Beachcomber Danger: Beachcomber Investigations Book 8 - a Romantic Detective Series

by Stephanie Queen

“We have nine minutes.” That was for Shana’s benefit in case she thought of exchanging pleasantries. He took a seat in one of the two uncomfortable chairs while Shana sat on the edge of the other.

  Dane told Cap everything concisely and in a clipped voice, starting with the Secret Service following them on the beach up to running from the supermarket. He checked his watch. In seventy-six seconds.

  “I got a heads-up call earlier from Peter,” Cap said. “I would have called you soon. Looks like it’s a good thing I didn’t, if what you suspect is true. That they have you under surveillance.”

  “How much did Peter tell you?”

  “Everything you told him. And about the terrorist cell threat soon to arrive.”

  “What makes you think they’re not already here?”

  He said nothing.

  “I think it’ll be a man and woman,” Shana said. “A couple on vacation. Could be here now. Or not. They’ll be impossible to spot.”

  “You’ll know what to look for once you’re bird-dogging the President.”

  “What if they know we’ll be watching and they’re smart and hit early. Or only show up once, the time they’re going to hit.” Dane wasn’t asking. He knew that would be the way.

  “Once you get the itinerary, you’ll need to figure the most vulnerable appearance.”

  “What if they don’t care about getting out and they just set a bomb—Boston Marathon bomber style?” Shana asked.

  Cap said, “We’ve got that covered. We’ll have more dogs sniffing around here than hamburgers to feed them.”

  “God damn.” Shana stood, hands fisted. “Are we saying this is a losing proposition? If so, why are they allowing the President to come here?”

  Dane pulled her back down to sit and tugged on a stray lock of her hair. He loved the long blond wavy tresses. He stopped himself from pushing his hand through her mane. He’d likely lose himself there.

  “Don’t fret, darlin’. We got this. There’s a reason the President hasn’t canceled the trip in spite of the threat.”

  “You thinking it’s bogus?” Cap asked.

  “No. If Peter, the damn Governor who makes it his business to know these things, and who’s plugged into people in high places so he can know these things, thinks it’s a credible threat, then it is.”

  “Then what?” Cap sat back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head as if waiting for Dane to tell him a story. Shana gave him her signature suspicious scowl.

  “They’re setting a trap. In fact, there’s a possibility that the President visiting the island will actually be the President’s double.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Shana withheld a snort. Barely. “The President’s double? I never heard of such a thing.” She stood again and stalked around the office.

  Cap rocked forward in his chair to sit straight.

  Cap hadn’t spoken, but his face looked like the cover of a weighty book, hiding all kinds of complicated machinations. Dane waited for the dust to settle. He had no choice. His mind was quick, the meal on the table before others had the time to assemble the ingredients and cook up the recipe.

  “This is serious,” Cap finally said. “What you’re suggesting is wildly speculative.”

  “We don’t have time to go into it.” Dane looked at his watch. “Not now. But trust me. There’s no way in hell the President would put himself in the line of fire except to set a trap.”

  “And there’s no way the Secret Service would let him play bait.” Cap took a deep breath. “But still—”

  “We have to get out of here.” Shana glanced at her Apple watch, a new toy she was determined to put to good use.

  Dane stood. She was right. Andrews and Goodley were bound to be on their trail by now. And so far, the Secret Service was one federal law enforcement agency he hadn’t managed to piss off. Maybe he could keep it that way. Not that he cared. But Shana worried about it.

  He stepped into the hall with Shana behind him close enough for him to smell her old-fashioned Chanel No.5. Before he could let the scent overwhelm his senses and take over, he heard loud voices coming from the front entrance.

  “Shit.” The two suits had caught up with them. Aiming for the back door, he said, “Keep up with me.”

  They half ran, slowing to a walk whenever anyone came into sight, through the same side streets, residential neighborhoods and backyards until they reached the parking lot of the grocery store. They slipped inside, rushed through the back storeroom, and pushed through the double doors into the deli area. By the time they swung around to the customer side of the glass case, Dane had made eye contact with Joe, an ex-marine deli man and part-time assistant investigator.

  Shana slipped her phone from her small bag, still looking cool, but overdressed for shopping at the deli, and tapped in a number. He assumed she was calling Cap. Dane moved to the end of the counter to talk to Joe and she followed, nodding her head and listening.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked.

  “You see two guys in dark suits come through here?”

  “You mean one tallish and one short, looked like Secret Service?”

  “Those are the ones.” Dane half smiled.

  “About eight, ten minutes ago. They looked around, had a short, tense conversation, then left a couple minutes later.”

  Dane nodded.

  “I won’t ask what’s up. ‘Bove my pay grade, I figure.”

  Shana shoved her phone back into her bag.

  “They’re on their way back. Left three minutes ago with an attitude. Cap told them he hadn’t seen us. He said to tell you the count is up to three cases. Dare I ask three cases of what?”

  “Sure, but then I’d have to—”

  She was looking over Dane’s shoulder when her chin went up. “Trouble at twelve o’clock high.”

  “What do you think? We’re in a war movie?” He felt the approach of the two oppressive men and wondered if they knew how obvious and un-secret their presence was wherever they went.

  “Where the hell have you been, Blaise?” Dane turned and stood in front of Shana, taking the full glare of the pair of scowls. Since they didn’t have their weapons drawn, neither the menacing look Andrews gave him nor the smirk from Goodley had any effect whatsoever.

  Joe handed him a pound of baloney and he displayed it for Andrews. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You’re up to something. I know you went to see Lynch.”

  Dane pushed past him.

  “Where are you going?” Goodley said.

  “Why bother asking?” Shana took Dane’s arm and walked with him. “You’re going to follow us anyway.”

  “Meet us back at the house. Be there in ten minutes and don’t make us come looking for you.” Andrews was pissed. Dane looked over his shoulder to smile at him. He noticed Joe watching, arms folded. Now that Joe already knew something was up, Dane might enlist the old marine’s help with this one.

  On the way to the Jeep he slipped out his phone and punched in Sassy Stephens’s number. He didn’t care if he was being listened to. They’d find out about it soon enough.

  “Sassy, it’s your boss. I have an assignment for you.”

  “Really? I mean, sure. What’s up?”

  “It’s a babysitting assignment.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “Actually, it’s more like a house-sitting assignment. I need you to get over to the beach shack pronto and let yourself in. Pack for ten days.”

  “Got it. Ronnie will be disappointed—”

  Shana grabbed the phone from his hand before he had a chance to answer.

  “Bring Ronnie with you.”

  “I would have told her the same thing if you didn’t grab the phone from me.”

  She put a hand over the phone. “Since when are you a romantic?”

  He gave away nothing of his confusion, but he didn’t know what to say about his being a romantic or not, because he had no idea what she was talking abo
ut. A full second passed without a word.

  “That’s what I thought.” She spoke into the phone again. “But don’t wait for Ronnie. Get over to the beach shack right away.”

  “Great. This works out perfectly.”

  “I know. You rented out your place.”

  “Do you and Dane know everything?”

  He smiled, leaning over her shoulder to listen in, he took the opportunity to breathe in her scent and nuzzle her neck She elbowed him.

  He grabbed the phone back. “See you later, Sassy—oh, one more thing. We have a couple of Secret Service agents as house guests. They’ll be bunking in the office on cots. Set them up for me. You and Ronnie take the guest room.”

  There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

  “Sassy, I need you to keep an eye on these two when Shana and I are out. We’re counting on you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He signed off and they stood in the parking lot leaning on the Jeep, neither of them anxious to get inside.

  “You’re going to have Andrews and Goodley bunk in the office on cots?”

  “Where else? It’ll serve them right.”

  “It’ll also be a good test to see how motivated they are to stay with us. I think the more willing they are to share tight quarters, the more suspect and nefarious their motives are.” Shana relaxed back with a satisfied look.

  “When did you get to be the smart one in this partnership, girlie?”

  She slapped his arm. “I have fresher brain cells is all.”

  Dane hated when their age difference was obviated.

  “We need Sassy to get there before Andrews and Goodley. I hope she knows how to pack faster than you.”

  Instead of rolling her eyes as he’d expected, she gave him her mock deadly stare. Shana was learning and evolving. He felt a twinge of disappointment. He didn’t want her to change. Not too much, not from the woman he’d fallen in love with.

  He pulled on her hair, twirling a lock around a finger. She didn’t tug it away from him and her look softened. If they stood this way, close and staring—simmering wasn’t too strong a word, even in the parking lot of the grocery store—they would start smoldering. He took a breath. Hell.

  He wanted to smolder. He wanted to shove the Secret Service and the terrorist cell threat and all of the damn Beachcomber Investigations business off the deep end of a pier and spend his time smoldering with his soon-to-be bride.

  Had he gone completely soft? What the hell was wrong with him?

  Before he let on how he felt, before how he felt got any more obvious or insistent, he let go of her hair and stepped back from Shana “Kryptonite” George.

  The damn President had a terrorist cell threatening assassination. It didn’t get any more important than this. Even if it was the President’s double visiting the island instead of the actual President, he and Shana had to do their part to shut down this cell.

  The Secret Service wanted Dane and Shana to play a distraction at best and a target at worst, if Dane’s suspicions were correct.

  “Let’s go visit the Gables’ and take a ride in their boat.”

  Shana nodded. “Andrews will be royally pissed if we don’t show up in ten minutes as commanded.”

  “An extra bonus.” Dane smiled.

  Shana didn’t argue or even accuse him of being a smart-ass or lecture him about how this was the kind of attitude that got him in trouble. She was smart enough to know that this meant he suspected with a high degree of certainty—his normal paranoia aside—that the Secret Service or other federal law enforcement agency had the beach shack and their other usual hangouts bugged. That included their phones.

  And now that Agents Andrews and Goodley were installing themselves at the beach shack, they’d probably find a way to compromise their secure phone too. As Shana had smartly pointed out, why else bother to stay in such close quarters?

  He jumped into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. Shana jumped into her side and turned up the radio as soon as he started the car. Then she leaned over and whispered loudly enough he shouldn’t have bothered.

  “Are you going to evade when they follow us?”

  He nodded.

  “No. It won’t do them any good once we get out on the boat.”

  “Not worried about involving the Gables?”

  “Risk we’ll have to take. I suspect the agents know all about our ties with the Gables if they’ve done their homework with any degree of competence.”

  Dane drove slower than usual so he could spot their tail. He didn’t figure it would be Andrews or Goodley and he wanted to get a look at who else the Secret Service had on them.

  He drove the whole way with the windows wide open blowing a mind-numbing breeze through the vehicle. He hoped whoever was listening enjoyed the sound of rushing air and loud music because that’s all they would hear.

  They arrived at the Gables’ estate-proportioned home, pulling up along the curved drive stopping under the portico at the front door. Dane signaled for them to leave their cell phones in the car. Shana nodded and removed hers from her small bag and tossed it next to Dane’s on the seat. He hoped they didn’t melt in the heat inside the car, but he shrugged it off. Cost of doing business.

  Instead of ringing the front doorbell, Dane took Shana’s hand and pulled her around the house to head out back to the expansive patio overlooking the ocean. As he suspected, they found Gable and Mrs. Gable dressed in white and drinking something frothy as if they were waiting for the cameras to arrive to shoot a scene from The Great Gatsby.

  “Look who’s here. I know from experience this is not a social visit,” Gable spoke as he stood. He took his glass with him, celery stalk and all. There was nothing but excitement sparkling in the man’s eyes. Or it could have been the effects of the morning’s bloody Mary.

  “Don’t pretend you’re offended by the imposition,” Dane said.

  Laura Gable swept her arm toward the chairs, inviting him and Shana to sit. They remained standing.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gable said. “I’m offended that you think I was pretending to be offended.”

  “Enough of the silliness,” Shana said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  If Dane didn’t know better, he’d think Shana had Big Ben clanging away on her shoulder, urging them on.

  “I need your boat. Shana and I need to go for a ride.”

  Gable stood there sipping his drink, apparently waiting for more, but Dane wasn’t inclined to give him an explanation.

  “Now.” He didn’t mind bossing the billionaire movie mogul around a little. The man was a deep-down fan of his and not a bad guy behind the curtain of fame and fortune. His wife was a peach. She looked unsure of the situation and looked at her husband to answer.

  “Okay. Under one condition. I pilot the boat.”

  He would have argued, but Shana jumped in, squeezing his arm to hold off his objections.

  “That’ll work. Let’s go.”

  Gable looked smug enough for Dane to punch his face if he hadn’t remembered he normally liked the man. He had to get his surliness under control. He didn’t have Big Ben on his shoulder, but he felt the weight of short time and high stakes—and something else—setting him on edge. It wasn’t the usual tightrope walk of obvious danger he was used to. This was the kind where something wasn’t quite right, something was out there, but not visible, and he knew it but went out there for a walk anyway.

  Once they lit a fire under Gable he was all business. He grabbed his coat and a mail pouch full of small yacht essentials, then headed down to the water and the dock where his dinghy was tied. The yacht was moored less than 100 yards off the end of the dock.

  Most people would have kept their yacht at a marina. Not Gable. He kept his nearby because he went out often. He came by his boating pastime genuinely, not as an affectation of wealth. This was one of the points Dane posted in the man’s favor. So far Gable was in the black on Dane’s score card of who owed wh
o how much, but the card wasn’t full yet.

  When they got to the yacht and boarded, Dane sat in the main salon with Shana on the long white leather couch. They’d been in the salon of a yacht before on a case, but Dane preferred not to dwell on that violent encounter. The engines purred as Gable piloted the boat out of the harbor.

  “How far out do you suppose we need to go?” Shana asked.

  She sat forward with her elbows on her knees, looking at him sideways. Her hair fell in lush waves, some tendrils falling across her face, obscuring her eyes in a sexy peek-a-boo way. He slid up against her, meeting his hips to hers and feeling the contact like they were two magnets—hot magnets. The attraction was strong and their body heat so high he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming off the spot where they touched.

  “I figure a fifteen-minute ride ought to do it.” His voice came out huskier than he’d wanted it to. This was serious business. He needed to have a powwow with the Governor. The Secret Service men had proved they weren’t trustworthy, proved they didn’t trust Dane and Shana. And last, but not least, they had proved that they didn’t intend to let Dane and Shana do a thing they didn’t know about. They had something in mind for Dane and Shana and they were telling them very little of what that part was.

  “This is nerve-wracking,” she said, leaning into him.

  “What? The boat ride?”

  She didn’t snort or punch his arm or laugh at his joke. Instead, she gave him the full deep and open depths of her green gaze with nothing held back. Her vulnerability was breathtaking.

  “Knowing the Secret Service is keeping us under their thumb to use us for some purpose and not telling us.” She paused. He ran his thumb across her full lips, her cheekbone, her temple. He wanted to kiss those plush lips, wanted to kiss the worry out of her, wanted to promise her everything would be all right, that he’d protect her. He had her covered. But he didn’t because she would hate it.

  “We can’t trust them, Dane.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and pushed his fingers through her hair, wrapping a hand behind her neck and holding her with the other.

  “I know. We got this.”

  She grunted a laugh then because he’d thrown her words back at her.