Chapter 14
Dane walked back to his car and headed to his house. It was more like a shack, but he felt a bond to every square inch of the weathered wood, the shabby furnishings and especially the secret basement arsenal filled with the arms he’d collected over the years.
So when he saw a man in shades and a hat and an unlikely suit jacket parked nearby and pulling out into traffic a few cars behind him, he went on alert.
His hinky sensors told him it was his old pal Ned.
Since the fireplug disguised as a thug was going to all the trouble to befriend him, Dane decided to let Mr. Ned follow him all the way home.
It would be interesting to see what the tough guy did next.
After Dane pulled into the crushed sea shell and gravel drive of his small driftwood-colored shack, Ned parked at the corner only three shacks down where Dane could plainly see him.
He got out of his car and stifled the urge to wave at the man as the tightly sprung wooden screen door slammed behind him.
Walking past the small peninsula of cabinets he used as a bar, Dane moved to the surveillance monitor mounted below the cabinet. He reached out and snapped it on. The gray visual came to life showing six different boxes with scenes from the perimeter of his little shack.
Ned was sneaking around the far wall opposite from the door where Dane entered.
Guess the guy figured he could get in a back window or maybe he was snooping around only to check him out.
Time to put an end to the game before the fool’s luck landed him somewhere important.
Dane quietly stepped back outside, but not before he pulled open a kitchen drawer and snagged his favorite nine millimeter Glock.
Once outside, he came around back and snuck up behind Ned and shoved his gun in the man’s generous gut.
Ned grunted first, then raised his hands and laughed.
“Odd sense of humor. But then I should expect that since you’re an odd little man.”
“You undercover?” Ned asked over his shoulder without turning around.
Dane scoffed. “Undercover what? Who am I working for? Who are you?”
Ned shrugged.
“You must be undercover,” Ned said. “Shana George is way out of your league. She’d never look at you unless you were a cop or you were made of money.” He tapped the side of the house and added, “You’re clearly not made of money.”
“You forgot that one other thing women are fond of about men. Or maybe you’re a eunuch and wouldn’t understand.”
“A what?” Ned turned sideways to face him now, his face in a real frown, like the stupid kid in junior high who knows he’s been insulted but doesn’t understand how.
Dane laughed and nudged him with the gun.
“Let’s go sit on my patio and have a chat.
” They walked out back to where a small slab of cement gave way to a quick grassy area and then sand down to the ocean.
Seagulls squawked overhead as he shoved Ned into one of the two metal chairs that sat opposite a round metal table.
He held his gun on the man’s balls under the glass table top. Not that Ned had much to lose.
“You can see where my gun is aimed, right?”
Ned smiled one of those toothpaste commercial smiles, but a bead of sweat slid down his right temple. He was left-handed and somewhat nervous, as he should be. Although he may have just been hot.
“Take your jacket off.”
“Let’s not play games. You know why I’m here,” Ned said without moving.
“Let’s not play games. Tell me why you’re here.”
Ned chuckled, but it was not the chuckle of confidence like he’d had before.
“Wrong answer.” Dane shot his gun at the cement next to the man’s foot, chipping a nice chunk that caused a few pieces to fly at the man. Ned jumped with the quickness of a bullfrog receiving an electric shock. He swiped at his neck where a piece of cement hit him and caused a dribble of blood.
“Shit. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you.”
That made him shut up. But Dane wanted him to talk.
“Why are you here? And if you don’t like that question, then how about answering this one—what’s your business with Jean Luc?”
“We’re both involved in the American Invitational Surfing Competition. I handle the finances.” He licked his lips.
“Since when do CPAs sneak around beach houses and go dancing with bodyguards?”
“Since when do surf bums hang out with heiresses?”
“Do you need to be reminded who’s holding the gun again, Ned?”
“Go ahead. Have your fun now. You aren’t going to shoot me. And when we meet again, the tables will be turned.”
Dane had an urge to at least give the man a limp, but he satisfied himself with lifting the table and pushing it on top of him so that he fell backwards under it. He’d have a few bruises anyway.
“Jesus H. Christ. What the hell?” Ned sputtered from the ground and rolled out of his chair and out from under the table.
“Guess I wasn’t done having my fun.”
Ned stood with some trouble and brushed himself off.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m undercover—like you said. What am I investigating? What are you up to, Ned?”
“You’re a goddamn freak. A nut. You should be certified.” Ned stood in front of him now.
Dane decided this was a good time to raise his gun again. As a friendly reminder.
“One more time, Ned.” He aimed his gun at the man’s balls, less than a foot away and rock steady.
Ned licked his lips. “We got an angle. We’re collecting big entry fees with the promise of a big prize.”
“A million smacks. Let me guess. No one wins.”
“Oh, we have a winner. In the bag.”
“A lot of trouble to go through for a couple of million minus some substantial operating costs.”
Ned laughed. “Not much of a businessman, are you? But I’m not surprised. No imagination. We have lots of legitimate income that more than covers the cost.”
“Does any of the action include kidnapping and ransom?” It was a bold move, but he was on a roll with Ned singing like the proverbial fat canary.
Ned eyed him and faced him with a stiff spine.
“I have a business proposition for you, Mr. Blaise. A one-time offer, which I suggest you take. The alternative would not be pleasant. By now you’ve deduced that I am more than your ordinary businessman.
I have ties to some very, very good and exceedingly tough business associates who know how to get their way.
Without fail. By any means. Do I make myself clear? ”
“Get to the point.” Dane still held the gun. This was getting interesting.
“Jean Luc tells me you’ve been nominated to be a judge for the competition by the local commission we assembled—to ensure buy-in from the community. As judge, we would like you to consider earning a bonus.”
“And let me guess. To earn the bonus, all I have to do is rig the scores the way you want them.”
“Precisely.” Ned smiled. He put out his hand to shake Dane’s. Dane slipped his gun in the back of his pants and shook, holding his nose metaphorically.
“One more thing. Shanna is off-limits for you. Romantically speaking. I believe the lady may have prospects with our own Jean Luc. I—and the people I represent—would prefer it that way. Surely you and your cock can find another willing female somewhere on the island.”
“We’ll see. But as the saying goes, you don’t own me.”
“Oh, but I do. That handshake makes you mine.”
“We’ll see.”
“Let’s start our business relationship on a more cooperative note, shall we?”
“Does that mean you’re going to dispense with the threats?”
“Dispense with… such talk. But you know there are always consequences in business. Good and bad.”
“And you know that goes both ways.”
“As long as we understand each other.”
“Like we were blood brothers.” Dane gave him his shark-killer smile, all teeth and challenging eyes. The man returned the smile, but his eyes were dead.
Maybe Dane ought to feel trepidation. Maybe he would if he were out on his own in some foreign jungle like he usually was.
But he was right in his own back yard. The notion of his home turf advantage gave him comfort, but it also ratcheted up the stakes to all or nothing. There was no escaping. No going home.
Ned looked around at Dane’s backyard view of the harbor and then back at Dane.
“Let me buy you a drink. Somewhere out in the open on neutral territory where we can cement our understanding of your role in the competition.”
“Sure.” He figured he needed to kill time until two anyway. May as well bond with the enemy. It was deep-cover strategy number two. Right after number one, which was never ever come out of character. “I’ll follow you this time.”
After Dane jumped into his old Jeep, he turned the key in his ignition and watched Ned trot back down the street to his car with a slight limp added to his awkward waddling gait.
Dane still wasn’t sure what character he was supposed to be playing, since he needed to be whoever the thug wanted him to be.
Luckily spontaneity on the job was one of his favorite things.
As long as he ignored the razor-sharp edge of danger that came with it.
He couldn’t afford to dwell on the danger.
The stakes were getting higher all the time on this so-called vacation that was supposed to be restoring him.
He wondered why the hell he hadn’t told Peter John Douglas to go to hell.
And it wasn’t just because the man was governor, and not even the fact that the man had saved his neck more than once.
That had been mutual. It had not even been to prevent Chauncey Miller from endangering his newlywed ass.
No. It was more. It was dark. Somewhere Dane didn’t want to look for fear of seeing the self-destructive streak that his mother had always worried about growing wider.
No one else saw it but her. Hell, no one else he associated with would recognize it because they’d all had the same streak clouding their visions. Even Elena. Especially Elena.