“Cap, this is Demon. Go. Now.”
“All clear? All’s well? I’m hearing—”
“All’s well. Just go. Fast.” Dane shut the thing down for the moment and went back down the metal steps to find his jersey and head to the circus tent set aside for medical emergencies, figuring that’s where they’d take her. He looked up only once to see the replay of the surfboard stabbing on the Jumbotron and heard the renewed buzz of the crowd. Now that the initial panic was over, the judges and the Assistant Beach Marshall were trying to restore order. He hurried away before anyone looked to him for guidance as the head judge, hoping the mirrored glare of his sunglasses and the unfriendly stare on his face would discourage interaction.
While he jogged to the tent, he searched the marshalling area where the surfers had returned and looked for any sign of Tamara. He hadn’t noticed what happened to her and hoped that Chauncey picked her up or had a uniform do it. Damn.
How derailed could a man get by a woman?
She opened her mouth to scream when she saw Jean Luc facing her instead of Dane, but her heart-stopping disorientation prevented her from making a sound. The look in Jean Luc’s eyes, stark concern quickly masked, settled her and she closed her mouth before she swallowed water. He tightened his hold around her and towed her to a spot where they met another watercraft. She let him haul her aboard. Her shaking hands embarrassed her. The noise from the beach, the bullhorn, the announcer, the buzzing crowd, all combined to eclipse the sound of the ocean. She shielded her face from the cameras as best she could for the short trip back to the shore. But the one question that ran through her mind without answer chilled her. Where was Dane?
His cell phone rang and he saw Chauncey’s number flash, against all protocol. Dane answered it where he stood on the beach, ten feet from the medical tent and determined to find Shana, but determined not to blow the operation.
“Talk.”
“I have Tamara under wraps, along with one of Ned’s goons and heretofore one of my enemies from the parking lot incident. Strange bedfellows. We have her in the personnel-only tent behind closed doors—or as closed off as one can get in a beach tent. I think it’s a ladies’ locker room of sorts.”
“You’re with Ned’s men?”
“I’ve convinced them that I remain Shana’s overprotective gay photographer friend and that I’m not to be trifled with. I think they respect that I didn’t identify them to the police last night. Cap made sure the word went out. Roger Ruse—or whatever his name is—was at the station last night. Not uncoincidentally, I think. I made sure he knew the situation.”
“Speaking of the devil—where is he? Any sign?”
“Last I saw he was in the surfers’ corral or whatever you call it. Waiting for his shot at a wave. This surfing competition is the damnedest business I ever saw.”
“Nothing since the attempted stabbing?”
“No.”
“How does Ned think he can keep the police out of it? The uniforms will be here any minute. Without Cap.”
“I think he assumes money will do the trick. Should we let him have his way for the moment?”
“It’ll gain us credibility and time. Call Cap and tell him to get the word out. Hopefully he’s finished with his search of the basement.”
“Maybe he’s found …the goods and we can arrest the entire cast along with the crazy surfer girl.”
“One can hope.” But it ain’t damn likely.
Captain Lynch drove in without his lights flashing and Jean Luc looked like a hero for meeting the police in the parking lot and turning over Tamara without a scene. Ned was busy calming down his Brazilian brothers and Chauncey kept an eye on them. Ned also did another interview on the Jumbotron and insisted the competition would start up where it left off, in one hour at high noon. That left Dane an opening to track down Shana, whom he found in the personnel tent with Roger in a headlock death grip. She was angrily asking him questions.
Dane stood in the doorway, silent a moment, watching her and feeling a completely inappropriate and uncalled-for sense of pride. He had no claim and yet he felt it anyway. The faint smile on his lips compressed to a dismayed line as he stepped forward.
“I don’t care who the hell your friends are. No one takes a stab at me and walks away without consequences. So tell me again where she got the knife.”
“I’m telling you she’s a crazy bitch and she did the whole thing on her own. She’s had the knife all along. Probably used it before on another crazy bitch like you—”
Dane’s fist crashed into his mouth stopping any more nastiness from spilling out. The only thing that spilled out now was a sickening crack and a spurt of blood, followed by an impressive stream. As Dane shook his hand, he wondered if any of the blood was his own. Examining his knuckles, he realized Roger’s teeth left raw bloody scrapes through his skin. Other than a groan, Roger knew better than to say anymore.
Afraid to meet Shana’s eyes, Dane finally looked up and caught her grin. Now she seemed to like his macho displays of protectiveness. She shoved Roger away from her into the corner, where he landed on the floor in a heap and stayed.
“A few days ago you would’ve scolded me for interfering.” Dane raised a brow, but didn’t smile, remembering his distrust. Remembering Elena.
“That was … before.” Her smile held.
He nodded noncommittally. The implication that they now had something that gave him rights struck him hard. The panic and euphoria tumbled and clashed causing equal stirs in his gut and his groin. He paused to get his bearings. Business first. He looked away from her smile to regroup.
“They’re starting again at noon. You’ll be up first. If you’re up to it.”
“Damn right I’m up to it.” She gave Roger a glare. “I never needed a surf caddy before and I don’t need one now.” Turning back to Dane, she put her arm through his and said, “I’m fine.”
They walked outside and he disentangled himself. She let him step away without a fuss. She probably figured it was for propriety, but it was more for his nerves.
He filled her in on the progress or lack thereof. Jean Luc and Ned’s beach house basement had been empty. No sign of a hostage.
“So now everything depends on Jean Luc getting Ned to talk. While he has his Brazilian friends in town?”
“We figure that’ll play to our advantage. Chances are they won’t like him having a hostage hanging around, much less a dead heiress. Not while they’re the focal point of all this press. I told Jean Luc we’ll have Captain Lynch give him an official call at the office later this evening to question him and Ned about Susan Whittier. He said he can have everyone there for the show to put pressure on Ned.”
“But if they’re holding her and she’s still alive, she’s a liability.”
“Jean Luc says that Ned went along with his idea to keep her as insurance and they had the goons take her by drugged drink at the same club where they tried to take Chauncey down. He has no idea who took her or where she is. Jean Luc confessed he was in on the setup, albeit under duress. Said he was promised nothing would happen to her, but he never saw her again after that night.”
“Seems our Mr. Ruse has been doing a lot of talking.” Her eyes shuttered.
“Something between you two?” It was his knee-jerk response.
She laughed at him. If he wasn’t so angry at himself—at her too for making him feel this way—he’d have blushed with embarrassment.
“Seems Mr. Ruse had a few things to say after the knifing incident loosened his tongue,” Dane said through tight lips.
“You mean knifing non-incident. Only my surfboard got stabbed. Which reminds me. If I’m on in less than an hour, I’ll need a new board.”
“It’s taken care of.”
She nodded. There was nothing left to say.
“Meet me back at my place after the last heat. We’ll watch Cap’s foray into the American Invitational Surfing Competition offices on closed circuit.”
�
�You have a closed circuit system at your house?”
“I’m a pro, baby. Remember? Truth, justice and the American way. Guns or bust.”
She snorted and turned.
“I’ll be watching close and scoring. Put on a good show.”
Dane jogged back to his judge’s perch as the announcer blasted the time warning for everyone to be in their officially assigned places within five minutes. He checked the beach for any sign of Jean Luc and saw him heading his way in a small dune buggy. He was alone. Dane waved the man over.
“You talked to Ned yet?”
“No. I said I would have him and the Brazilians at the offices at 6:00 p.m. for a show of force. I’ll bring it up then and see if I can get him to admit he has her and say where she is. Captain Lynch will plant the camera behind the surfboard?”
“Yes. He’s probably there as we speak. Play your part. You’ll have plenty of credibility after handling the Tamara incident without the police raiding the beach.”
“Ned isn’t happy that the police have her. I assured him she doesn’t know enough to get us in trouble—only wild unsubstantiated accusations and she has no credibility.”
“You’re sure she doesn’t know about Susan Whittier?”
“I am sure she does not. Of course we would keep it from her. Ned wouldn’t want to spook her since she was our backup if Roger could ever get her straight enough to surf.”
“Damn it. She never overheard anything? If she knows anything it would help wrap this whole thing up before anything else can go wrong.” He didn’t like Shana still being out there where Ned had her in his sights. Who knew what the Brazilians had in mind for her? Check that. He knew exactly what they had in mind. He knew the kind of men that Ned ran with. He knew the kind of men the brothers were reputed to be. Even if only half the intel was true it made Dane shudder to chance Shana coming into close contact with any of them.
“I’m worried about her too,” Jean Luc said in response to his introspection. Dane knew he was talking about Shana and not Tamara.
Jean Luc drove the dune buggy to Dane’s judging station. Ned watched from above. Dane knew Ned would visit with him once he climbed up and he was right.
Taking his seat and picking up his binoculars, Dane decided that ignoring the man’s death stare was the best policy.
“You’re soft.”
“You’re not talking to me, are you?” Dane lowered his binoculars to stare back at Ned, who stood at eye level while Dane sat on his elevated chair.
“I told you to stay away from Shana.”
“Curiosity got the better of me. I had to see for myself that she was okay after your crazy surfer caddy nearly stabbed her.” Dane lifted the binoculars back up to his eyes and aimed at the surfers’ marshalling area to find Shana. Watching her calmed him right now.
“I know you stayed together last night.”
“Yeah. So? What are you going to do about it?” He kept his lens trained to her body and watched the long line of her strong legs as she walked in the sand toward the water with her board in one arm.
“You like the mark too much. You care too much. That’s dangerous,” Ned said. He snapped his fingers. “I can make something bad happen just like that.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Ned.”
“Not to you. To her. I can bring down a world of bad.”
Dane lowered his binoculars, slowly, while his blood simmered and he gathered his temper. “Have you ever heard the song about Leroy Brown, the baddest man in the whole damn town?”
“If you were anyone, I woulda heard of you.”
“That’s the point, Ned. You have no idea who I am.” Dane raised his binoculars again. “Keep that in mind.” He kept his gaze steady while Ned turned and walked away with a nervous chuckle.
Tonight’s escapade had better work. Dane wasn’t sure how long he could keep Ned guessing before he guessed right that he was dealing with law enforcement, albeit indirectly.
Once Ned left, Dane kept his eyes on Shana while she paddled out to the waves. It took her less than a minute to catch a good-sized swell and a few seconds more for her to pop to a stand and glide parallel to the shore along the smooth inside wall of the five feet of glassy water. Her form was perfect as she carved and damn if she didn’t lay a massive spray of ocean in the direction of the shore for the TV cameras, water photographers and judges—and the spectators cheered their appreciation while the announcer called out her moves. Gliding to a smooth ending toward the shore she dropped and swam with her board off to the side and out of the way of the next competitor.
Dane dropped his binoculars and picked up his phone, pressing Captain Lynch’s number. “Get in the office and set up the camera. It won’t be long. Jean Luc will get all the players together.”
“Any special location?”
“Yeah. The yellow surfboard hanging on the center of the wall to the left when you walk in the door. He’ll stage it.”
“How’s Shana?”
“Like gold. We’ll be watching the show from the shack. Stop by afterwards.” Dane ended the call.
Shana dragged herself back to the competitors’ area and the outdoor showers to rinse off before heading to the tent. She was finished competing for the day and there was no way she was hanging around for any further strange encounters. It would have been a great plan if a man with a microphone and a TV camera with the ESPN logo hadn’t rushed toward her before she got to the tent. Searching the area for Dane or Chauncey—or even Jean Luc—to rescue her from the one situation she truly needed rescuing from, she saw no one and the man reached her.
“Shana—”
She ducked inside the first dressing room door she found, shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Her heart beat fast and exhaustion drained her of the ability to move as the adrenaline receded from her system.
One thought was left on her mind. Dane. What would she do about him? How did she feel about him?
And what did it matter?
Dressed and carrying her beat-up board, Shana walked toward the parking lot where Chauncey pulled up in his wide-open Jeep to chauffeur her God only knew where.
“I hope there’s a bed waiting wherever you’re taking me,” she said after tossing the board in back and hauling herself onto the front passenger seat of the doorless vehicle.
“I’m flattered, but I’m a married man after all.” He grinned. She laughed.
“I’ll let Dane know of your request.”
“Don’t do me any favors. I need a nap. Any chance there’ll be time before the sting?”
“Maybe ten minutes. I’ll step on it.”
She hesitated only a second, realizing there was no need for pretense with Chauncey. “Where is Dane?”
“He’s on his way. He managed to escape Ned’s notice after being tracked all day. Jean Luc proved to be helpful there.”
“Yeah. He’s been all kinds of help today.”
“In every way except the one way we needed. He didn’t manage to get the desired information from Ned about Susan Whittier.”
“I’m sure there’s a good reason for that. Ned is a paranoid and mean bastard. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t trust Jean Luc. Not that he should.”
They turned onto Dane’s street and his beach shack was in sight when Chauncey asked. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Not a scratch. The wild woman had lousy aim.” She looked at him and saw his frown and realized that’s not what he was asking about.
“I know you’ve developed a … relationship with Dane. Not that it’s any of my business. But we are here on business after all. So I’m asking if you’re all right—if everything between you two is all right enough to continue. We can call it off—have you withdraw at any moment—”
“Not until we find Susan Whittier and have enough to arrest Ned and his Brazilian cohorts. I know she’s alive and I know Ned is hiding her away somewhere.” She raised her chin and returned his frown. “I’m a big girl. No need to worry.” She paus
ed, then said, “Are you going to ask Dane if he’s all right too?”
“I know. It’s terribly chauvinistic of me to be concerned for you. If my wife knew, she’d scold me. Consider the matter closed.”
She sighed. The man was not at fault. She looked away and wished the tension that kept her from apologizing would pass. Dane was right about the chip on her shoulder. But knowing was a far cry from conquering.
She turned back to Chauncey as they pulled in the drive. “Your wife is a lucky woman.” Then she jumped from the Jeep and trotted to the door. Dane wasn’t back yet and she headed straight for his bedroom.
The close air in the room slammed her when she opened the door, and then the sight of the messed bed, the lingering musky smell of their sex, slammed home the memory of that morning and the night before until she was dizzy. Forcing herself forward, she closed the door behind her. No way would she be able to explain her change of mind to Chauncey if she came back out of the room to nap on the couch.
The smell of Dane surrounded her as she sucked in the air and pulled off her clothes. Dropping onto the sheets, she breathed in the heady smells of raw male and sex and closed her eyes. What the hell was she doing? Since when did she lose all her self-discipline and get distracted by a man? And that man? He was not her usual type—not young and cute and buff and easy.
There was nothing easy about Dane Blaise, she thought. Mercifully, it was her last thought before she fell asleep.
Dane pulled up in front of his house halfway onto his front lawn. He got out and walked past Chauncey’s vehicle in his short driveway as the wave of anticipation in his gut made him think of Shana inside. Made him think of Shana last night. Forcing himself to slow his steps, he went in the back door and found Chauncey sitting at the table with a bowl of peanuts and a glass of water. No Shana. He didn’t ask. He knew where she was.
The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series Page 17