The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “Shana will win? She’ll demand her prize money and when they refuse her you cuff them?”

  “Afraid we can’t let it go that far. Ned and the Brazilians are thinking of Shana as the prize and we can’t afford to let it play out.”

  Shana said, “We have the surveillance camera. We could have backup right outside the door—”

  “No. Too dangerous.” Dane shut her down with a stare and his fist clenched on the table. “We have him on fixing the contest since he’s already bribed me and made me head judge and told me what to do. That should be plenty to hang him. We’re working on getting a warrant for their financials. They refused to hand them over voluntarily.”

  “Not surprising. But encouraging—except now they’re going to hide everything.”

  “That’s the beauty of the surveillance camera. We have it on camera.” Dane smiled.

  “But the real crime is the kidnapping. We need to get Susan—you’re sure she’s still alive?”

  “Fairly certain. According to Jean Luc.”

  “Okay. We’ll do it your way, Dane. Cut it short. Get Shana out before the end and shut it down before they can touch her and most of all—make sure you find out where the hell they have Susan Whittier. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve been watching coverage of the event. Very interesting so far. Watch yourself, Shana. And everyone else take care too. Out.” The line went dead. Dane shook his head. Peter loved playing general.

  “I’m calling Jean Luc now,” Shana announced.

  Dane nodded. “Why not? He likes you. Maybe you have sway.”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of sway. I think he’s afraid of Ned.”

  “Who isn’t?”

  She gave him an arched brow. “You?”

  “Me too, “Chauncey said. “Any bloke in their right mind ought to be—the man’s bonkers.”

  “I only met him briefly tonight, but I have to agree,” Cap said. “He seems like he’s the kind of guy who’s always looking for a reason to mess someone up.”

  Dane rubbed his jaw. “He messed me up. Only once.”

  “Now he’s afraid of you,” Shana said.

  “That’s Ned’s language. Fear. Jean Luc is another matter. Maybe your language will work better with him.”

  “Not sure I’m flattered, but I’ll take it.” Shana slipped her smart phone from her pocket and tapped in a number.

  She held the phone to her ear for several tense seconds, then tossed it down, not bothering to leave a message. “He’ll call me back when he has a chance.”

  “If he has a chance,” Captain Lynch said. “One thing you couldn’t see on the video was the tension in the air between him and Ned. He was more afraid of Ned than he was of the Brazilians. I could feel it. The Brazilian brothers were watching it and only mildly concerned about my presence. Probably confident that they could disappear as quickly as they appeared in their brand new state-of-the-art yacht moored in the harbor at Vineyard Haven. The thing can move like a speedboat in the open water.”

  Dane nodded. “Jean Luc’ll be okay. But maybe someone ought to check up on him. You have someone follow them?”

  Cap nodded.

  “Find out where they are. I’ll show up. The rest of you can turn in—especially you.” He nodded at Shana.

  “Why don’t I come with you?” she asked. She had to already know the answer.

  Chauncey said, “Don’t you think that would be like a taunt for Ned if you showed up with Dane?”

  “She’s not serious. Although she does enjoy taunting,” Dane said. He moved to the door but didn’t miss Chauncey’s frown and Cap’s folded arms.

  “I’ll back you up,” Cap said.

  “You got men on the job to back me up. Have them confirm the location, but I think I know where they went.”

  Cap nodded, but he looked strained, like the Chinese food didn’t sit well. Dane knew it wasn’t the food. Before the door closed behind him he heard Shana say, “I’m going back to my house for the night.”

  He hoped to God that Chauncey and Cap had enough sense to go with her, but he’d be talking to Cap in a few minutes and he’d make sure. It was better this way, really. He didn’t need to think any further to know he and Shana had no future as lovers. Too much trouble. Too much friction between them. His stomach churned and ended with a knot in his gut and a feeling as if he were being gnawed from the inside. If he were honest, he’d admit that he was no good for her—or any woman these days. The Elena Effect. She’d left a brand like a deforming scar across his heart.

  He hadn’t gotten too far into his car when his cell phone buzzed and he picked it up.

  “They’re at some hole-in-the-wall dive called The Lucky Parrot. You know it? I’m kind of surprised they didn’t take the Brazilians someplace nice for a night on the town.”

  “I know the place. It’s more like they went to talk business. Maybe we should have planted our camera there instead. I’ll call in later. You go with Shana—both of you. Take care of her.”

  “I let my guys know to watch your back. Look for them. You can watch their backs too.” Cap signed off and Dane tossed his phone on the passenger seat where it fell on top of a burn hole, covering it.

  Dane walked into the place, moving fast right past the two familiar thugs, nodded to the same scared waitress and landed a yard from the table where Ned stood in a half crouch, rising from his seat, but not fast enough. The thugs caught up with him, grabbing his arms and yanking on them. He relaxed.

  Ned said, “Who invited you?” with his usual snarl.

  “Now, Ned, don’t be so rude to our accomplice,” Jean Luc said in a smooth unruffled voice. But it didn’t hide the underlying tension in the man, who looked like he longed to jump out the nearest window. Dane wasn’t sure if it was the decor or the company that got to Jean Luc most.

  The Brazilian brothers Tavares looked at him with interest. He nodded and gave them a smile, the kind that might be mistaken for a snarl by a more civilized person.

  “Who are you?” the less friendly of the two asked.

  “I’m the judge. The head judge in the surfing competition.”

  The brothers nodded and smiled in unison. “Have a seat.”

  Dane pulled up a chair from the next table over—which was empty. He looked around and confirmed that the whole place was empty. Same as on his last visit.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Ned said with his sick smile. He had it mastered. It might have instilled fear if Dane hadn’t already gotten to know the man and if Dane had been someone else—someone he hadn’t been since long before his stint in the service. But now men like Ned didn’t scare him. Not unless there were a gang of them and they had him chained. He flashed back to his last mission for a millisecond and shuddered. Ned mistook the reaction. Suited Dane fine.

  “Mr. Dane Blaise is the one I was telling you about—earlier,” Ned said to the brothers.

  They nodded noncommittally.

  Ned continued. “He’s Shana’s special friend. The one who muscled in on Jean Luc. The one we don’t know nothing about.”

  “Sure you do, Ned. Ask Jean Luc. We go way back.”

  “I ain’t asking him nothing. You think I’m gonna trust a frog?”

  “A frog?” Dane pretended not to understand. The Brazilian brothers laughed.

  “A Frenchman, you idiot,” Ned screeched. He snapped his fingers at the waitress in a fury and, in spite of the blatant look of terror on her face, she came rushing over but stopped well short of the table.

  “Bring us the bottle—top shelf. Rum, for me—what’ll you have, Mr. Blaise?”

  “Tequila.” That got him a nod of approval from one of the Tavares brothers.

  “Don’t listen to Ned,” brother number one said with a distinct accent. “We’re very grateful we made Mr. Ruse’s acquaintance. He’s done well for us in this venture. We owe the introduction to you, Ned.” The man raised his glass and the ice cubes diluting
the Patron gold shifted and clinked as he tilted it toward his mouth and took a long gulp as if it were iced tea.

  “But it is true,” the other brother said with almost no accent, “that you’ve interfered with the girl and Jean Luc cannot guarantee her one hundred percent cooperation—”

  “Of course I can,” Jean Luc said. “She plays games with this, this beachcomber,” Jean Luc waved his glass of red wine in Dane’s direction, “but after I rescued her today, she—”

  The other brother interrupted. “Yes, that was well done.” He looked between Dane and Jean Luc and said, “I must say I’m puzzled, Mr. Blaise. What is it you do here on the island? You live here all year?”

  “No. I travel. A lot.”

  “And what do you do? Are you always a—what is the word—gigolo?” He laughed and his brother scoffed. Ned smirked. Jean Luc’s face remained passive.

  The brother added, “You don’t seem to be the type. You seem—rough. Maybe you have other skills?”

  “You’d be surprised. Some women like it rough,” he said. It wasn’t easy not to laugh, but he stayed in character. Other than a flicker in Jean Luc’s eyes and a tic at the corner of his mouth, the comment met with no suspicion, and much approval. Ned laughed louder even than usual and kept going until he realized one of the brothers was glaring at him. The waitress brought two bottles and two shot glasses, put them on the table and then scurried off. But she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the smack on her rear from Ned. It was loud. The sound of it stung Dane’s ears. The woman didn’t turn around and didn’t slow down in her retreat. Didn’t make a sound. It hadn’t been the first of Ned’s abuses, Dane guessed. A heat that had been in abeyance in his gut fired up and his heart pounded with it. Ned would be sorry. He’d see to it. At some point in their scheme, before the man’s arrest, Dane would make sure of it.

  “Still. I sense, from what I’ve learned of you, that you do have other skills.” The more talkative brother with the minimal accent picked up the conversation, then paused. Dane didn’t answer him and this made the brother smile and nod. He picked up his drink in a salute toward Dane. Dane poured himself a shot and lifted the small glass.

  “I like you, Mr. Blaise.” They both emptied their glasses. The smooth sting of the tequila quelled his rage. That was what he needed for the moment. He gazed surreptitiously at Jean Luc. The man appeared less pale.

  “Maybe you can help us with Shana. We need to make sure she behaves. Make sure she follows orders. Although Jean Luc may be able to handle this, it’s good to have a backup, do you agree?”

  “Shana will do whatever I tell her.” That was the biggest lie Dane had told during the whole operation. It made him smile. It was okay that the Brazilians mistook his ironic amusement as self-confidence. But he noticed Jean Luc’s smile and they exchanged a bonding look. They were bonded by their understanding of the treachery of the wild card, Shana George. It wasn’t that Shana wouldn’t want to do the right thing, but the damn woman had an independent streak. And they both knew it.

  “Good,” the second brother said. He looked at Jean Luc. “We need backup. Looks like Jean Luc already miscalculated once. This is his second woman.”

  “No…no need to talk about that,” Ned said. He looked daggers at Jean Luc and warily at Dane. He seemed undecided whether Dane was worth the risk of shutting up his bosses.

  But this was the exact conversation Dane came out tonight to have. Jean Luc sensed this and he leaned forward slightly.

  “I did my job. It was you, Ned, who miscalculated—”

  “Shut up, you f—”

  “You’re worried about him?” Jean Luc gestured in Dane’s direction with the most disdainful snort he’d ever heard.

  “Don’t mind me.”

  “Yes, you’re one of our … associates now.” The less talkative brother raised his glass.

  “Not yet.” The brother who liked him put his hand on the drinking arm of his brother. “We haven’t completed our goal yet. Mr. Blaise must prove himself. Once the job is completed. Until then, we don’t air our laundry.” This brother was the one in charge. They’d been in sync and relaxed until now, playing rather than doing business. But the seriousness of the man’s stare at Ned and Jean Luc—and even his brother—left no room for doubt. It was that special stare that looked like a combination of a shark and a wolf. Dane had seen it many times before—sometimes in the mirror.

  He took a breath and swallowed his disappointment. They were right not to trust him. He poured one more drink for himself while the talky brother resumed a leisurely conversation about surfing in Brazil versus surfing on Martha’s Vineyard. Apparently there was no comparison. Which they all knew.

  When Dane got up from the table and walked past his two friends, thug one and thug two, no one said a thing besides good night. But he knew he’d be followed. And watched. Even more closely than before. Shit. He doubted their admission of a miscalculation would qualify as enough to get a search warrant. And where would they search? It was clear wherever Susan Whittier was being held, it was not at their rental house.

  Dane got into his car and started the engine, stared out at the water and the boats in the harbor and swore. He’d been a damned fool. Of course she wasn’t in the house. Where would you keep someone if you wanted to escape fast and you were on an island? He tightened his hands on the wheel and rounded the corner sharply, stomping the gas.

  On a boat. On a state-of-the-art speed yacht.

  Chapter 22

  Grabbing the cell phone from the front seat, he dialed Cap.

  “We need intel on all boats docked at all the local marinas—since about the time Ned arrived on the island or slightly before. And whatever you have on the Tavares brothers’ yacht. Have you had eyes on it since they arrived?”

  “More or less—not immediately. There was a window. I think I know where you’re going with this—”

  “Need to narrow down those likely owned, controlled or rented by Ned, Jean Luc, any of his sidekicks or the Brazilians or their company. Most likely owned or rented by the American Invitational Surfing Competition.”

  “Shit. Brilliant. You think Susan Whittier is aboard a company boat? Maybe the yacht—”

  “Worth a look. Not the yacht. Unless they moved her. She wasn’t at the house when we checked and the Brazilians hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t get an admission, but I’ll swear out a petition for a subpoena on what I got for a search if we find a company boat—maybe we can do it early. We definitely need a surprise.”

  “Hopefully we’ll get the subpoena in time, but it’s a long shot—judge is off island,” Captain said.

  “Damn. Where are you?”

  There was a hesitation. “The Whittier house. With Shana and Chauncey.”

  “Call the judge. I’ll text Jean Luc—later. I’ll need to give him a chance to get out of that bar and back to their beach house. He’ll be able to duck away and talk. He surely knows about a boat. Don’t know why he didn’t mention it sooner.”

  “He hasn’t been very helpful. I don’t trust him.”

  “Join the club. Shana is the only one who thinks he’ll come through.” Dane signed off and pulled in his driveway for the second time that night. It seemed strangely lonely now after all the company. After Shana. He walked out back and texted Jean Luc to call him as soon as he could. Then he sat in a chair on his patio, aimed it at the harbor breeze and settled in for his wait.

  It only took twenty minutes for Jean Luc to call him back.

  “Yes, we have a boat—a small yacht. We entertained local officials earlier on—”

  “Never mind that—when was the last time you were on it?”

  “You think that’s where they’re holding Susan Whittier?”

  “Answer my question, Jean Luc, and then tell me where it’s docked.”

  “Not in three weeks—before Susan decided not to participate—”

  “Either you are the stupidest con man in the world or you’ve been holding out on us. And I
know you’re not stupid.”

  There was silence.

  “I’m not stupid. I know the value of information.”

  “And you don’t value your brother’s well-being.”

  “You won’t do anything to him.”

  “Not if you don’t count throwing his ass in jail for a long time.”

  Jean Luc snorted. “You’re right. I don’t count that. He’d be in more danger out of jail and running around the world gaining the attention of the likes of Ned and the Tavares brothers.”

  “Where is it docked?”

  “Owen Park Marina in Vineyard Haven. Right near the larger Tavares yacht. You’ve probably been looking at it from your own patio.”

  “How do you know about my patio? I thought Ned was the one who did all the grimy recon work in your outfit.”

  “I don’t leave everything to him. I know how to follow a man and I know how to do surveillance—without being detected.”

  Dane shook his head. Damned if the man wasn’t right about that.

  “I can’t talk any longer. Ned is suspicious as it is.”

  “Confirm that she’s on the boat and call me back. Tonight. We’re going in to get her first thing in the morning and we’ll need a warrant.”

  There was dead silence.

  “Jean Luc? Not getting cold feet on me now are you? You know Shana’s in danger here—”

  “Mon dieu. I know. I will do it. Look for a text. A very short text.”

  Dane disconnected. He’d heard what he needed to hear and his disgust with Jean Luc’s lack of trustworthiness, lack of spine and lack of any substance whatsoever grew to overwhelming proportions. He wanted to drive over there to the house in Oak Bluffs, march in past the thugs and Ned and the Brazilian brothers and right up to the slick and sickening Jean Luc so he could choke the disdain out of him.

  Of course the most disgusting thing about it all was that Shana trusted him. To say she had poor judgment was an understatement. A flash of Elena’s face appeared in his head then as a reminder that anyone could suffer from poor judgment sometimes. But the thought hardly consoled him. It made him wish he’d taken the bottle of tequila home with him.