Chapter 20
Dane shot from his chair, knocking it down, and lunged to the nearby metal staircase to the beach. The glint of the knife had been unmistakable in the lens of his binoculars. He moved fast, but Ned grabbed him from behind.
“Where are you going? This competition is still on. You let the professionals handle any problems,” he said as Dane lashed out with an arm to bring it down on Ned’s. The man let go before Dane’s blow landed. Lucky for him or his bones would have snapped in half.
“Bullshit. If they were professionals, the caddy wouldn’t have had a knife on her,” Dane shot back as he raced down the steps.
The crowd was on their feet, mesmerized by the unreal scene in the water and close up on the Jumbotron, not paying attention to him.
When he got to the sand he tore his shirt off, mostly so he couldn’t be easily identified as a judge and ran for the water.
Another shirtless man was ahead of him. Jean Luc was already in the water.
He dove into an oncoming wave with the smooth expertise of a surfer with as many years of experience as Dane had.
Even without the binoculars, Dane could see that Shana had knocked Tamara unconscious.
He hit the water and continued to move forward in spite of Jean Luc’s head start.
He lunged forward into the waves as surfers came from the water toward him with the event announcer wildly calling for a break.
The TV and water photographers’ cameras were all trained on the scene and moving in.
All except for Chauncey, Dane noticed as he looked over his shoulder.
With the surf swelling around him, he stroked hard until he saw Jean Luc reach her.
Dane watched as she leaned into the man’s embrace.
The war between feeling relief that she was okay and the burning singe of jealousy heated him from his core so that he was surprised the water around him wasn’t evaporating in a steaming cloud.
That stopped him cold. He sputtered water as a wave crashed into him.
Forcing himself to turn away while his gut churned more violently than the waves around him, he swam back toward shore.
It was all right. Shana was okay and Ned would like the fact that Jean Luc came to her rescue.
And that she let him. If Jean Luc hadn’t already asked Ned about Susan Whittier, he had better damn well do it now while he had some points.
Of course, the fact that Jean Luc was the Surf Director made his swimming to the rescue most newsworthy and when he emerged from the water with Shana, they were surrounded by every camera and sportscaster at the event.
Dane thought about shoving everyone aside, but he’d be blowing everything.
Captain Nice was still on standby with his men at the ready to move on the house at his signal.
He saw Ned join the crowd around Shana and Jean Luc.
Maybe this was the ideal time to give the signal.
No sense in waiting for any further confirmation that Susan was alive.
He jogged back to his metal and canvas two-story pavilion and climbed the clanging steps two at a time to the top where he left his bag and his communications equipment.
He hooked on his earbud and found the tiny microphone.
Clipping it on a spare shirt, he pulled the shirt over his head and spoke.
“Cap, this is Demon. Go. Now.”
“All clear? All’s well? I’m hearing—”
“All’s well. Just go. Fast.” Dane shut the thing down for the moment and went back down the metal steps to find his official jersey and head to the tent set aside for medical emergencies.
He figured that’s where they’d take her.
He looked up only once to see the replay of the surfboard stabbing on the Jumbotron and heard the renewed buzz of the crowd.
Now that the initial panic was over, the judges and the Assistant Beach Marshall were trying to restore order.
He hurried away before anyone looked to him for guidance as the head judge, hoping the mirrored glare of his sunglasses and the unfriendly stare on his face would discourage interaction.
While he jogged to the tent, he searched the marshalling area where the surfers had returned and looked for any sign of Tamara. He hadn’t noticed what happened to her and hoped that Chauncey picked her up or had a uniform do it. Damn.
How derailed could a man get by a woman?
She opened her mouth to scream when she saw Jean Luc facing her instead of Dane, but her heart-stopping disorientation prevented her from making a sound.
The look in Jean Luc’s eyes, stark concern quickly masked, settled her and she closed her mouth before she swallowed water.
He tightened his hold around her and towed her to a spot where they met another watercraft.
She let him haul her aboard. Her shaking hands embarrassed her.
The noise from the beach, the bullhorn, the announcer, the buzzing crowd, all combined to eclipse the sound of the ocean.
She shielded her face from the cameras as best she could for the short trip back to the shore.
But the one question that ran through her mind without answer chilled her. Where was Dane?
His cell phone rang and he saw Chauncey’s number flash, against all protocol. Dane answered it where he stood on the beach, ten feet from the medical tent and determined to find Shana, but determined not to blow the operation.
“Talk.”
“I have Tamara under wraps, along with one of Ned’s goons and heretofore one of my enemies from the parking lot incident. Strange bedfellows. We have her in the personnel-only tent behind closed doors—or as closed off as one can get in a beach tent. I think it’s a ladies’ locker room of sorts.”
“You’re with Ned’s men?”
“I’ve convinced them that I remain Shana’s overprotective gay photographer friend and that I’m not to be trifled with.
I think they respect that I didn’t identify them to the police last night.
Cap made sure the word went out. Roger Ruse—or whatever his name is—was at the station last night.
Not uncoincidentally, I think. I made sure he knew the situation. ”
“Speaking of the devil—where is he? Any sign?” Dane asked.
“Last I saw he was in the surfers’ corral or whatever you call it. Waiting for his shot at a wave. This surfing competition is the damnedest business I ever saw.”
“Nothing since the attempted stabbing?”
“No.”
“How does Ned think he can keep the police out of it? The uniforms will be here any minute. Without Cap.”
“I think he assumes money will do the trick,” Chauncey said. “Should we let Ned have his way for the moment?”
“It’ll gain us credibility and time if we allow him to bribe the cops. Cap won’t like it, but call him and tell him to notify his officers. Hopefully he’s finished with his search of the basement at Ned’s place.”
“Will do,” Chauncey said. “Maybe he’s found …the goods and we can arrest the entire cast along with the crazy surfer girl.”
“One can hope,” Dane said. But it ain’t damn likely.
Captain Lynch drove into the bright orange cordoned off area marking the surf competition lot without his lights flashing.
Dane watched as Jean Luc looked like a hero for meeting the police in the parking lot and turning over Tamara without a scene.
Ned was busy calming down his Brazilian brothers and Chauncey kept an eye on them.
Ned also did another interview on the Jumbotron and insisted the competition would start up where it left off, in one hour at high noon.
That left Dane an opening to track down Shana.
He found her in the personnel tent with Roger in a headlock death grip. She was angrily asking him questions.
Dane stood in the doorway, silent a moment, watching her and feeling a completely inappropriate and uncalled-for sense of pride. He had no claim on her and yet he felt it anyway. The faint smile on his lips compressed to a dismayed line as he stepped forward.
“I don’t care who the hell your friends are,” she said. “No one takes a stab at me and walks away without consequences. So tell me again where she got the knife.”
“I’m telling you she’s a crazy bitch and she did the whole thing on her own. She’s had the knife all along. Probably used it before on another crazy bitch like you—”
Dane’s fist crashed into his mouth stopping any more nastiness from spilling out.
The only thing that spilled out now was a sickening crack and a spurt of blood, followed by an impressive stream.
As Dane shook his hand, he wondered if any of the blood was his own.
Examining his knuckles, he realized Roger’s teeth left raw bloody scrapes through his skin.
Other than a groan, Roger knew better than to say anymore.
Afraid to meet Shana’s eyes, Dane finally looked up and caught her grin. Now she seemed to like his macho displays of protectiveness. She shoved Roger away from her into the corner, where he landed on the floor in a heap and stayed.
“A few days ago you would’ve scolded me for interfering.” Dane raised a brow, but didn’t smile, remembering his distrust. Remembering Elena.
“That was … before.” Her smile held.
He nodded noncommittally. The implication that they now had something that gave him rights struck him hard. The panic and euphoria tumbled and clashed causing equal stirs in his gut and his groin. He paused to get his bearings. Business first. He looked away from her smile to regroup.
“They’re starting again at noon. You’ll be up first. If you’re up to it.”
“Damn right I’m up to it.” She gave Roger a glare. “I never needed a surf caddy before and I don’t need one now.” Turning back to Dane, she put her arm through his and said, “I’m fine.”
They walked outside and he disentangled himself. She let him step away without a fuss. She probably figured it was for propriety, but it was more for his nerves.