Beachcomber Baby

by Stephanie Queen

  Also, it would be helpful if these idiots didn’t know that he absolutely did not want to discharge his weapon. He was counting on a few waves of the gun in their direction to scatter them for long enough to find a car and escape.

  Things went as planned. Almost.

  Chapter 9

  One brave man gave chase. Realizing that Shana wasn’t far enough ahead of him, Dane slowed down. No need for both of them to get beat up. He put his gun back into the waist of his pants, turned around, and threw up his hands in the universal signal for surrender. They had rounded a corner and the man was, so far, blessedly alone. He slowed and looked slightly over his shoulder to realize the same thing. Dane smiled—on the inside.

  His opponent was larger than him, and younger, but Dane doubted the big man had nearly the experience to justify his toothy grin as he swaggered forward with fisted hands. Still holding his hands in front of him, Dane started talking, and then mid-sentence he unleashed a quick jutting blow up and under the man’s jaw.

  The guy staggered back, but the wall prevented him from falling and Dane closed in. They exchanged a few more jabs and Dane, careful not to let the man near his gun took a glancing blow off his left cheek and jaw. That made him mad enough to kick the guy in the gut, but not before Dane took another punch, this time to the ribs.

  He heard the shouts of others getting near and finally dropped the guy with a follow-up kick to the side of his head. He watched the man fall while he considered his options—either run or stand his ground and try to fight his way out. But not knowing yet if these guys were armed, he felt a thrill when a car screeched around the corner ahead of gunfire. It was like hearing a woman’s orgasmic moaning in the throes of ecstasy and he saw it was Shana the magnificent—the best partner heaven could create.

  He knew that was the euphoria talking in his head as he jumped into the backseat behind her as she slowed not quite to a stop. Pulling the door closed as she screeched the tires with a gun of the engine and took off, he turned to check their rear. Of course there were three men chasing them on foot with guns drawn, shooting. Slipping his gun out at the same time as he opened the window, he leveled it, sighted it down, and aimed carefully for a point on the ground near the feet of the lead man. Then pulled the trigger. No way he could afford to start killing or even wounding people on the streets of Boston. The paperwork would kill him and their investigation would be over. But the shot did stop them. Unlike in the movies, real-life bad guys were chicken shit and not often willing to die for the cause of money or anything else for that matter. It was his almost universal experience that the bad guys ducked for cover and ran the other way once someone started shooting at them. Plus, they saw their guy picking himself up from the filthy street so they grabbed him and ran back in the direction they’d come from. Shana rounded another corner and slowed down.

  “Where did you get the car?”

  “I borrowed it,” she said through gritted teeth. He noticed the wires sticking out of the steering column. She slowed the car and pulled over and he pulled out his phone.

  “Calling Uber. Even their DIY cab drivers would be safer.”

  They jumped from the car and hurried another block to a 7-Eleven to wait.

  “Whatever happened to David’s men?” Shana said. “And what happened to your face?”

  He swiped it and flinched before he could stop himself.

  “Lucky punch.”

  “So how much trouble do you think we’re in?”

  “None.” He wouldn’t be sure of that until after he spoke to David. He had no idea what had happened to the call he’d made and whether there had been anyone listening on the other end of the line.

  Then he saw the car. It was not their Uber car.

  A man dressed in a tux and a bow tie pulled up, reached over, and popped the door open.

  “I’m Joe. Get in.”

  Shana hoped Dane didn’t notice that she was still shaking when he shoved her toward the door. She got in the front seat with Joe, Dane got in the back behind her, and they took off in the smoothest ride she’d ever felt.

  “Hey Joe. David got my call, I take it,” Dane said.

  “Sorry for the delay. We were at the governor’s mansion. VIP dinner.” Joe flashed a grin in the rearview mirror and Shana swung around to see it matched the one on Dane’s face.

  “Goddamn it. Do you know everyone on the governor’s staff?”

  “Joe is the governor’s driver, personal protection detail, and all-around troubleshooter.”

  “This here falls into the troubleshooting portion of my job description, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.” The man named Joe nodded and gave her a deferential smile, then addressed his rearview mirror again.

  “You were right, Dane. She’s the perfect Bond girl to your—”

  “Don’t even say it or you’re a dead man and I don’t care that we just met,” Shana said. She put a hand on his driving arm and squeezed. There was still too much adrenaline racing in her blood for this.

  To Joe’s credit, whoever he was, he instantly turned into a professional and went all business in look and tone.

  “I apologize, Shana. You’ve just been through an intense situation. I should know better.” Then he addressed them both.

  “Governor Douglas will be in on the briefing with David Young. We’re on our way to the mansion now. He feels responsible for this situation being—in his words—more problematic than it seemed at first glance. Also—and this is a first in my experience—Madeline is extremely apologetic and blames herself for everything. I’m not sure of her involvement, but—”

  “She’s not involved. She’s a peach. She had no way of knowing,” Shana said and thought of Father Donahue with a hot flash of violence in her veins. But she looked at Dane in the handy rearview. He looked pensive, maybe Zen-like, and she wondered if it was going to be his new thing and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

  But who was she kidding? She liked everything about him. Even the warts. Her stomach did a roll as she remembered seeing him in the alley fighting off one guy with three more giving chase. No time to rehash that now. Now was the time to try to make sense of it all. She said, “So what the heck are we going to tell the governor and David Young at this briefing?”

  Dane shrugged. Zen mode seemed to have taken him. She turned around in her seat. “What the hell, Dane?”

  He grinned. Back to the devilish Dane, the demon she knew and—yes, she had to admit it yet again—loved. For better or worse, until death do them part. And they weren’t even married. Not even lovers. Before she let herself start wondering what the hell they were besides partners, she reminded herself that was enough. For now.

  “We know there’s a Russian connection. The man in charge—Mr. Cool was Russian—I caught one of the men mentioning his name—or part of it—Ivany. I saw a very small tattoo on the base of his neck. It matches the description Sister Anne gave us. David was running it through the database and checking it with Interpol.” Dane stopped and took a breath. He gave her a long look and she couldn’t tell what he meant by it. Then he said, “Thank you for saving my life, darlin’. I owe you. Even more than I did before.”

  Shana felt a warm flush of pleasure run through her like a river of warm milk until it hit her hot spot and took off in a zing of a different kind of pleasure. She felt herself blush, but she didn’t turn away. She waited for him to say more—to put the conversation back on the business track, but he didn’t. Or maybe she just couldn’t wait long enough for him to get to it without squirming indecently and climbing over the seat to jump in his lap and to throw her arms and legs around him.

  Maybe the whole car was heating up because it was Joe who coughed and broke the tension. Then she remembered.

  “You saved me first. You bought me time to get away. Don’t think I—”

  “It’s okay, Shana. We’re partners. The very best of partners. Right, Joe?”

  “That’s what it sounds like to me.” Joe smiled at her, more reassur
ing than teasing or awkward. She backed the events up in her mind further and remembered more.

  “I got something when I checked out the ladies’ room. I’m not exactly sure what it means, but one of the women said, ‘Your man is a daddy. But don’t worry—he’ll never see the baby. No one will.’”

  “That explains Mr. Cool’s comment to us that it wouldn’t be necessary to get revenge on Lara. Any idea where she is?”

  “Not even a hint—unless you accept that she’s been sent from the country. Or is dead.” Shana’s stomach turned. Anger burned past the overwhelming sadness in a wave of rage, bringing relief.

  “Go time,” Joe said as he pulled the living room on wheels into a gated driveway and around a bend, through a copse of trees, and toward a stately home that looked like something from a picture.

  The sight of the governor’s house gave Shana a surge of anxiety for a moment, gave their current case the feel of a mission—or so she imagined. She admitted to herself that she fancied being one of the governor’s men—one of his mission men. Dane insisted she was, but every time someone like Joe showed up with his easy camaraderie and joint history, it was clear to her she was not one of them. And she would never be. She was too young, too absent from their shared past, and most of all, too female.

  To avoid his scoffing, she did not share these thoughts with Dane.

  The car stopped and the men’s doors popped open simultaneously. She was a beat late, but she made up for it with an exuberant jump from the car and a no-looking-back, all-business quickstep to the front door. As the two men caught up to her two steps before she reached it, the door magically swung open. She stopped.

  “How do they do that?”

  “Surveillance cameras.” Dane and Joe swept past her.

  She followed as the two men surged forward like characters in an action hero movie through the marble entry hall to a substantial wood carved door to the right where they all went in. She recognized the room as the governor’s study—the one where he met with people to conduct business rather than a working study. David Young rose from his chair, side-stepped Dane and Joe, and came straight to Shana. She gave him a hug in greeting and her smile was automatic. David was that kind of guy. Everyone’s favorite. Elegant in manner and soul. Of course, his exterior charm covered the rock hard toughness of a man who’d been in a few fights and seen a few slaughters—and dished a few out.

  “You look perfect as always,” David said and then turned to Dane. “More than can be said for you.”

  Dane rubbed his jaw. “At least I’m still conscious.”

  “I found these two on the run from a scrappy group of Russian club bouncers,” Joe said.

  “Don’t worry—I’m sure the bouncers retreated back to their club by now and reported to their boss that we had a get-away car waiting. They won’t want to take the fall for our escape.”

  “Why were they after you—or should I ask?” Governor Douglas asked with a friendly smirk and turned to Shana for the answer.

  She said, “Dane hurt the ring leader—not sure how bad—but he went down in a heap and then all hell broke loose.”

  “Description of the guy?”

  “Same one as Sister Anne took a hit from—same tattoo, same stature, same accent,” Dane said.

  David said, “I should be getting something on that soon—via email. We can check it on the computer here.”

  Shana smiled at him. David wasn’t exactly tech savvy, but his urbane cool always made her feel like he could handle anything with little trouble—even a mysterious technical gadget.

  Madeline Grace walked into the room from a back door and all the men turned to greet her with deference and maybe even a little awe. She gave Shana a hug and said, “Why don’t we sit.”

  The men had all been standing around and Shana realized she needed a rest.

  “Tell me what you found out,” Governor Douglas said to Dane and her once they were all situated on the couches and chairs, with Joe perched on the arm of one chair rather than sitting as if he might need to run at a moment’s notice.

  “We ran into some kind of Russian mob type operation. Hard to say exactly what they were into and hard to say what kind of trouble Lara is in, except that she is definitely in trouble,” Dane said.

  “I have some intel on this Russian mob you ran into at the Garage Club,” David said. “They’ve added a new entrepreneurial twist to the time-honored business of baby selling—they grow the babies. The club is referred to as ‘the baby farm’ according to the latest from the FBI—who, incidentally, is very interested in this operation and who is very concerned about your interference.”

  “Baby farm?” The excruciating pain in her gut was mostly her uterus, with assistance from every other organ she had, revolting at the sinister sound and meaning of the words. She forced herself to listen to the explanation without covering her ears or screaming bloody murder.

  “I thought there was some kind of surveillance going on,” Dane said. “It was the feds then? And they already called you?”

  Shana looked at him—he’d ignored the entire reference and horrible implication of the notion of a baby farm.

  David nodded and looked between them, at her and at Dane. He addressed Dane.

  “They employ a stable of women who seduce men, get pregnant and then turn over their babies—after the babies are old enough to be determined healthy, they are sold. It cuts out the need for kidnapping.”

  “Except for Baby Paulette,” Shana said.

  “So you think Lara and Paulette are mixed up in this baby farm operation?” the governor asked her.

  “Yes, based on what I heard from one of the women when I asked about Lara. Lara must have changed her mind about selling. Now they’re trying to kidnap Paulette. Maybe they already have a buyer.” Shana knew it in her gut as it churned and writhed in protest. The anger boiled up and the horror and disgust turned into rock-solid, angry, vengeful determination and calmed her insides.

  She looked at Dane. He had his blank shark look on but she knew it was masking a world of hurt underneath. Then he spoke with the deadly calm, quiet, and casual voice she knew well—and tried like hell to avoid.

  “You’re not suggesting we drop the case—give it to the feds,” he said to the governor. It should have been a question, but it wasn’t.

  “Hell no,” the governor said. Madeline, who had been looking distraught, wrapped her arms around the governor.

  “We’re going to—let’s say—help the FBI in the pursuit of their prey,” David said.

  “Whether they like it or not,” Dane said.

  “Precisely. The FBI is notoriously, shall we say, patient about closing their cases. Paulette could be a teenager before they find her mother if we don’t help out. But of course we can’t use our men or be officially involved—that would constitute interference,” David said and the governor nodded approval.

  Shana breathed in relief and would have told them she was pleased with the plan, but Dane spoke up.

  “I think we should let the FBI have their case. We should back off.” His words were calm, but he looked far from casual.

  The governor and David looked at each other wordlessly, without expression.

  Shana’s heartbeat went wild like a marching band on speed. She fisted her hands, mostly to stop herself from taking Dane by the shoulders and shaking sense into him, but partly in preparation to punch his stony face.

  “You can’t be—”

  He looked at her. “The FBI has better resources to protect her than we do.”

  “You’re quitting? You’re actually backing down?” Shana knew her eyes were wide and she gave away every thought or feeling she had and laid herself excruciatingly bare and vulnerable to Dane’s crushing blow.

  “I’m being smart,” Dane said. He looked at the men and then back at her. His previous words ran through her head to the beat of her heart. Nothing good ever comes of a baby case.

  “But she’s ours. She’s in our car
e. Father Donahue—”

  “All bets are off with goddamned Father Donahue.” Dane gave his harshness full play.

  “Maybe Dane is right,” Governor Douglas said. “David, why don’t you have a talk with the Special Agent in Charge and see where they are in wrapping up their case and see what their plans would be for the baby.” He turned to Madeline. “I’ll deal with Father Donahue.”

  Madeline Grace didn’t say a word. This was not her area of expertise and Shana knew from past experience that Mrs. Governor never interfered in her husband’s missions, trusting him completely. She envied their relationship. Maybe that’s what was wrong with her and Dane. They had the same area of expertise. There was no division of power—there was a constant competition for power.

  “Good plan,” Dane said. “We should get back to the island. We’ll make arrangements to deliver the baby to the SAC once you give us the word. Until then, we’ll hold tight and keep her secure.”

  “Keep her—she’s not a briefcase full of money—she’s a baby for Christmas’s sake, Dane. I don’t care about your past hist—”

  “That’s enough, Shana.” Dane went rigid and his face turned from blandly stony to something considerably more dangerous. Shana looked around at all of them and when she got to Madeline the woman reached out a hand.

  “Let’s take a walk. Come with me,” she said in a comforting voice that had an automatic soothing effect. Shana went with her because she needed to escape from Dane’s oppressiveness. She needed to calm down. At the very back of her mind she knew there was some truth in what he said in spite of his personal issues with baby cases. Whatever horror motivated him, what he suggested made sense on some level that her wild hormones wouldn’t let her understand at this moment.

  Of course Madeline Grace probably knew all this—the woman was a world-renowned psychologist. Shana relaxed her shoulders, but kept her chin up as she left the room with Madeline holding her arm and leading the way.