“No. I can’t. I don’t. You need me. I’ll stay and see this thing through—creeped out or not. Who would watch out for Paulette in case of a gun fight if I left?”
Smiling, Shana gave Sassy a hug. “You’re right. We do need your help. But don’t worry—at the first sign of…. trouble, you and Paulette will hide.”
“Hide? Where?” Sassy looked around with a critical eye at the small house.
“Good question.” Shana took a quick survey, noting two doors in the hall. “Why don’t you check out the possibilities down there—not in a bedroom. Avoid the bedrooms.”
“Right—that’s the first place they’d look.” Paulette let out a small whine.
“Is she hungry?” Shana asked. Any expertise she might have once had had disappeared at this point.
“I’ll get her bottle and we’ll find a hiding spot,” Sassy said and took the baby back into the kitchen.
Even if she couldn’t check out the street from outside, Shana decided she could at least take a careful look through the windows. It was probably overkill—after all, how would Spartak know anything about Cap or where he lived? He wouldn’t.
How smart could that rotten Russian mobster be?
Although Dane was aware of his own pacing around the small space in his kitchen, he couldn’t stop himself. Not even when Cap gave him a single raised brow as he leaned against the refrigerator door.
“You guarding the stash of tequila? Don’t worry—I’m more likely to have a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey at this point,” Dane said.
Waiting was the worst part. Their weapons were placed where they could get at them if the doors or windows were breached—resting against their hips from the slings around their necks and shoulders and on the kitchen counter behind them, across the room from the backdoor. They’d stashed a few in hiding spots around the house in case they got backed into one of the rooms. Everything was done that could be done ahead of time. If they tried to shoot up the house—well, even Cap didn’t know that Dane’s house was armor plated with bulletproof windows. He’d worked hard on making his little haven safe from the cruel world.
They’d switched to Cap’s radio for communication and he seemed content to listen to the occasional burst of static and bide his time.
“I would have pegged you for a patient man. The legend says you’re cool under pressure. So far I’m not seeing it.”
Dane didn’t tell him it was because of the damn baby. Not now. Maybe never. He swiped his hand across his forehead and through his hair, removing some of the nervous sweat.
“It’s Shana,” he said—only half lying. “I don’t like that she’s over there on her own.”
“No way they’ll find her there,” Cap said. “Even if they think I’m on the job, they’d never assume you’d use my house—even then, they’d have a hell of a time getting the address from anyone. I’m not as famous on this island as you are.” Cap crossed his arms, giving him a knowing and maybe even a sympathetic look.
“True.” But none of that perfectly good logic made a bit of difference to the deep-down, gut-wrenching foreboding Dane was feeling.
The clock was ticking—literally—on his kitchen wall and he looked at it.
“Fifteen minutes ’til the feds arrive. I hope Toly got the message to his man.”
“To set up the sting?”
Dane nodded his head and would have suggested they call Toly or David when his cell rang.
“That’s got to be Toly—everyone else knows to use the radio.” Dane tore the phone from his pocket, punching it on with his thumb as he put it to his ear.
“Problem?”
“Yes—and no. But I thought you should know either way. My man was in the process of sending the message—and using the cover you suggested—”
“That he beat the intel out of Father Donahue.”
“Yes. That one. But it turns out, my friend, that Spartak had the same idea—with one exception.”
“What is it, Toly? Get to the point.” Dane’s chest tightened and drummed like an Energizer bunny out of control.
“He was told—and I quote—‘No shit. We already got the story out of the damn priest.’” Toly paused there, but Dane didn’t think it was for effect—it sounded more like he was hesitant to go further.
“Go on.” Dane steeled himself and gave Cap a warning look as he listened in.
“They beat the information out of Father Donahue—they caught him while he was escorting his assistant home. But they got the information not by beating only him. They beat—”
“Marian. Shit Damn.”
“I will get these men under control. They will pay for what they did. She’s in the hospital. Father—my son is okay. I taught him to take a punch early in his youth.”
Cap looked like Dane felt. Sick and filled with rage. But Dane needed to know one more thing.
“What information did they get, Toly? What did your son tell them?”
“Shana,” Sassy’s loud hushed voice was urgent and tight, but not panicked. That was bad. “Come here. Now.”
Pulling her pistol from its spot inside the tight waist of her pants, she rushed into the kitchen, naturally keeping low as she went. When she got to the doorway, she saw Sassy plastered against the wall next to the window that looked out onto the backyard. The girl nodded toward the window and whispered.
“I saw someone out there. I swear to God. He was in the shadows, but it was a man. Dressed in black.” Sassy cradled Paulette in front of her in one arm and held her bottle in the other. The baby squirmed.
“Find that hiding place. Now. Duck below window level as you go.” Shana waved her arm to hurry the woman, but in truth, Sassy wasted no time.
Shana edged herself, taking her own advice to stay below the window level, toward the wall to get an angled view of the backyard and perimeter. She peered past the curtain without moving it. There was no car in the drive, no lights on in the house and no observable movement inside—she’d made sure of that. Maybe they could play possum, she thought as she watched patiently, scanning the trees along the edge of the yard where Sassy said she’d seen the shadowy man.
A flash of something glinting caught her eye along the side yard almost out of view and she shifted her stance, careful to stay against the wall. She watched, still and patient with only the drumbeat of her heart, the hum of the refrigerator and a clock ticking somewhere—the living room.
Then she saw him move. There were two figures crouched in the low bushes under the trees at the edge of the yard, dressed in dark clothes with long sleeves. They were not neighbors out for a stroll.
Shana crouched down, close to the floor now and scrambled to the hallway.
“Where are you hiding, Sassy?”
“In the laundry room,” came the muffled response.
“How’s Paulette doing?”
“I’m feeding her now—she’s good.” Sassy paused. “Is everything okay?” There was a tremor of fear in her question. Naturally. Shana felt the same tremor under her own calm action and strategic thinking. At least she had her training and experience to rely on. This poor girl was relying on her. And the baby was relying on her.
Shana felt the ratcheting of tension like a constriction in her chest and she forced a deep breath. She had to call Dane.
Dane waited far too long for the man to speak, dreading the answer to the question and trying not to anticipate. But he’d lost a big chunk of his professional veneer on this mission.
Toly spoke in a measured voice. “They were told where you live.”
“What else?”
“How do you know there is something else? Why do you insist—”
“Spill it, Toly. You told Father D something and now it’s coming back to haunt us—what is it?”
“That you work with the State Police—he was concerned. I told my son not to be concerned because this man—this Statie—is your friend.”
“Shit.” He ended the call. That Russian idiot was lucky there w
as a good measure of ocean between them right now.
“Damn. They might—” Cap didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before they heard the loud cracking sound of the front door crashing in.
Dane flew past Cap, grabbing his Glock 17 from the counter and ducked behind the wall in the hallway with two men in black T-shirts and Makarov MP-443 Grachs held high. They walked forward slowly, shouting in Russian for their surrender. Dane knew once he fired there would be a shit storm of bullets flying. He needed to know how many of them there were before he fired, but he couldn’t afford to let them get out of his sights and lose his tactical advantage—however temporary it was. As they approached the kitchen area, he was about to pull the trigger, when another splintering crash sounded—at the backdoor—in the kitchen. Where he’d last seen Cap. Damn.
The two men immediately stopped moving and crouched, shouting more Russian that told their compatriots where they were. Dane lowered his sight to adjust to their crouch and before the two took another step, he fired. Rapid fire, six shots, two men down. He’d hit them in the shoulders and arms, not center mass. They were out of commission but would likely live to stand trial. He wasn’t official law enforcement anymore so he couldn’t afford to kill people when he took the first shot—not even after they’d crashed in the door. He’d thought all this and done all this within the space of three seconds.
Then all hellfire broke loose and the shouting was barely heard over the loud cracking of automatic weapons shooting bullets too fast to know how many. Dane collapsed down low and retreated to Shana’s bedroom. They’d planned for Cap to retreat to Dane’s room. Each of the rooms had an escape hatch in the closet. One to the basement in his room and the other to the attic in Shana’s room. If needed, there were always the windows. He hadn’t heard Cap and was worried. Two men shouted as they slowed down their fire and he placed them in his living room. He heard the destruction of his furniture.
He and Cap had moved all his hardware and important papers into the basement. The rest of what these men were destroying could be easily replaced—including the old computer on his kitchen table—a decoy.
Turning to the surveillance camera in Shana’s closet, he watched the grainy figures of the two men circle around the dining room, shooting up the computer and the table. He noticed the men had two-ways. Looking closely, he recognized the smaller of the two men, the one in the lead, as Spartak’s main thug. According to the intel he’d looked at earlier, the man’s name was Yakov. He stopped in the hall, glanced back at the two writhing men on the floor, and gestured for them to stand. One of them, whom Dane had managed to hit in the thigh, couldn’t stand and seemed about to pass out. He might very well bleed out without attention. The question about whether Yakov would take care of his wounded men was answered in the next second.
Yakov lifted his gun and shot the man in the head. He was a pretty good shot—at close range. Maybe he was being merciful. Maybe it was his leadership style. He gestured to the other two men to get low and lifted his radiophone to speak quietly into the crackling two-way when it came to life. Dane couldn’t hear what he was saying and couldn’t be sure who he was speaking to—but it didn’t bode well for Shana. While Yakov regrouped and apparently studied the three closed doors confronting him, Dane switched his monitor to the other rooms to find Cap.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he found Cap in the bathroom, the closest door to where he’d last seen him when the men entered. He must have seen the two men approaching from the rear on the outside monitor in the kitchen. Dane shook his head and reminded himself that all the surveillance monitoring in the world was useless if you didn’t watch them. He and Cap hadn’t been watching the front door monitor.
And apparently the motion sensors were either disabled or malfunctioning. But he and Cap were still in good shape. Or he was. Cap was at a disadvantage. Chances were Yakov would go in the bathroom door first since it was first in the hall. Cap didn’t have a surveillance camera in there. Dane would have to intervene from the rear—unless they split up and took all three doors at once. That’s what he would have done.
He switched the monitor back to the hallway to see what Yakov would do. And his brain buzzed with the possibilities for his response. Defeating an incursion to the room where he stood crouched and to the side would be easy. But to save Cap’s skin would be a much closer call.
Yakov’s back was to the camera as he spoke quietly and gestured to his men. Dane couldn’t tell what their plan was. The two-way on Yakov’s hip chirped and he lifted it and spoke urgently to the man on the other end. Dane heard him distinctly. He said, “No sign here yet of anyone. You were right—the baby is at your location.”
Dane’s blood turned glacial. He had to assume they were at Cap’s house.
Yakov put his radio away and gestured with his Grach for the men to move forward. They each turned to a different door and aimed their weapons.
Chapter 17
Radio silence was never a good sign. Shana knew if Dane had his radio off it meant they were engaged or close to it. She called the State Police headquarters next for backup. She had seen at least two men, but she knew there could be more—knew there were more men at the beach shack.
She retreated down the hall to check on the laundry room and whispered, “Sassy, it’s me. I’m turning out all the lights. I’ll get you a flashlight.” She opened the door and saw Sassy huddled on the floor in front of the dryer with Paulette nestled in a basket of assorted T-shirts and sheets.
“Don’t worry—it’s clean.”
Shana bent down to give Sassy a hug and reached over to stroke the now sleeping baby’s cheek.
“I wasn’t worried. You’re a rock-star babysitter, Sassy.” She lowered her voice and made it urgent. “I need to go now and you guys need to lay low unless I say so. I’m going to call for backup. It’ll be okay. The cavalry will be here within two minutes.”
To Shana’s surprise, Sassy stood up and said, “I’m not hiding here while you’re out there alone with who knows what—”
“That isn’t nec—”
“I knew what I signed up for when I took this job. I knew there was danger. I took lessons. I can handle a gun.”
A noise like a garbage can knocking over came from the backyard. There was no more time to argue. No more time to call for backup. She nodded at Sassy and they stepped into the hall.
Shana gave one last long look at the sleeping baby and closed the door behind her. They hurried to where she’d left their extra weapons in the living room.
Shana checked the Glock 17s for ammunition and slipped an extra magazine into her pocket. Her Century Arms CZ sat comfortably against the small of her back. She handed one of the two Glocks to Sassy as she moved toward the wall next to the window where she could watch for the shadowy figure. She spotted two men.
“You sure you know how to use this?”
Sassy nodded and hiccupped. Shana was about to tell Sassy to go check on Paulette so she could lock her in the room and out of the way, but two things intervened. First, the certain knowledge that these men were after the baby, making Sassy no safer locked up in there with the baby. Secondly, she saw the first man talking on his radio as he moved toward their backdoor. There was no more time to consider strategy.
Slipping her own two-way from its clip on her hip, she engaged it and still found radio silence. Then she called the State Police emergency line.
“Go hang back in the hallway. If… if I go down, get in the laundry room with the baby and be ready to shoot,” she said.
Sassy hiccupped again, but nodded and retreated quietly and steadily back to the hallway. Shana watched her go and then, crouching down, she moved along the wall toward the backdoor, stopping behind a bank of cabinets.
The sound of the wooden frame of the backdoor splintering, the glass shattering and the door banging open was much louder than Shana expected. She startled and in that second watched Sassy rush back toward the kitchen as the two men crashed into th
e room. Shana took aim as the second man stopped and turned directly toward her, as if he knew she’d be there. He had his weapon raised and pointed at her. But her eyes were already adjusted to the dimmer light inside the kitchen and she didn’t have to take the tick of time to focus the way he did. She pulled her trigger first, hitting the man in the chest, shoulder and legs with three shots. He went down. But in that time, the first man, who was two steps ahead of his dead friend and who did not flinch, rushed forward with his Mp-443 Grach raised high.
He had it aimed center mass at Sassy who now stood in the mouth of the hall. He said, “Where is the baby?” Shana remembered that voice from the Garage Club. It was Spartak.
Sassy had her hands raised and she nodded toward the living room, giving Shana enough time to make a move. But when Shana took aim, he’d already moved around the corner toward the living room, and Sassy had jumped back out of reach of the man’s gun as he swung it at her. Without thinking, Shana acted.
She rushed in behind Spartak, lunging at him. She hit the man hard across the back of his head with her Glock. After an excruciating beat during which it seemed to Shana that he hung suspended and inert, he collapsed forward, smashing his face against the floor.
Battle at the Beach Shack
Dane was ready when the door crashed in. He wasn’t waiting there in the middle of the room standing directly in front of the line of fire, but neither was he standing against either wall to the sides of the door. Too risky. Those were the obvious places where any self-respecting gunman would spray bullets from a semi-automatic weapon to eliminate an unseen threat. Dane was half surprised the shooting didn’t start before the door was opened. Amateurs.
The two options Dane had considered in the time he and Cap had to prepare for this scenario were either the closet or—and this was Dane’s favorite—standing on top of the large chest of drawers to the left of the door along a perpendicular wall. The closet was too likely to be in the line of fire and the flimsy doors wouldn’t give much protection against the rapid fire at forty-five rounds per minute of the Makarov Mp-443 Grach’s 9x19mm Parabellum rounds.
Beachcomber Baby Page 16