The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  After the cool harbor breezes washed him with their salty balm, he calmed enough so that when he got Jean Luc’s text, the blip in his heart rate was not of life-threatening proportions. Jean Luc didn’t confirm that Susan Whittier was on the company boat—or even on the Brazilian brothers’ boat. But he didn’t say she wasn’t.

  The only thing Jean Luc’s text said was “Shana in danger…Ned.” That’s it.

  As he paced in a circle around his patio, wary of his perimeter, Dane immediately tapped in the man’s phone number, but he got nothing. It had been turned off. Or destroyed. Shit.

  Storming inside the house, he reached for his secure line and called Cap.

  “Problem. Ned’s onto us—or likely is—according to Jean Luc.”

  “Do you have enough to swear out a warrant?”

  “Yes,” Dane said without hesitation. “Forget the judge. Go to the governor.”

  There was a pause.

  “Do we pull the plug on Shana going back to the competition—”

  “No.” Dane squeezed his eyes shut. “We need to keep them occupied and off-guard and make sure they’re all accounted for. We don’t want them to pull the plug and disappear. We play the game. We pretend everything’s cool while we let them pretend everything is cool.”

  “And we see who flinches first? This isn’t the OK Corral. Shana’s safety—”

  “Will be up to me. And her. We don’t wait for flinching. We execute the warrant as soon as the competition is underway. Miller and I will watch Shana. You lead the charge on the search for Whittier and I’ll catch up as soon as we get Shana out of the water. We all keep in communication at all times.”

  “Won’t that be too obvious?”

  “No. I’ve got some devices I’ve been dying to try out.”

  Shana wore her fluorescent orange lifeguard tank-style bathing suit under the event pinney with her number emblazoned in lime green and black. Number twelve. Definitely not up to the standard ASP competition jerseys, but most of this crowd wouldn’t know. She was in the second heat of surfers in this final round. The waves were up this morning and it looked like they’d start on time. She squinted across the long stretch of Katama Beach. The crowds were heavy, considering the early hour—9:45 a.m. She’d need to wait an hour to ninety minutes tops in the surfers marshalling area. Part of her wanted to watch the competition and win the event, but she shoved that urge aside and thought of Susan Whittier. This wasn’t a real competition. This wasn’t about surfing. Never had been.

  Chauncey approached from the ocean side of the cordoned area, snapping pictures. She moved in his direction, trying not to think about the fact that she hadn’t heard a word from Dane yet this morning. He hadn’t made any contact, no matter how many times she scanned the beach or glanced up at the stand where he sat in his judge’s seat with his binoculars scanning the water. She stopped a foot from Chauncey and folded her arms.

  “Cap is marshalling the troops for the storming of the gates at the marina. It’s tight quarters there so it may be hard to surprise them. No cover and surrounded by water with the only entry along one dock. Dane is going in from the water with a couple of backups. We’ll take a look through infrareds to try and determine the number and location of the guards and Susan Whittier.”

  “Dane is going in?”

  Chauncey lowered his camera and looked at her. “He’ll be here until you’re out of the water. He put Cap in charge of the retrieval. Once they spot her, he’ll grab you. I’m in charge of looking out for everyone’s back. He has a jet ski standing by and it’s no more than ten minutes away by water.”

  She nodded, heart pounding. She held her gaze steady but felt her chin tremble with the effort. The last time she felt this vulnerable was too many years ago to credit. Not since she was five years old. She’d been the size of most ten-year-olds, but inside she was five. A baby. Now she felt that same sensation, like she was a baby in shark-infested waters. She swung her face away from Miller, her ponytail swaying across her back.

  “Don’t worry. Cap has everyone on this. Once we give the all clear the beach will be surrounded. It’ll be like goddamn Normandy. Heaven help us if there’s a crime anywhere else on the island this morning.”

  She snorted and looked back at him, forcing a smile and squaring her shoulders. Time she started acting the part she’d been playing for real. It wasn’t an act. She was tough for real. She’d proved herself dozens of times. It was Dane. He was the difference. He made her feel vulnerable because he was vulnerable. Even as her heartbeat raced up she took a cleansing breath. It might be early for her adrenaline to kick in, but she’d have to go with it. She could maintain it. Piece of cake.

  “Do you have radio contact?”

  “Yes. I’ll keep you posted as much as possible. They’ll wait until the second heat is underway and then make their move. Your heat will be over and Dane will scoop you up and head away.” He lifted his camera again and swung it away, scanning the beach. “Only one problem so far.”

  “What’s that?” Did her heart skip a beat?

  “I haven’t spotted Jean Luc yet this morning.”

  Neither had she, she just now realized. Picking up a speedy staccato rhythm, her heart plunged into her gut like an elevator with a snapped cable. How could she have not noticed? Squinting, she scanned the horizon all the way around, searching for Jean Luc. It was the slow, systematic scan of a trained professional. She forced herself to push everything aside and remember her mission. Aside from surfing her heat and staying alive, she needed to see that Jean Luc, Ned and the Brazilian brothers came to justice. She and Chauncey were in command of the beach unit for this operation right now and she snapped herself to professional mode and shed the surfer persona as if she’d ripped off her bathing suit.

  “I’ll keep watch. If I need to break character, I will. I need a way to communicate, Chauncey. I can’t remain in the dark like this.”

  “I know. I’ll see what I can find for you. I don’t have anything on me.”

  Chauncey left her and she felt naked standing there alone knowing Ned and the Brazilians were watching her. She could see them perched up on the second deck of their canvas gazebo. Even without binoculars she saw them watching through theirs and stopped her pacing when Ned stood and walked to the steep metal stairs to climb down. The sinking feeling in her gut told her he was headed her way.

  Glancing around, she looked for Jean Luc once more and he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Instead, she saw his brother Roger rounding the corner of the officials’ tent and heading her way. This was no coincidence. The announcer called the first heat to a start, and it was time for the surfers to head to the water. She pulled her board from where it stood in the sand and trotted out to the water, pushed off and fell forward on the board, paddling deep and strong at the head of the other three surfers and on her way into the main frame of the TV cameraman’s lens. She hoped. Slipping one glance back toward the beach, she saw Roger meeting with Ned and both of them looking her way.

  Although she bought herself some time, they all knew she’d have to come into shore soon and she hoped to hell Dane got there with his jet ski before then. She hoped to hell the troops weren’t far behind to arrest their no-good butts.

  Once Shana paddled out ahead of the others in the first heat, the announcer sounded confused and then started to talk about snaking and disqualification, so Dane jumped from his chair and gave the okay signal for her to go ahead. As the head judge, he was the final arbiter for when snaking in front of another surfer was allowable. He watched the announcer and Ned for a tense moment and then there were nods and the announcer cleared her.

  That dealt with, he aimed his binoculars toward the beach to see the cause of her hasty decision and spotted Roger and one of Ned’s men in the marshalling area watching her. She was now poised to catch a wave. Dane knew he’d need to be there when she made it to the beach. He saw Chauncey on his way to Roger and his friend to engage them. Good distraction. Dane tossed his b
inoculars aside and moved to the metal stairs to the beach. One of Ned’s henchmen was at the bottom. This called for plan B.

  Dane spun around and headed in the opposite direction before the henchman saw him. Moving under the tented area of the pavilion he made like he needed a break and called in a time-out to the announcer and presumably to the Surfing Director—the missing Jean Luc. He removed his judge’s jersey, grabbed the spare shirt, hat and sunglasses from his backpack and headed down the interior stairs to the floor below, presumably to the men’s room. Once down there he walked out the back exit of the first level and circled around.

  Checking his watch, he realized the extra maneuvering cost him four minutes. “Shit.” He trotted toward the beach and searched the surfers for the distinctive blond hair and killer body of Shana George, and tried to keep his heart from seizing up while his chest tightened in bald fear.

  The surfer jumping from her knees to a stand as she caught a wave was not Shana. Where the hell was she? Dane searched the water past the surfing area to the far side of the beach and spotted a jet ski fully loaded. Needing binoculars to be sure, he looked around for Chauncey and caught him running for the watercraft area at a full sprint.

  “Double shit.” Dane took off after him without a second thought, weaving through the crowd along the water and trying to be inconspicuous in spite of his haste. The announcer called out the next heat and proclaimed Shana George in the lead thus far. Ironically, without him rigging the judging. Glancing over his shoulder up to the judge’s perch he left behind, he saw a man looking suspiciously like one of Ned’s thugs sitting there in his place.

  Chapter 23

  Shana landed near the beach as far as she could on the extreme edge, but not far enough. And her landing had not gone well as a wave crashed and dumped her from her board into the surf.

  Scrambling to get herself upright and standing, she found herself still in thigh-deep water and grabbed hold of her board, straining against her trembling and heart-pounding urgency. Finding herself turned around she stumbled and spun until she oriented herself to the beach and then searched the horizon for the important landmarks. First she searched for Dane, looking for the high tent and judge’s chair towering above the rest along the beach. The chair was empty. That startled her and she spun her gaze along the beach to search further and remembered she needed to move, but to where? Chauncey. Looking back to the surfers’ marshalling area, she couldn’t make out anyone for sure with the spectators, the surfers and the many water photographers all populating her picture.

  She pushed forward blindly toward the shore, still studying the crowd, now looking for Ned or Roger or any of the thugs she’d seen working with them, and as the water became shallower she moved faster and steadier and her heartbeat became more purposefully urgent than panicked.

  Before she saw them, she heard the watercraft heading her way and spun back around to see it practically on top of her. With the water just below her knees, she lunged forward to escape their grasp. A hand clamped on her free arm and, before she could drop her board and defend herself with her other arm, two men had her in their grip from behind. She called out, but before she even heard herself or anything other than the announcer over the loudspeaker calling out the next heat and her name as the leader, she felt a sharp pinch. Then saw the beach, the waves and the two blurry men spinning around until there was nothing.

  Once Dane got close enough, he saw Chauncey jump on an overgrown jet ski with the word “Official” painted on the side. Dane called out to him and he turned, gunned the engine and jetted back toward Dane, parallel to where he was on the shore. Dane dove into the surf, close to where the surfers were offloading, and heard some alarm in the tone of the announcer. Dane felt the alarm down to his bones, as he pumped toward the watercraft, aware of the ticking seconds as they fell behind Shana. He didn’t understand how they nabbed her so easily and without notice—without even his notice. In the blink of an eye he’d lost sight of her.

  “Jump on—I saw them head west in the direction of the marina,” Chauncey shouted over the engine as he reached out an arm and helped haul Dane from the water.

  “I’ll radio Cap and alert them. With any luck, we’ll get to Shana before they get to the Tavares yacht.” Dane forced his hand into his wet zip pocket and took out his radio, praying that it truly was waterproof as advertised.

  “Hold on,” Chauncey shouted. Then he gunned the engine and they took off as Dane got the communication device to blip to life. Now if he could only hear himself think over the din of the engine and splashing surf.

  He took a bracing breath of salty air, looked skyward as if he’d find help there and told himself he would get to her. He would get Shana away from those animals before they touched a hair on her head.

  “Weapons?” Dane mouthed and pointed like he was shooting a gun. Chauncey nodded and made a quick gesture toward his camera bag.

  Feeling more in control with a gun in his hand and finally catching sight of the watercraft with the two thugs and Shana, he turned his attention back to the communication device and pressed the button that would summon a response from Captain Lynch. Praying that the man would answer immediately, Dane held it to his ear, cupping a hand over it to block the engine noise.

  “Cap. Status. You in place?”

  “In place and out of sight as best we can in the marina parking lot. Where the hell are you?”

  “Approaching by watercraft—we have a complication.”

  “What is it? What’s happened—”

  “They have Shana. Call the Coast Guard to meet us at the Vineyard Haven dock. I’ll get to you as soon as I can after that. Out.” Dane shut the device down and shoved it in one of his leg pockets, refocusing his attention on the men who held Shana ahead. They must have drugged her because as they got closer, he realized she lay inert, held by Roger while the other man drove the boat. Lucky for them, Roger’s pal was far from an expert on the oversized jet ski watercraft and hit the waves wrong often enough to slow him down.

  Chauncey turned to him and shouted, “Looks like they’re headed for that marina—the first one we’ve seen.”

  “Right in my backyard,” Dane said. He was pleased and hoped the Coast Guard would have a chance to catch up with them because, if Roger and his pal had muscle waiting for them—or if Ned was waiting for them—then they’d need help. Or at least more firepower.

  Speaking of firepower, the driver chose that moment, as they closed to within thirty yards, to turn and raise an impressive semiautomatic weapon in their direction. Dane didn’t waste a second contemplating his options or the likelihood of hitting his target. He steadied his arm on Chauncey’s shoulder and fired a shot into the craft’s engine and then another. It threw the craft off balance and Dane held his breath hoping that Shana didn’t drown as the thing listed and spun around out of control.

  Chauncey closed the gap before Roger and his pal could wrestle the craft back on course. Roger had released Shana from his grip and Dane saw her move, struggling to an upright position and hanging onto the unsteady craft.

  When Chauncey slowed and the engine quieted, Dane heard the unmistakable rumble of a large speedboat and turned to see the boat closing in with a squat man standing at the wheel. Ned. In a goddamn gigantic boat bearing down on them with roaring outboard engines. Luckily the boat was larger than it was fast. Unluckily Ned flailed a big-ass weapon in one hand.

  Chapter 24

  “Son of a—” Dane was interrupted by a gun blast and bullet splashing into the water nearby—but not from Ned. Roger was shooting at them now.

  Chauncey spun the agile craft around and aimed straight at Roger with his own gun. Dane turned toward Ned and knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with his Glock against whatever monstrosity Ned was carrying. They didn’t have much time, but they were on top of their target now. He needed to get Shana away before Ned caught up with them.

  “Shoot at their guns and their engine. Keep them distracted. I’m jumping in to ge
t Shana,” Dane said as Chauncey shot a couple of rounds into their target’s boat in a direct hit and ducked away from return fire behind the small dash and steering handles.

  Dane pushed off from the side and dove deep to avoid getting hit, aiming to swim around their blind side underwater and hoping his breath would hold out. The water was colder out here and it braced him, slowing his heartbeat and clearing his mind of everything but his target: Shana.

  Once Dane surfaced he saw that Roger’s watercraft had caught fire. The fire was small, but Roger’s pal, the driver, panicked and lost control as the craft swung erratically around toward the pier in slow motion. Dane swam hard and caught the slowing craft from behind. He watched Roger grab for Shana, holding her by the hair and around the neck. Shana struggled against him, which gave Dane a chance to climb aboard and surprise Roger and his driver pal. Dane shot the gun from the driver’s hand, wounding him in the process if the scream was any indication. The small flames from the engine lapped around the sides of the craft and Dane knew he and Shana needed to jump soon. His blood stormed to drive his pulse to a deafening roar in his temples. Roger held onto Shana, backing her into the controls and his pal, exactly where Dane wanted her. He gave her a long look as she clawed at the arm around her neck and she stared back, no panic in her eyes, nothing but seething volcanic anger. He nodded his head the smallest fraction as they watched each other. She made her move, lunging forward to a bent position, ducking her head and pulling Roger forward with her so that Dane had a clean shot. But Dane didn’t shoot him. He thrust forward and knocked Roger across the temple with the substantial weight of his Glock, powered by the substantial force of his anger.

  Then he grabbed Shana by the arm and pulled her overboard with him.

  Chauncey pulled their craft around to pick them up. Dane held onto Shana in the water. She turned her head and held on, relaxing against him. When their watercraft was within arm’s reach, he helped Shana climb on by pushing her from behind, letting his fingers dig into the flesh of her thighs and feeling the sensual pull in spite of everything. He followed her on board as Chauncey looked over his shoulder at the horizon. The buzzing of a loud boat hit Dane as he got on board and sat astride the back passenger seat. Shit. It was Ned closing in and getting close to shooting range.