“They’re headed to the Vineyard Haven Marina,” Cap said. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, Shana. There’s a police boat over there.”
Her arm shook, everything in her shook, and she was sure Cap felt it as he pulled her from the dock and they ran back to the car.
“Call the Coast Guard,” he said as they got in.
She’d already slipped the phone from her broken bag and dialed the number. Using all her concentration she summoned the most professional voice she could as she told the Coast Guard Captain on call about the armed boat chase. They knew who she was. This wasn’t her first merry-go-round with the Coast Guard. Last summer she and Dane had been involved in another armed boat chase. And the Coast Guard remembered very well.
“On it right now,” Captain Tony Vendi said. “Don’t worry.”
She felt like a fool. Her voice had given her away. She was supposed to be a professional. Cap had just as much to lose—he knew Acer and Dane. They were his men from the unit. She was only some Johnny-come-lately with no right to be unnerved by the danger to her partner—no more than anyone else.
She took a deep breath as Cap peeled out. He glanced at her.
“It was the sniper—he’s the one who got shot. If anyone,” Cap said.
He was so calm and so confident that she wanted to believe he had some magic mojo way of knowing it.
“How can you be so certain?” She didn’t care that the despair in her voice showed. This was Cap. He knew.
“Because in spite of what Dane said about Acer, he happens to be the best shot in the entire armed services—best ever in competitions and in the field.”
She raised a brow and felt her spirits lift.
“In fact,” Cap said and paused. “I think there may be a connection between him and the sniper, Wally White—I’ll have to check, but I think Mr. White may have lost to Acer in the last competition he won. That would explain some things.”
“Like why he’s doing this?”
“Maybe. But maybe it explains why he missed.”
“You mean because he’s not that good a shot?”
“No, I mean because he is that good a shot—and he missed on purpose,” Cap said as they screeched into the lot at the marina.
They were closing in on the Vineyard Haven Marina although they were outside the no-wake zone. This guy did not have a well-conceived plan. He hadn’t planned on being chased. Dane maintained his evasive maneuvers and sure enough he saw the sniper take up his rifle to take another shot.
“Brace yourself.” Dane estimated the trigger pull perfectly and jerked the Jet Ski to the left more sharply than before as they heard the rifle report and saw the flash. Luckily neither of them felt the bullet.
“Hold her steady,” Acer said.
Dane did as he asked.
“You have about six ticks while he gets control of his boat back.” He felt Acer prepare for his shot behind him, maneuvering the rifle into place and steadying as best he could against his back. Dane held still as death and prepared for the report.
The whole Jet Ski jerked, but not enough for Dane to see the hit—not of the sniper, but the boat. A bull’s-eye right in the outboard engine, followed by a flare and then full-out flames.
“Hang on,” he called to Acer and gunned the Jet Ski to close in before the sniper jumped overboard. No telling what kind of swimmer the guy was. They were out of luck if the man had SEAL training. They got close quick enough for Dane to take a shot with his Glock before the sniper decided to abandon his rifle and jump.
Dane pulled the trigger, but aimed high as a warning shot since the man was presently unarmed. The sniper jumped overboard. Dane handed his Glock to Acer.
“You drive. Take control of the boat.” The flames were already dissipating.
Dane stood on the seat and dove into the Atlantic, aimed at the spot where he’d seen the sniper go in. The cold water didn’t shock him. He knew these waters. Unfortunately it was dead black, so he’d need to find the guy by feel while he was under, or by sight when he breached the surface.
There was no way this guy had any kind of SEAL training as it turned out because he wasn’t far. When Dane popped his head above water, he saw the guy within five yards and sputtering, struggling to swim to the shore. Dane caught up with the guy with ease and grabbed him from behind. He needed to knock the guy out so he could drag him back to the boat then fish him out. No way was he dragging him all the way back to shore. Dane caught the guy’s collar, spun him around and punched him once. That’s all it took to get him into submission. He towed him back to the boat where Acer had the Jet Ski alongside and a fire extinguisher in hand. The flames were nearly out.
“Someone must have called the Coast Guard or they heard the shots,” Dane said. He recognized the big boat heading their way from shore.
“Cap called them,” Acer said.
“Shana called.”
“You’re on.”
Dane knew he’d win this bet and he let the moment drive the cold from his soul and felt the freight train speed rush of adrenaline slowing down. Even the thought of Shana was like a Zen miracle in his bloodstream, flooding him with a sense of calm.
The Coast Guard Response Boat reached them in short order. They’d decided to let the sniper relax in his dazed state and didn’t bother questioning him. They’d have time for that when he was more alert back at State Police headquarters. Acer kept a pistol trained on him. There was hardly a need. Dane still packed a good punch.
The boat drew close enough so that Dane could see Shana’s hair billowing even in the relative dark.
“Ahoy there,” he called. “Permission to board.”
The guy with the bullhorn didn’t bother using it, but shouted back instead. He threw a line and Dane pulled their speedboat alongside, angling to where there was a gap in the metal rail and a ladder hung over the edge along the side of the boat. It wasn’t much of a climb and he hauled himself over the bumper-like railing. This wasn’t the Coast Guard’s big cutter that had come to Dane and Shana’s aid last summer. It was their medium sized Response Boat, the RB-M 45675. It was designed to take people up over the side. They’d have no trouble getting their suspect on board.
“We got a call saying that you were in distress—looks like you had a fire,” Coast Guard Captain Tony Vendi said.
Dane knew him from the surfing fiasco over the summer. He didn’t want to have this conversation shouting back and forth.
“I’ll tell you all about it once we’re on board. We’ll need a hand with some cargo.”
He and Acer hefted the sniper up off the boat bottom and ushered him to the ladder. He was alert enough to grumble about being manhandled, but Dane heard the fear in his voice. Dane went first and hauled him up, climbing one-handed while Acer forced him forward from behind. After climbing two rungs, Dane saw Shana’s gorgeous face and he grinned. She scowled her worried scowl. A few men helped pull the sniper over the wide safety rail onto the deck. Once Dane hauled himself over, he sought her out. He was not wasting another minute.
Without a thought of propriety, or history or moods or rules or good sense or any of those other things that might interfere with his raw need, he went to her where she stood near the stairs to the pilot house watching him.
He reached her and stood dripping wet within the circle of the heat and scent of her and didn’t know what to say. He knew what to do, but she stood so resolute and concerned and angry. And something else was in her eyes that stopped him.
“You called the Coast Guard.” He had no idea what else to say.
She nodded her head. He smiled. His entire body ratcheted up a notch in heat and pleasure in spite of the cold seawater soaking his clothes. He circled his arms around her and pressed her body to his in a deep satisfying hug that made him quake with emotion like he’d come home from another galaxy to mother earth after a lifetime. She let him hold her in spite of the salty wet state he was in.
The shouts of the seamen and the resurgence of t
he boat’s engines invaded their moment, but he could have ignored that. It was Acer’s large dripping presence at his side that made him draw back.
“Where’s Cap?” he asked.
“Back at the station waiting with the car running. I let him know we had ourselves an arrest the second I saw you’d taken Wally’s boat away from him.” Shana smiled and then reached out and gave Acer a quick solid hug. Dane didn’t laugh, but he wanted to at the surprised look on the man’s face, closely followed by the complete melting of his big bad bear persona. Shana stepped back and stood ramrod straight again, still dressed in her slinky date dress. It was a provocative move. She drew a lot of eyes.
“You called the Coast Guard, didn’t you?” Acer said.
She nodded and said, “You two have a bet?”
Acer nodded.
“Dane won.” She sounded annoyed.
“Don’t worry—being predictable isn’t the worse sin in the world.” It was time for Dane to tease her before things got serious. She punched his shoulder and scowled. All was right with the world.
After he and Acer changed into dry clothes in the appropriately named Survivors’ Compartment—apparently the Coast Guard had spare clothes as a regular part of their onboard inventory—they decided to allow Wallace White, their newly arrested sniper suspect, to change out of his wet clothes as they stood guard. When the boat docked, Dane saluted Captain Vendi and acknowledged, for the second time in two months, that he owed him. Dane and Acer took hold of their sniper, Wallace White, and escorted him off the ship and straight to Cap’s waiting police car.
Shana stood back. “It’s going to be a tight fit,” she said.
“We’ll be fine. You sit up front with Cap. It’s a short drive.” Dane almost added that she was one of them, that he would never consider leaving her behind in that dress. Both were true, but he held back from reassuring her. He didn’t think she’d appreciate him showcasing her vulnerability in front of others. She’d probably full-out punch him in the eye for it rather than be grateful. So he said no more and she was grateful enough. As she got in the car her scowl let up a fraction—on the right side where a dimple showed. He loved that look.
Back at the State Police station, before they all crowded into the interrogation room with Wally the sniper, Shana said, “Aren’t you going to ask me how my date went?”
The four of them stood in the hallway and Dane went still while his heart went crazy.
“Shit,” Cap said.
“What happened?” Dane moved closer to her, pushing Cap aside which was no easy task in the hall.
“I got some intel. We have some pictures—”
“Of what? Get to the point, Shana.” His hammering heart did not let up.
“Of Peck’s phone call history—and a recording of some of his voicemail messages—”
“You hacked his phone? Impressive,” Acer said.
Dane didn’t take his eyes off hers. Something wasn’t right.
“What happened?” he asked again, his voice lowering and his heart now speeding up to a seizure-inducing rate.
“I didn’t get all the voicemails because he stopped me—”
“Goddamn it—” He swung around and glared at Cap. “Where the hell were you? What happened?” This time he asked loud and he was no longer cool.
“It’s all right, Dane. I’m here and I’m in one piece—”
“What the hell did he do? Tell me.”
She backed up a step and that was unlike her. He took her by the shoulders and meant to calm her—or calm himself since his hands shook like he was a Parkinson’s patient. He took a deep breath.
“He took the phone—his phone. He… there was an altercation and he got my bag and my phone—”
“Jees—”
Cap cut him off. “I called her and there was no answer so I went to his door with my gun aimed and he had her, but with a little distraction she got loose—”
“He had her? You got her out of there.” His blood boiled with indignation. Cap saved her while Dane was cooling his heels. But she was all right. He tore his attention from Cap and squeezed her arms, the shaking gone from his hands. “Goddamn it.” The grumble of his words made her smile. He wrangled his cool back into place. There was no way he could afford to lose it again. Ever. That’s what happened when the cardinal rule was broken. He needed to unbreak that rule. Dane stood there soaking in her scent and her gorgeousness and her warmth and knew the impossibility of unbreaking the rule.
Then he steeled himself and removed his hands from her.
“It’s just as well it was you,” he said to Cap. “I’d have shot the son of a—”
“I handled it myself. Cap gave me a lift is all,” Shana said. She stared them down and closed the book on it. Dane’s heart needed a break from thinking about what might have happened while he was somewhere else because he’d allowed her to go over there with that scum-of-the-earth-shit FBI fraud on her own.
“We need to cut Special Agent Glen Peck off at the knees,” Dane said. He’d have suggested they cut off a more colorful body part, but hesitated. Unlike him to be sensitive about Shana, but he knew she felt vulnerable so he tried mightily not to overreact any more than he already had. Or at least not to appear to overreact. He was reacting exactly the right amount—on the inside.
“As soon as we finish interrogating Wallace we’ll have a look at those pictures of the phone and listen to the recordings,” Cap said. “This could be what the governor needs to go after Special Agent Peck officially.”
“I’d rather keep it unofficial,” Dane said. In truth, he wouldn’t stop them from going by the book. His rage at the man’s corruption and assault on Shana warred with his well-honed survival instincts. He knew he’d get into deep trouble if he murdered the guy, or even maimed him. Even if he suspected it was Peck who had the hacker killed. Peck probably justified that to himself figuring the guy was no good and had it coming.
But Acer and Shana were another matter. They would need to sort things out to figure who was behind the attempt on Acer and the hacker’s murder. Now that they had Wally, that should get them some puzzle pieces.
“What are you, fourteen years old?” Shana scowled at him. He smiled back. He loved that scowl.
“It’s what you do to me,” he said. He enjoyed watching her scowl deepen in spite of the confusion in her eyes.
He sighed and hauled her into his side where her shoulder rested comfortably under his and he could breathe in the scent of her hair and feel its softness against his cheek. He needed to let her go. But not today.
The four of them sat on one side of a four-foot table meant for two. Wallace White was shackled to the lone chair on the other side. Dane wasn’t sure how effective this crowded interrogation would be, but for the moment, they all deserved to be there.
And he was in charge.
He also knew his moments of control would be numbered, so he dived right in.
“Who hired you to shoot at Acer?”
“I don’t know. I want a lawyer.”
“No. Spill it or I’ll let the lady beat you up.” He didn’t meant it as a joke, but they all looked at him like he was insane and Cap started to protest—probably something about the law and legal rights—so he stood and cut them off.
“Shana—he’s all yours. Let’s go.” He stared down the others.
Wally White was taken aback and unsure what to make of this. He wasn’t a fighter, it was clear. He was a shooter.
“Wait—what the hell is going on? Is this some kind of joke?”
“I ain’t jokin’.” Dane gave him an intense wild-eyed stare, his voice sharp and his teeth bared. Wally White shrunk back.
“Look, I don’t have anything personal—I didn’t kill no one.”
Shana, who had been quiet, almost demure in her demeanor, stood abruptly then leaned forward and shouted in his face. “You lie. You killed Harold Small—the hacker.”
Wally almost knocked his chair over backwards and looke
d like he was a kid who’d just seen the evil schoolmistress from hell.
“I didn’t kill Acer. I missed. I missed on purpose—that was the assignment.”
Dane stared at him. There was a grain of truth there.
He spoke quietly and reasonably then. “When did the assignment change?”
“Yesterday,” the man said without hesitation. His face blanched. They all sat back down again.
They found out that the Fiona Whitaker was the one who paid him to get Acer and that’s all he knew. He was to get paid twenty-five thousand dollars and he got five thousand dollars up front for expenses.
“It was transferred into my account.” He licked his lip and looked at Acer. “The thing is, man, I wouldn’t have taken the job—I wasn’t that desperate—but,” he paused and took on a pleading look, “I was paid to miss. You gotta know if I was paid to hit you, I would have hit you. I took high risk shots on purpose.”
“You could have easily killed someone with your shot through my kitchen window,” Dane said. He was on the fence about whether he believed him. He had to put it through his mental does-it-make-sense calculator.
The man blanched again and refused to meet Dane’s eyes. He looked at Shana—of all people in this room he picked the one least likely to have sympathy.
“I—I meant to shoot to scare. There was no one in the window when I prepped the shot—or it didn’t look like it. It was dark, but I didn’t care because I wasn’t trying to hit anyone—just scare you off.”
“I thought you said the job changed—”
“It did—my orders changed so I had to make it look good. It wasn’t coming from Fiona Whitaker anymore.”
“And what about the hacker?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about him. News to me. Never heard of him.”
Dane realized this could be true. They hadn’t seen ballistic reports. They were only assuming it was his because of the odds—because it was the same type of ammunition for an Army-issue rifle like Wally’s that it was likely the same shooter. After all, what were the chances?
Beachcomber Investigations: A Romantic Detective Series Novel - Book 1 Page 13