The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “Tell me what’s troubling you, Shana.” He reached out a hand and took her chin in a firm grip, too firm to be affectionate or friendly. His teeth glittered in his ever-present smile.

  She pushed his hand away and stood to her full height above him, snatching up her purse and pulling her gun out. No way would she play hanky-panky with this guy just to stall for time.

  “I’m fine. You just stay put.” She held the gun out in front of herself but not too close to him, with her finger poised on the trigger.

  His smile never faltered. Then he laughed. “Are you going to shoot me? What is this about, ma cherie? Did Dane put misguided notions in your head about me? He is the one—”

  “Shut up.”

  Jean Luc shook his head. He stopped smiling and she took satisfaction in that. Then he stood. She backed up a step to keep the gun from his reach.

  “I think I should leave.” He turned and walked in a few short unhurried steps to the door and pulled it open. A beat behind him, she rushed forward with her gun still pointing and said, “Stop right there.” He did.

  When she looked over his shoulder, she saw Dane on the other side of the threshold. Dane pushed Jean Luc backwards until they were both inside again, and kicked the door closed behind him with his foot.

  “You’re late.” Shana hated that her voice sounded tight, like a guitar string about to snap.

  “There was a glitch,” Dane said without taking his eyes from Jean Luc, who stood inert and silent like he’d turned into a mannequin.

  “What?”

  “Ned. I’ll explain later.”

  “What’s this about?” Jean Luc finally spoke, still without taking his attention from Dane and that annoyed her since she was the one holding the gun.

  “Have a seat,” Dane said. He flicked a plastic tie from his back pocket, spun Jean Luc around and wrapped his wrists. Then he shoved the man forward and onto the couch. Jean Luc turned and gave her an accusing look.

  She didn’t react. Relief broke her tension because she truly did not care what Jean Luc thought.

  “None of us likes Ned. Neither do you,” Dane said, towering over him where Jean Luc sat again on the low-slung couch.

  “I know you won’t believe me,” Jean Luc said, still sounding comfortable, “but I gave it sixty-five percent odds that you were law enforcement. I didn’t mention my suspicion to Ned. Not that he would have given any credence to anything I said. The man is a boor, a very cruel stupid boor and deserves whatever he gets.”

  “But?” Dane said.

  “But my brother—and his girl Tamara, such as she is—do not deserve what would happen to them if things don’t work out as Ned expects. Ned and his people, I should say. But I have a feeling Ned is a loose cannon and his people like him that way. Or at least they put up with him.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that you’re not going to turn on Ned?”

  Jean Luc said nothing, but matched Dane’s stare.

  “Jean Luc, we need your help,” Shana said and sat beside him.

  “No use trying your pretty pout with me, ma belle. I am the most jaded man you’ve ever met, I’m afraid.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said and looked at Dane. Then she added, “Besides, I didn’t get where I am without knowing something about jaded men. We need your help and so we’ll use what we have to make sure we get it. I’m afraid your little brother and his ridiculous girlfriend will be in more trouble if you do not cooperate.”

  Jean Luc arched a brow, but didn’t look as if he believed her. She shook her head and stood. “Tell him.” She addressed Dane, as if she were the one in charge. This had the effect of confusing Jean Luc, at least momentarily. She’d thrown the infamous Jean Luc Ruse off-guard. She slid a quick glance in Dane’s direction to see what he thought. No sign.

  “We’ll have the police pick up your brother and his girl for questioning and make sure Ned knows about it,” Dane said. “We’ll keep them for the full twenty-four hours and with the competition starting, Ned will be worried. He’ll be worried he lost his ringer and he’ll be worried his ringer turned on him.” He smiled.

  “Then we’ll send him back out to play sitting duck in the competition and Ned will never believe he said nothing. No matter what he tells Ned. Now with Ned’s disposition and the fact that he needs your brother for the competition, your brother may be safe. Ned may take out his frustration on Tamara instead. Or he may keep her as insurance.”

  Jean Luc’s nostrils flared and he turned a shade lighter.

  “You know of this man’s reputation with women and yet you let him walk around and you would put another innocent woman in his path?” Jean Luc snarled the words.

  “Hell, I’m even willing to put Shana in his path if it comes to it.” Dane bared his teeth not even pretending to smile this time. Shana tensed.

  “What do you need me for? If you have everything figured out, go and arrest the man,” Jean Luc hissed. “I won’t be heartbroken, even if it means I will be arrested as well.”

  “Arrested for what, Jean Luc? You haven’t done anything.” Shana spoke and sat back down next to him. “Have you?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “You have nothing but guesses.”

  “And you. Don’t forget we have you,” Dane said.

  Jean Luc’s poker face faltered enough to show a twitch run along one cheek. Dane scared him just enough to be unsure. As planned. Dane congratulated himself for being a scary man until he looked at Shana staring at him. She wasn’t sure of him either. Was she scared of him? More importantly, why should he care if she was? Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along—what he’d gone out of his way to cultivate—her fear?

  The notion tasted sour. Any pleasure he took in his progress at turning Jean Luc left him. But he went for the kill anyway because that was his job and he was very good at his job. That was his contribution to this world.

  “And you have Susan Whittier.”

  “More guesses.”

  “You’d be a most unlucky man if I were guessing wrong.”

  “I’m no kidnapper.”

  He was cracking. The sign was so unmistakable.

  Dane, who was never surprised, was surprised when Shana stood up alongside him, arms folded and a too smug look on her face. She needed to practice more indifference. The thought stabbed at the spot where his heart used to be. What was he grooming her for? To be the number two cynic next to him?

  He doubled down on his stare of indifference toward Jean Luc and flipped a knife from his pocket. The move was swift and that alone should have caused a person to flinch. But there were no flinchers in this room. At least Jean Luc lost some of his practiced nonchalance when Dane extended the knife toward him.

  “Relax. I’m cutting your plastic ties. You’re free to go. I’ll be making that call to a state police friend of mine about picking up your brother—”

  “Don’t.” Jean Luc flexed his hands, moved his arms and rolled his shoulders with the release of his bonds. Still sitting, he looked up at Dane, avoiding Shana’s stare. “No need. I will cooperate.”

  “I’m glad,” Shana said. She relaxed her stance, apparently believing him. Dane wasn’t so sure. Not that he had much choice. If it were his own butt on the line, ironically, he wouldn’t care as much. But it wasn’t. It was hers. The girl would be the death of him. Or at the very least, she’d give him an ulcer. Funny he’d never worried about ulcers before. Never had that sting in his gut before. Elena’s betrayal had set this stage.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “You’ll need to stay here tonight and pretend you’re with Shana since that’s what Ned expects, n’est ce pas?”

  Jean Luc nodded but showed no amusement at Dane’s use of his limited French.

  He took a breath and would have continued with his instructions to Jean Luc, but the commotion at the front door stopped him. He turned in time to see the door bang open. Captain Lynch stumbled in under the weight of a semiconscious Chaunce
y Miller.

  Chapter 18

  “Mon Dieu.” Jean Luc stood.

  “Let’s get him on the couch. Shana, get some ice. Know any discreet docs, Cap?” Dane lifted Chauncey’s legs to lay him out and took his wrist to test his pulse. “Weak, but in the realm of normal.”

  Shana handed him the towel-wrapped ice and backed up, giving him a funny look. He had no time to figure her right now and he dragged his focus back to Chauncey Miller, newlywed. Shit.

  “What happened?” Dane asked, as Cap punched in some numbers on his cell—Dane hoped to get a doctor. A crease pinched his brows together and there was a gray tinge to his skin. Captain Lynch looked shook up. He said something into the phone and tossed it onto the lamp table.

  “Doctor’ll be here in less than five. I don’t know what happened exactly except that Ned or his goons intercepted him before he got out of the club after Shana and Jean Luc. Once I heard he was in trouble I came running and found him out back near the kitchen. Took some doing.” Captain Lynch pushed a hand through his hair and paced around.

  Dane stood. “He’ll be okay. He has a concussion and a nasty bump and a couple of bruises, but no broken bones.”

  “I know—I checked before I moved him.”

  “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Shana asked. “Surely it would—”

  “Cap did the right thing. We’re still under the radar. But now Ned’s suspicious of Chauncey and maybe the rest of us—and in particular, you.”

  “I can help with that,” Jean Luc spoke up.

  “Oh and suddenly you’re on our team?” Dane turned to face him.

  “I can make sure he doesn’t suspect any of you are law enforcement. I’ve already called him to let him know Shana is our ringer for the competition.”

  “And?” Dane had a feeling there was more to this than they’d figured.

  “And that I would infiltrate her home and get the bank codes and information he wants. Which means you’ll have to give me some bank codes and make sure there’s plenty of money in the account.”

  Dane laughed. “Always running a scam, Jean Luc. Or whatever your name is.”

  “Jean Luc is my real name. Ruse is not.” Jean Luc didn’t volunteer his real surname.

  “So what are the chances Ned is going to go through with the scam if he thinks Chauncey is law enforcement?” Shana asked.

  “More importantly, where is he holding Susan Whittier?” Dane snarled.

  “The answer is I don’t know—to both your questions.”

  Chauncey moved, opened his eyes and tried to sit up, “What…”

  Shana rushed to his side like she was suddenly Florence Nightingale. Dane shoved her aside and pushed Chauncey back down, then checked his eyes, moving the lids up with his thumb. “Cap—get me a flashlight.”

  “What in bloody…” Chauncey said, reaching up to swat Dane’s hand away.

  “Take it easy, Chaunce. You took a nasty blow to the head.” Dane took the flashlight from Lynch and shone it in the man’s eyes, looking at the degree of dilation. He didn’t get this far in this business without knowing a few things about emergency field medicine and concussions. “You remember what happened?”

  “Yeah. I think…” He closed his eyes and pushed himself up as soon as Dane switched the light off. Dane watched him. His movements were coordinated well, if slow. He let his heartbeat slow and expelled a deep breath, and with it the fear. Too many casualties along the way in his life. But this was no time to go there.

  “Did you recognize who hit you?”

  “Ned’s thugs. They had a few questions for me and why I had an interest in Shana George and Jean Luc. I told him I was Shana’s friend and keeping an eye on her and she’d kill me if she knew. I figured it was no use pretending otherwise since they recognized me under the disguise.”

  “I should have been the one—” Captain Nice said before Dane cut him off.

  “They asked questions first, then beat you up?”

  “You should see the other guys. When they got rough I got rough back. Last I remember sounds from someone nearby in the kitchen caused them to bring out a weapon—looked like a nunchuk or something of that sort. Then black.” He rubbed the side of his head. “Oh—and my phone started ringing. Lucky for us they were too stupid to take it with them.”

  “So now all we have to do is make sure they’re convinced that Chauncey is an overprotective friend.” Dane looked at Jean Luc. “That’s where you come in.”

  Jean Luc nodded.

  “In the meantime, since Chauncey is posing as Citizen Joe with nothing to hide and not undercover law enforcement, he needs to go to the hospital.” Dane turned to Captain Nice. “Cancel the doctor. You take him to the hospital—take Jean Luc with you and go back and get the cars. Change of plans. Set up Jean Luc with some personal listening devices and GPS so we can keep tabs. Then send him on his way.”

  “That’s it?” Jean Luc for the first time looked nonplussed.

  “What were you expecting—a script? You’re a con. You know the drill. Act natural. Play the game. And find out where the hell he’s holding the girl and get us that information. Then get us some files—computer, paper, I don’t care—something of the smoking gun nature—”

  “I assure you there is no record that would lead you to Ned—”

  “Not Ned. His bosses. The Brazilians. Aldo and Bento Tavares.” Dane said. Then he bore his stare into Jean Luc’s and spoke slowly in his deadliest calm voice. “We need to shut down their white slavery operation. He’ll not get another woman out of here.”

  Jean Luc’s face closed up like a switch to his soul had been turned off.

  “What about my brother?”

  “He’s fine as long as you keep your mouth shut and do your job. Ned needs him for his scam. Or at least for the surfing competition portion of the scam.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jean Luc asked the question and surprised everyone by showing his hand. Either that or he was playing them and pretending he had no idea. Dane figured the latter. He scoffed.

  “What about me?” Shana spoke up after watching and listening.

  “You’re with me,” Dane said.

  Predictably, she put her hands on her hips and frowned. Classic bitch stance. He withheld the smile that almost erupted spontaneously.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Lynch said.

  “Too bad you don’t get a vote,” Dane said, staring the man down in alpha dog form.

  Chauncey grunted. Before the concussion, the grunt would have been a laugh or at least a snort.

  Dane looked at Cap. “After you bring Chauncey back to the scene of the crime and he calls an ambulance, disappear back to headquarters and do whatever the police would do in a case where a guy gets beat up and left behind a restaurant.”

  Captain Lynch didn’t say a word in response and it looked like it took a lot of effort if the whiteness of his compressed lips was a tell. He left with Chauncey the way they came in, but with Jean Luc following in their wake. Before Jean Luc stepped outside, he turned to Shana.

  “In spite of everything, I enjoyed our evening. You didn’t need to be the ringer. You would have won the competition.”

  “But not the money,” she said, not returning his smile. Thank God, Dane thought.

  Jean Luc nodded and left.

  The door closed with a satisfying thud as Dane pushed it closed.

  Then he turned to face Shana.

  The green intensity of her eyes burned a hole down to his soul and the cattle-prod sting sparked his heart to a pounding pace.

  “We’re alone,” she said. He refused to think about the implications of her words, of her stating the obvious. But whether he contemplated it or not, he felt the implications in his body. The heat of racing blood spread through him and especially in his most carnal regions. Every nerve he’d been holding at bay until now sprang at once to life until he felt like one touch to her skin would electrify them to cinders.


  “Just you and me, girlie.” His voice trembled in a low sensual rumble. He fisted his hands to prevent any more telltale trembling.

  Curse the girl for knowing. She licked her lips and smiled. Like a tigress would size up her prey.

  “You know there’s a price to pay for calling me girlie.” She wanted to make him pay and she could see the state he was in gave her the opportunity. Her heart stuttered and her gut floated and pulsed like she was a teenager about to be kissed for the first time.

  “Let’s get out of here.” His words surprised her.

  “Why? Let’s stay here.” She was up for this battle; every little move from here on would be a battle for them. Probably had been one way or another since she laid eyes on him. Or since he laid eyes on her.

  He didn’t respond. Not by talking anyway. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the door as if he were a caveman. And damn it if it didn’t cause a major flutter in her gut and her juices to flow. What was wrong with her? For a second she thought of digging in her heels quite literally, but either her dignity or her too-fast heartbeat stopped her.

  Bottom line was he got his way and she found herself being shoved into the front seat of his trashy old car with the cigarette burns in the upholstery.

  “Why do we need to go to your house—or rather beach shack?”

  “We’re better off there.”

  A shiver of unease or dread sifted through her, leaving her nerves sparking like live wires ready to explode at a touch. His touch. She scoffed.

  “I have an arsenal.” He spit the words.

  She tensed against another shiver. There was no doubt he read her thoughts. She may as well be flashing a neon sign telling him she wanted him. Somehow he’d flipped the situation she’d thought she had in hand. Maybe the neon would be less obvious if it weren’t her raw sexual tension. If she could smell her own melting desire, then he could too. The short drive took longer than her nerves could stand and she shoved her door open before he’d shut off the engine. Jumping out, she nearly stumbled in her haste to get some distance and breathe in the night ocean air of the harbor. Heading behind his house she shivered again, but this time it was the cool clammy breeze that got to her hair-trigger nerves and set off the vibrating.