Chapter 19 #2
The beach was unrecognizable. Two-story open-sided canvas tents wrapped around aluminum poles with colorful triangular flags flapping in the breeze at the tops dotted the landscape like a beachside circus.
There were three of them. There was a separate tall metal structure with a platform holding a large camera on a stabilizing unit.
A giant Jumbotron screen overlooked the far left side of the cordoned-off area next to plain metal bleachers.
Colorful banners emblazoned with brand names for surf wear, energy drinks and suntan lotion flapped everywhere.
One of the canvas pavilions was as large as a small building and sported what looked like a bar on the second level.
They all held canvas chairs on both levels and one tall wooden chair on their second levels.
The judges’ seats. He turned back to Shana.
“As for the surfing, go for the pivot, carve, back foot jam move and throw as much spray as you can. Cameras will love it and I can get away with giving you an inflated score. As if anyone in this amateur field would know enough to complain. It all looks polished with the damn circus tents and sponsors, but underneath the veneer of legitimacy, this is the most Mickey Mouse setup I’ve ever seen. ”
“They’ve waived most of the ASP rules—all the rules that are inconvenient or that make the contest fair and relevant,” Shana said. “The only thing keeping them on the map or getting them attention is the prize money.”
“Evidently, that’s all they needed. Money. And the media comes running.”
They saw Chauncey pull in but couldn’t afford to make contact in public, so they kept walking.
“I’m taking a chance that no one but Ned gives a damn about whether we should be seen together, but someone might realize that a judge shouldn’t be sleeping with a competing surfer.”
“No one knows about that but us.” Shana squinted into the sun, continuing to minimize their eye contact as they walked. It bothered him. Way more than it should. A need to rattle her surged and he took a deep breath to keep it from overpowering him.
“Everyone will know the minute they see us together.”
She stopped walking, looked him straight in the eyes with glinting green trouble in hers that nearly stopped his heart and said, “Then we can’t be together.
” She flattened her luscious lips to a grim line and turned away and walked off, carrying her board, her bag—and he hoped a sharpened knife to match her attitude.
Remembering his promise to cover her back, Dane forced himself to follow her at a discreet distance.
Day 1 of the competition
Crowds assembled as the loudspeakers positioned at the corners of each pavilion announced the start of the first heat.
The digital display at the front of the largest pavilion listed the names of the surfers slated for each heat.
The women were up first. The men would surf later, in the early afternoon as the winds picked up and the swells were predicted to be uneven and more of a challenge.
From his perch, Dane held up his binoculars and watched Shana in the marshalling area wearing jersey number twelve.
Tamara, in a matching caddy jersey, and wearing a sullen face, stood nearby.
Arcing the binoculars slowly over the entire beach area, he spotted Chauncey in position, then found Jean Luc in a stand with the announcer nearer to the marshalling area.
There were several men and women reputed to be sponsors seated in the top level of the three-level structure that looked like an open air circus big top with the flags touting sponsor names flying at the peak and every corner.
According to the Jumbotron that showed all the pre-competition interviews, action shots from a few of the so-called seasoned competitors’ prior amateur events and advertisements, that was the VIP stand.
Dane perched on the second level of a covered stand adjacent to the main VIP stand.
He’d been there for only two hours and this was already the worst surveillance stint he’d ever experienced.
It was tough to sit still watching her from three hundred yards away through binoculars.
Working with Shana had been a mistake from the first minute he saw her.
He knew it then and he’d been right. As always.
A picture of Elena popped into his head reminding him of his past sins.
Reminding him why his survival instincts could be overridden by lust or worse. Feelings. Connection. Damn.
He looked for Ned in the organized chaos along the beach and couldn’t find him.
“See anything interesting?”
The voice startled him like a punch to his heart, but he absorbed the shock to his system without a flinch. He took the binoculars from his eyes in a slow, deliberate move and looked at the man who’d climbed up to the platform.
“Ned.” He nodded at the man with a neutral look and without answering his question.
“We’re off to a perfect start. Got to hand it to Jean Luc. He’s put together a good show.”
“Why aren’t you over there trying to impress your VIP guests?” Dane waved a hand to the nearby elevated pavilion spotted with colorful wide umbrellas.
“I’ll take care of them after the show. Right now, my job is to protect my investment.” He sat next to Dane on a high stool, still a half a foot lower, and picked up the electronic tablet that would be used for scoring.
“Don’t trust me? And I thought we had a very clear understanding.”
“I hear you spent the night with our girl. And I thought we had an understanding.” He shifted on his too-small wooden stool and looked out over the ocean from atop the second story of the heavy canvas-wrapped pavilion.
Their seats were out in the open and off to the side of the big top-covered portion where the rest of the sponsors and personnel sat or stood around the portable bar.
Dane didn’t bother responding to Ned, but continued watching their girl through his binoculars.
The only response the man deserved was a punch in the nose followed by an uppercut to the jaw to keep him shut up.
And there would be a time for that and more.
Now was the time for patience. Dane called on his reserve now as he watched Tamara towing Shana out to the waves to take her place in the queue. She was third up.
* * *
Shana concentrated on the waves and on her caddy both.
They exchanged not a word, and since they were both veterans of surfing competitions, they knew what to do and when and how.
So far, Tamara did what was expected, but the knot in Shana’s gut said she knew better than to relax her defenses.
She wore the competition jersey over her own which was fine since it helped hide the bulge in the sleeve pocket holding her small but effective knife.
Although she hadn’t had any practice with the knife in two years, it was one of those skills that never left you.
Like making love. The thought caused a jitter in her chest and she heard the announcer from shore announce her as the next surfer.
Tamara separated from her and she turned her attention to the wave.
The bright sunlight glinted everywhere as she concentrated, so when she noticed the flashing shadow above her as she was about to dig into the waves, she rolled instead and the blade of a six-inch knife dug into her board.
Tamara grunted with her effort and swore.
Darting a quick look into the woman’s eyes, Shana realized Tamara was nothing short of crazy or high. Very high.
Grabbing hold of the board for leverage with one hand, Shana kicked her foot up as Tamara lunged forward again and knocked the woman square in the jaw and out.
Turning back as the sounds around her began registering, she saw the official watercraft headed her way.
The screams, the tense voice of the announcer and wild splashing of nearby surfers heading her way surrounded her.
She grabbed Tamara by the hair before she went under and hauled her onto the board where the knife remained sticking straight up.
All the while she searched the faces and concerned voices for the one she really wanted.
When an arm snaked around her from behind and pulled her against a hard body, she relaxed her head back and let go, leaving her board to the officials on the watercraft to tow the twenty yards back to shore.
It was a relatively short distance, but still she wondered how he’d gotten to her so quickly.
She turned her head and looked into his eyes and gasped. Staring back at her was Jean Luc Ruse.