything, like he was a predatory tiger and she was a stuffed rabbit.

  “I’m shutting you down. Got to go. The place is up ahead.” She went to flick off the power but hesitated a moment and he came back on.

  “Take care of yourself, Shana.” The words tilted her. The softness of them. The way they were spoken as if there were layers and layers of meaning behind them. The few simple words sounded like they were standing in for so much more. She reached over with a shaking hand and shoved the two-way into the glove compartment. She had to get a grip. There was nothing behind the words. Except maybe sarcasm or a warning. It was Dane talking. And she was pathetic because she wanted there to be more.

  Gliding the BMW 740 she’d borrowed from the Whittiers up to the valet, she shoved it into park and stepped out before the door was opened for her. Jean Luc stood out front wearing a white dinner jacket and a smile. He looked out of place—like he should be somewhere in Monte Carlo or on the set of a James Bond movie. She steeled herself to play the role and mentally reined herself in with a heaving breath. She smiled her toothpaste commercial smile and sauntered forward into Jean Luc’s arms.

  The warm humid breeze tickled the hairs that already stood out on her arms as Jean Luc escorted her inside the restaurant. The rising moon, balmy evening, and soft strains of classical music clashed with the carnal scent of grilled meat, adding to the discordance between the glamorously romantic atmosphere and the quiver of danger in the air. Or maybe the quivers lived only in her belly.

  Once she stepped inside the doors and faced Jean Luc she felt her role take effect. The jitters fled and she remembered the mission and who she was and that she could do this. He didn’t smile either as he escorted her behind the host to their secluded table that presumed a flirtation. Half of her figured he knew she was undercover and they were playing a ridiculous game of charades. The other half of her hoped to God or the devil she was wrong. Either way, she’d play the game. Maybe he was hoping the same thing and neither of them was willing to make the leap.

  All of which made her broaching the subject of playing ringer at the competition very tricky. So when the waiter came over, without hesitation she said, “I’ll have a martini. Straight up.”

  Jean Luc chuckled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry, ma belle. I am not so dangerous.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” The question was genuine.

  “You seem skittish. Maybe you have something on your mind.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  He chuckled again. There was no way she’d start the conversational fireball rolling until she’d at least had a sip of her drink. Her imagination needed some loosening.

  “Did I mention how breathtakingly gorgeous you look this evening?”

  “Can’t hear it enough.” She looked over his shoulder for the waiter. If Dane were here she’d be bordering on a D-minus for a grade right now. “You don’t look bad yourself.” She meant it.

  He nodded his approval at her sincerity.

  “I know you are used to younger men. Except maybe for Dane Blaise. I hope you can forget him for the evening.”

  She waved a hand. The waiter arrived and as he placed the martini in front of her, she smiled and forced herself to wait a beat.

  Jean Luc raised his glass of champagne—the man never seemed to drink anything stronger—at least not unless Dane forced him to—and he made a toast.

  “To an evening of new beginnings.” He clinked her glass with a meaningful nod—meaningful for him—which meant hardly a nod at all.

  “To me winning a million bucks,” she said.

  He broadened his smile and took a small sip. With a raise of her brow and a gulp of her martini, she challenged him to disagree. It burned her throat. She held firm.

  He narrowed his eyes, a departure from his normally bland response to everything. “You’re ambitious. Money motivated. Unusual for an heiress.” He let his accusation hang. She shrugged.

  “I have pride. What can I say? It’s not rocket science, but it’s what I’ve got.”

  “I would bet the million bucks you have a lot more than you let on.”

  “You know of anyone who could beat me in the competition? I’ve seen at least some of the others, checked the list. I’m not overwhelmed.”

  “No. The field is not a challenge for someone like yourself.”

  The words iced her over, but she held back the shudder. He was fishing. Now they were in a fishing contest. She refused to bite at his line.

  “Those are encouraging words coming from the man in charge himself.” She smiled and lowered her lids to a flirtatious look.

  “One never knows in these things. Many things can happen.” He twirled the champagne stem in his fingers. She didn’t bother to respond. He was getting less subtle—almost heavy-handed. She thought maybe she had the edge now. Ned wanted her to be the ringer and for whatever reason—and she had her guesses—Jean Luc was holding back. One thing she was certain of—it wasn’t for sentimental reasons. Too bad.

  “You know I’ve heard things. Rumors.”

  “It’s beneath you to listen to gossip, Shana.” He used a tsk-tsk tone and looked like he meant it.

  “You’re a judgmental son of a gun aren’t you? But you don’t know what’s beneath me or not.”

  “I know you have a true sense of self. A true moral compass could hardly be far behind.”

  She took another bracing gulp of her martini at that. He had to be enjoying this toying around with her and maybe it was getting her blood going a little too, but they could be here all night and then some if she didn’t call him out.

  “You’re so full of crap, Jean Luc. I can’t believe you’ve managed to recruit so many young women for your games.”

  He gave her the prescribed mock-offended look and then smiled the first genuine smile, reaching all the way to his eyes, that she’d seen since she met the man.

  “You’re running a scam and I want in.”

  “You’re pretty loose with your accusations.”

  “You’re pretty silly with your competition. It’s not real. I’ve been in real surfing competitions. This isn’t how they work.”

  “So we’ve invented a new model.”

  “You’re running a scam. No one is getting a million-dollar prize. It’s no coincidence that your brother is an entrant and favored to win the men’s side. I want to win the women’s prize.”

  “We’ll see in the next few days—”

  “I want to be your ringer. I’ll only take ten percent.”

  “Why should a wealthy heiress want anything?”

  “My parents cut me off. That’s why I’m staying at the Whittiers’ place—supposed to be with my friend Susan.” She furrowed her brow for effect
, hoping the mention of the missing woman would increase the pressure.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your financial difficulties, but—”

  “Cut the crap, Jean Luc. We both know Susan was supposed to be your ringer. She told me.” She was taking a gigantic chance, but it was time.

  “That’s impossible. Because it’s not true.”

  “Yes. It is. Stop bluffing. You’re pissing me off.”

  Then he laughed a sincere real amused laugh. “You really are charming—more than you realize.”

  “And I’m a damn good surfer so you’re not likely to get a better offer between now and when the competition starts.”

  He regarded her in silence while he sipped his champagne. She sat on the edge of her seat in eager young heiress anticipation with an excited gleam in her eye that wasn’t entirely faked. She may have him reeled in. She only needed him to call Ned to seal the deal. Then she’d turn him over to her pals back at the ranch. What could be easier? Her heart thrummed with that intoxicating mix of anxiety and excitement. The juices in her stomach churned in overdrive. She’d be lucky to come away from this mission without an ulcer.

  As she walked to her front door with Jean Luc firmly holding her elbow, Shana’s gut swirled with anxiety. She could tell there was no one there. She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door forward to find no one. No Captain Nice, no Chauncey and no Dane. When she paused for an extra beat for no reason, Jean Luc tightened his grip and said, “Is something amiss? Do you want me to check before—”

  “No. It’s fine. It’s—I’m not in the habit of bringing men home.” She felt lame and had no idea if he’d believe her line. Although she realized it was true.

  She stepped forward into the entryway and then onto the carpet of the living area. She turned and said, “Come in and sit down.”

  He smiled and pulled her with him to the couch and sat, tugging her down next to him. She wasn’t sure what to do. This hadn’t been the plan. She knew she needed to stall. Looking into Jean Luc’s sharp cold blue eyes, she couldn’t stop the shiver. Everything Dane had said about the man ran through her head. He’d been right. Jean Luc was not a good guy. Not one to be trifled with. Steeling herself, she decided she was not one to be trifled with either.