Beachcomber Danger

by Stephanie Queen

  As he entered he shoved Shana through ahead of him. Just in time to avoid being seen by whoever had opened the door to the stairwell above. He nodded at Acer and signaled for them all to remain silent. Locking the door behind him, he flicked the lights off. And waited.

  Damn if these feds weren’t determined to keep him in their sights. They were better than he’d given them credit for. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t afford the luxury of time and planning to better evade them.

  That was all about to change once his friend Acer was up and running this basement web-hacking and general spy support shop. In the meantime, they all listened to the deceptively light footsteps of someone on the stairs. Dane kept his breathing even when the doorknob rattled.

  At the same time as the knob rattled, another set of steps could be heard stomping down the stairs, sure and fast this time and without concern for noise. Then Dane listened just on the other side of the door to the voices outside, loud and clear.

  “Hey, what are you doing down here? This is off limits to customers.” The unmistakable voice of the Lucky Parrot owner, Tom Jones.

  “I was looking for the men’s room. I saw someone else come down here—” The voice was unrecognizable, lower, barely audible, but unintimidated.

  “Let’s get back u-stairs, bud. Anyone else belongs down here and you don’t.” There was a pause for a couple of beats. He felt Shana’s breath fan his neck, felt her press against him, the tickle of her hair against his cheek. Dane hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until his shoulders unclenched a notch with her closeness.

  Then they heard two sets of footsteps going back up the stairs and when the door closed at the top with a loud thud, courtesy of Tom, Dane took a deep breath and slipped an arm around Shana.

  “Glad that showdown was avoided,” Shana said.

  “For now,” he said.

  “I’ll need to take precautions then,” Acer said. “I don’t want to be a sitting duck here if they decide to come back when Tom isn’t around. Or if they get a warrant.”

  “Or if they just come back at night. We’re not sure how closely these guys are playing by the rules.” Dane already knew in his own mind that they weren’t, at least not the two Secret Service agents they were dealing with. Andrews and Goodley were already crossing lines by barging into his house and insisting they have access to Dane’s equipment.

  Dane hoped to hell that didn’t include the arsenal of weapons he had stashed in the basement. But why would the Secret Service need his other equipment?

  No reason unless they’re outside the lines and need a fall guy.

  “So what’s Acer supposed to do?” Shana didn’t look alarmed exactly, but Dane would definitely describe the slight downturn of her mouth and the tension around her eyes—not quite a squint—as dismayed.

  “Same as I always do,” Acer said. “I go into Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking-Glass mode.”

  She paused and didn’t bother asking for the explanation, unless he counted the way she put her hands on her hips and stared at Acer like a school principal. Dane didn’t bother saying a word. He knew Acer would spell it out for her.

  “I’ll need some supplies.” Acer eyed him.

  “I’ll arrange delivery before dawn. I have a kit. It’s a bit dusty, but it should work.” He assessed the size of the room. Two- by-four studs, wood paneling, some hydraulics, and presto.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?”

  Acer smiled. “We build the room out to look like something it’s not. We’ll have some storage behind the walls for my equipment and my favorite feature, a secret door.”

  “I don’t think there’s enough space for a secret room for your work space behind the walls, Acerman,” Dane said.

  “I know. And we’ll have to hope they don’t take too much notice of the setup. It won’t be polished.” He looked up at the ceiling. “We’ll need to put in a drop ceiling or they’ll trace the plumbing and electricity to its source behind the walls.”

  Shana stood shaking her head. Dane said nothing. Finally, she took her fists off her hips and faced him.

  “You were in clandestine operations, like the CIA?” It was an accusation.

  “Far more clandestine than the CIA,” Acer scoffed. “The less you know, the better.”

  “What did you think special ops was about?” Dane stared back at her, resisting his urge to throw his hands on his hips or to throw his arms around her and hug her in.

  “I… don’t know.” She waved a hand. More military I guess.”

  He nodded. “Plenty of that too. We did whatever we needed to do. From the basic aim and shoot to elaborate set ups.”

  He watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she took a deep breath.

  “How are you going to get your kit from the basement?”

  He smiled. “It’s not in the basement. It’s in storage. I’ll have Ronnie make a special delivery. It should fit in the van he uses to deliver food for the Shark’s Table.”

  “Have him stay and help me build it out. Have Tom help too.”

  Dane nodded.

  “This is going to cost a pretty penny,” Shana said.

  “Would you rather stay and help with the build-out yourself?”

  “Not on your life. I’ll be back at the shack with you, keeping an eye on our friends.”

  “Speaking of whom, we need to get out of here.”

  He slipped his arm around her and they walked to the corner of the small basement room to an alcove where there was a stairway leading to an exterior bulkhead.

  He turned to Acer. “Make sure you hide this.”

  Acer saluted them. “Make sure you send me down some food.”

  Dane let Shana go through the bulkhead first. It opened up to a fenced-in area with a dumpster. The fence was closed all the way around and padlocked. That must make it tough for the garbage men Dane thought, apropos of nothing.

  He lifted Shana up and she launched herself over like a gymnast doing a vault move. He was going to need to use the dumpster to get himself up and over, but he managed to do it without making a mess of himself. They would go around the front door and go inside and eat dinner now.

  He landed on his feet and watched his girl straightening her elegant black dress. Without a word, he brushed some grime from the fence off her backside, letting his hand linger.

  “Even the fence conspires to allow you a feel on a night when we need to be all business.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m focused exactly where I need to be.” He looked around the parking lot. A couple of young women laughed as they closed their car doors and headed to the restaurant.

  “Front or back door?”

  “Let’s go around front. We’ll follow the girls in. Less conspicuous.”

  He put an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side, the way he always did, the way he always would for the rest of his life, and they walked.

  She laughed, head up and gazing at the stars as if this were a glorious night for a date and they were any normal romantic couple. His shoulder blades tightened because it wasn’t a romantic date, as much as he wanted it to be a night without danger. They would have their nights. Sometime. But this wasn’t one of them.

  They walked in the front door and found the place packed. Dane shouldn’t have been surprised to see almost as many tourists as regulars.

  He definitely wasn’t surprised to see federal agents still mixed in with the crowd, presumably regular Secret Service men and women doing their jobs. They were the plainclothes versions, the kind not trying to hide who they were, the kind purposely advertising their presence, shouting that they were on island to protect the President and that anyone who wanted to do him harm had fair warning. They were the deterrents, the expected official police presence.

  Dane and Shana were seated at their table after only a two-minute wait at the bar—only enough time to get their drinks because they were given preferential treatment. All the wait staff treated
Dane and Shana as if they were part owners. In truth, Dane felt more like a behind-the-scenes consultant and took pride in the fact that the place had flourished since he’d taken an interest in it after his first mission with Shana.

  “We have to go back down. After Acer has a chance to set up and get us something.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We have twenty to thirty-two hours and counting before the shit hits the fan. I figure that’s how long it’ll take for Andrews’s boss to order us to throw Sassy and Ronnie out on the street. Then—”

  “How can they do that? How can they force the issue?”

  “At gunpoint.”

  “I thought this was a free country.”

  “Except when the President’s visiting town and there’s a viable threat against him, then all bets are off. Civil rights get caught up in the national security net.”

  “What do you make of our assignment to observe the crowd at the airport when Air Force One lands?”

  “It’s a setup of some kind. They don’t need us for observation.”

  “Maybe they need us for a distraction?”

  “I’d buy that. But for who and how?”

  She picked up her drink and took a long sip.

  “We need Acer to come through for us with something. Fast.” Dane didn’t look toward the back hall and stairway, but he surreptitiously watched everyone who went that way to go to the restrooms.

  “How about if we divide and conquer?” She dangled the glass between two fingers, holding the stem. She was drinking a martini, slightly dangerous for her. They’d ordered dinner but it hadn’t arrived. They could leave now and not come back, but he knew they should stay to keep up the charade. Plus, they needed to eat.

  “Have another roll.” He moved the basket in front of her. He didn’t want to separate from her, not even for a half hour.

  “I could take a drive down the street to the pie shop and go in, pretend I’m picking up some things for Sassy while you go down stairs. If we both go out the back, you can sneak in through the bulkhead—”

  “Stop. No way.”

  “They’ll follow me and leave you alone.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that. You recognize the pair who followed us to the Gables’ in here?”

  “Sure.” She lifted her drink in the direction of a table at three o’clock.

  He nodded. “That’s them.” He lifted his own drink to his mouth, but only took a deep drag of the scent of the Glenlivet 18-year Speyside single malt. He’d talked Tom into stocking it for him. The Lucky Parrot proprietor had grumbled and called him nasty inventive names, but he stowed a bottle with a Dane-only sticker on it under the unused old-fashioned cash register. Jones had never done away with the relic for aesthetics though the staff used computerized gadgets these days for taking orders and taking payments.

  “Shana, there’s no advantage to us splitting up. I mean—” He stopped then because he didn’t know what he meant. He shook his muddled head.

  “I know what you mean.” She shrugged.

  He couldn’t believe he’d lost his cool, couldn’t believe he’d uttered a flustered word, had a moment of awkwardness. That never happened. Not even when he’d been an adolescent. When everyone around him had been awkward, he’d been cool and collected. Distant. He’d been distant from his emotions. It had been easy to be cool then.

  Now he enjoyed an excruciatingly close relationship with his emotions. They were front and center and interfering on a regular basis with his cool. With his ability to function. Whenever he was with Shana, whenever it was about Shana. It was always about Shana now. Damn.

  He closed his eyes for a couple of blinks and collected himself, gave himself a stern warning. This was no time to act like a lovesick adolescent. He tightened every muscle in his body against the intrusion of emotions.

  “We need to go downstairs now—before our dinner gets here—and sell it as a private assignation. We can’t wait until after dinner because if we don’t show up at the Jeep directly after leaving they’ll come looking for us.”

  She agreed without trepidation or even irritation, “They’ll be waiting since they’re following us.” She looked at him with a loving smile. He steeled against it. Besides, he knew it was part of the act. The slight tilt of her head told him she got it.

  “I like the idea of an assignation,” she murmured, holding him with a dreamy look. She stood, clutching her purse with one hand. “I’ll meet you there.” She winked and trailed her other hand seductively along his jaw.

  Anyone who was watching would understand why he’d abandon his dinner and follow her from the room.

  Chapter 7

  Shana gave the coded rap on the basement door and Acer let her inside his new home away from home. Shana noticed he’d set up more equipment since they were down there earlier, placing everything along the back wall, ready and waiting to be closed in.

  Dane arrived as she entered and closed in behind her. He’d been staying very close, insinuating himself in a seductively intimate posture any time he could manage it—which happened to be with unnerving frequency.

  Where had the cool, competitive-to-the-point-of-combative man whom she’d agreed to marry gone?

  This had to be temporary. This had to be that hot, passionate honeymoon-like phase of their relationship. She’d heard of this phase where a couple couldn’t bear being apart, couldn’t possibly keep their hands off each other. It had to stop.

  She smiled inside. They’d always had that kind of attraction. The only difference now was that they’d stopped bothering to fight it.

  Should she be ashamed that she missed the fight, the challenge of seduction? Was it wrong to not want it to be too easy?

  “Just in time for some crazy-ass intel,” Acer said with a serious-as-Satan look.

  The reminder sobered her, tearing her thoughts from how easy and quick she and Dane were to satisfy their passion. There was no question that that line of thought, that level of attraction, if left undisciplined, could get them killed. No question that the easy seductions would have to go, that they had to be scrupulously professional going forward on this assignment. No more allowing hedonistic distraction.

  Shana needed to become impervious to carnal temptation, needed to become her former icy self even if Dane seemed to have lost the ability. More so because of it, though she knew he could rein it in. She hoped it was not one of those genie-out-of-the-bottle circumstances.

  “I have more. You ready to hear it?”

  “Make it quick.” Dane focused on Acer.

  “On the cell leader—his name is Zane Zarate he’s either an ISIS cell loner or not an ISIS cell leader at all. He has no partners in crime, no other cell members. He could be just a nut with a grudge and questionable funding.”

  “And the assassins?” Shana asked.

  She felt Dane behind her, but he didn’t touch her. She told herself that was a good thing even if it felt all wrong. She wanted to get out of this secret room and its intimacy as fast as possible.

  “I’d suspected this was no ordinary cell. According to the Governor, the cell that had been activated consisted of one person so that squares with what you found. Homeland Security had eyes on him.”

  “I got his identity. He’s a college professor. I’m still trying to identify the two people he’s in communication with. He sent money to them. As far as I can tell so far, Homeland Security’s man Zarate—code named Professor Doom—

  “How the hell do you—.” Shana was cut off by Dane.

  “We don’t need to know how you know the DHS code name.”

  “Fine. Get on with it then.” Shana’s discomfort grew in the form of jittery nerves. She dismissed the thought that it might be from having Dane close, but not close enough, the strain of controlling her need for him with his body next to hers.

  Acer nodded. “Our Professor Doom has done nothing else. Sent the money. No other activity observed prior or since.”

  “What else would he be ex
pected to do?” Shana wasn’t sure.

  “Procure and send weapons, arrange false identification, send instructions. All he’s provided is the target and the money,” Acer said.

  Shana turned to Dane. He’d been staring at the floor. She hoped he had some insight. This was outside her experience. She’d dealt with the mob, gangs and cartels, but never had a case involving ISIS or terrorist cells. Maybe that was the real source of her discomfort, not Dane.

  *****

  As Dane listened, it all sounded familiar, reminiscent of his days in Chicago on the HVT—the High Value Team made up of multitalented undercover detectives with SWAT expertise. They’d heard this kind of intel related to mob hits. He took a breath and voiced his suspicion.

  “This terrorist assassination plot has all the earmarks of a hired hit.”

  “How do you want to play this?” Acer said.

  He and Dane could get in trouble if the Secret Service found out they’d been doing illegal hacking. More trouble than they’d be in anyway, but they couldn’t sit on this information.

  “We need to make sure the Secret Service or Homeland Security has this intel. We can’t assume they already have it. The stakes are too high. We need to deliver it to Peter. In person.”

  “You want me to go to Boston? Now?”

  “No. The Governor is coming here. He’ll be at the big party at the President’s vacation home tomorrow night. I can get it to him either before the event or at the event. You keep a low profile. No one knows you’re here. Let’s keep it that way. I’ll have Ronnie help you build out the false walls later tonight.”

  “We’ll create a hideaway for the goods. I’ll find enough space to work in. I’ve stayed in worse places. At least I get plenty of beer and burgers here.”

  Dane half smiled. “Stay sober. We’re dealing with very cagey pros. Worse than dealing with crazy terrorists. When you go out, cover up.”

  Acer nodded. “Disguises are my favorite. I brought a doozie with me.”

  “Will I recognize you?”