Chapter 22
Grabbing the cell phone from the front seat, he dialed Cap.
“We need intel on all boats docked at all the local marinas—since about the time Ned arrived on the island or slightly before. And whatever you have on the Tavares brothers’ yacht. Have you had eyes on it since they arrived?”
“More or less—not immediately. There was a window. I think I know where you’re going with this—”
“Need to narrow down those likely owned, controlled or rented by Ned, Jean Luc, any of his sidekicks or the Brazilians or their company. Most likely owned or rented by the American Invitational Surfing Competition.”
“Shit. Brilliant. You think Susan Whittier is aboard a company boat? Maybe the yacht—”
“Worth a look. Not the yacht. Unless they moved her. She wasn’t at the house when we checked and the Brazilians hadn’t arrived yet.
I didn’t get an admission, but I’ll swear out a petition for a subpoena on what I got for a search if we find a company boat—maybe we can do it early. We definitely need a surprise.”
“Hopefully we’ll get the subpoena in time, but it’s a long shot—judge is off island,” Captain said.
“Damn. Where are you?”
There was a hesitation. “The Whittier house. With Shana and Chauncey.”
“Call the judge. I’ll text Jean Luc—later. I’ll need to give him a chance to get out of that bar and back to their beach house. He’ll be able to duck away and talk. He surely knows about a boat. Don’t know why he didn’t mention it sooner.”
“He hasn’t been very helpful. I don’t trust him.”
“Join the club. Shana is the only one who thinks he’ll come through.
” Dane signed off and pulled in his driveway for the second time that night.
It seemed strangely lonely now after all the company.
After Shana. He walked out back and texted Jean Luc to call him as soon as he could.
Then he sat in a chair on his patio, aimed it at the harbor breeze and settled in for his wait.
It only took twenty minutes for Jean Luc to call him back.
“Yes, we have a boat—a small yacht. We entertained local officials earlier on—”
“Never mind that—when was the last time you were on it?”
“You think that’s where they’re holding Susan Whittier?”
“Answer my question, Jean Luc, and then tell me where it’s docked.”
“Not in three weeks—before Susan decided not to participate—”
“Either you are the stupidest con man in the world or you’ve been holding out on us. And I know you’re not stupid.”
There was silence.
“I’m not stupid. I know the value of information.”
“And you don’t value your brother’s well-being.”
“You won’t do anything to him.”
“Not if you don’t count throwing his ass in jail for a long time.”
Jean Luc snorted. “You’re right. I don’t count that. He’d be in more danger out of jail and running around the world gaining the attention of the likes of Ned and the Tavares brothers.”
“Where is it docked?”
“Owen Park Marina in Vineyard Haven. Right near the larger Tavares yacht. You’ve probably been looking at it from your own patio.”
“How do you know about my patio? I thought Ned was the one who did all the grimy recon work in your outfit.”
“I don’t leave everything to him. I know how to follow a man and I know how to do surveillance—without being detected.”
Dane shook his head. Damned if the man wasn’t right about that.
“I can’t talk any longer. Ned is suspicious as it is.”
“Confirm that she’s on the boat and call me back. Tonight. We’re going in to get her first thing in the morning and we’ll need a warrant.”
There was dead silence.
“Jean Luc? Not getting cold feet on me now, are you? You know Shana’s in danger here—”
“Mon dieu. I know. I will do it. Look for a text. A very short text.”
Dane disconnected. He’d heard what he needed to hear and his disgust with Jean Luc’s lack of trustworthiness, lack of spine and lack of any substance whatsoever grew to overwhelming proportions.
He wanted to drive over there to the house in Oak Bluffs, march in past the thugs and Ned and the Brazilian brothers and right up to the slick and sickening Jean Luc so he could choke the disdain out of him.
The most disgusting thing about it all was that Shana trusted him.
To say she had poor judgment was an understatement.
A flash of Elena’s face appeared in his head then as a reminder that anyone could suffer from poor judgment sometimes.
But the thought hardly consoled him. It made him wish he’d taken the bottle of tequila home with him.
After the cool harbor breezes washed him with their salty balm, he calmed enough so that when he got Jean Luc’s text, the blip in his heart rate was not of life-threatening proportions.
Jean Luc didn’t confirm that Susan Whittier was on the company boat—or even on the Brazilian brothers’ boat. But he didn’t say she wasn’t.
The only thing Jean Luc’s text said was “Shana in danger…Ned.” That’s it.
As he paced in a circle around his patio, wary of his perimeter, Dane immediately tapped in the man’s phone number, but he got nothing. It had been turned off. Or destroyed. Shit.
Storming inside the house, he reached for his secure line and called Cap.
“Problem. Ned’s onto us—or likely is—according to Jean Luc.”
“Do you have enough to swear out a warrant?”
“Yes,” Dane said without hesitation. “Forget the judge. Go to the governor.”
There was a pause.
“Do we pull the plug on Shana going back to the competition—”
“No.” Dane squeezed his eyes shut. “We need to keep them occupied and off-guard and make sure they’re all accounted for. We don’t want them to pull the plug and disappear. We play the game. We pretend everything’s cool while we let them pretend everything is cool.”
“And we see who flinches first? This isn’t the OK Corral. Shana’s safety—”
“Will be up to me. And her. We don’t wait for flinching.
We execute the warrant as soon as the competition is underway.
Miller and I will watch Shana. You lead the charge on the search for Whittier at the marina starting with the Tavares yacht to keep them in place.
I’ll catch up as soon as we get Shana out of the water.
We all keep in communication at all times. ”
“Won’t that be too obvious?”
“No. I’ve got some devices I’ve been waiting to try out.”
* * *
Shana wore her fluorescent orange lifeguard tank-style bathing suit under the event pinney with her number emblazoned in lime green and black.
Number twelve. Definitely not up to the standard ASP competition jerseys, but most of this crowd wouldn’t know.
She was in the second heat of surfers in this final round.
The waves were up this morning and it looked like they’d start on time.
She squinted across the long stretch of Katama Beach.
The crowds were heavy, considering the early hour—9:45 a.m. She’d need to wait an hour to ninety minutes tops in the surfers marshalling area.
Part of her wanted to watch the competition and win the event, but she shoved that urge aside and thought of Susan Whittier.
This wasn’t a real competition. This wasn’t about surfing. Never had been.
Chauncey approached from the ocean side of the cordoned area, snapping pictures.
She moved in his direction, trying not to think about the fact that she hadn’t heard a word from Dane yet this morning.
He hadn’t made any contact, no matter how many times she scanned the beach or glanced up at the stand where he sat in his judge’s seat with his binoculars scanning the water.
She stopped a foot from Chauncey and folded her arms.
“Cap is marshalling the troops for the storming of the gates at the marina. It’s tight quarters there so it may be hard to surprise them.
No cover and surrounded by water with the only entry along one dock.
Dane is going in from the water with a couple of backups.
We’ll take a look through infrareds to try and determine the number and location of the guards and Susan Whittier. ”
“Dane is going in?”
Chauncey lowered his camera and looked at her.
“He’ll be here until you’re out of the water.
He put Cap in charge of retrieving Whittier from the marina.
Once they spot her, he’ll grab you. I’m in charge of looking out for everyone’s back.
He has a jet ski standing by and the marina’s no more than ten minutes away by water. ”
She nodded, heart pounding. She held her gaze steady but felt her chin tremble with the effort.
The last time she felt this vulnerable was too many years ago to credit.
Not since she was five years old. She’d been the size of most ten-year-olds, but inside she was five.
A baby. Now she felt that same sensation, like she was a baby in shark-infested waters.
She swung her face away from Miller, her ponytail swaying across her back.
“Don’t worry. Cap has everyone on this. Once we give the all clear the beach will be surrounded. It’ll be like goddamn Normandy. Heaven help us if there’s a crime anywhere else on the island this morning.”
She snorted and looked back at him, forcing a smile and squaring her shoulders.
Time she started acting the part she’d been playing for real.
It wasn’t an act. She was tough for real.
She’d proved herself dozens of times. It was Dane.
He was the difference. He made her feel vulnerable because he was vulnerable.
Even as her heartbeat raced up she took a cleansing breath.
It might be early for her adrenaline to kick in, but she’d have to go with it. She could maintain it. Piece of cake.
“Do you have radio contact?”
“Yes. I’ll keep you posted as much as possible. They’ll wait until the second heat is underway and then make their move. Your heat will be over and Dane will scoop you up and head away.” He lifted his camera again and swung it away, scanning the beach. “Only one problem so far.”
“What’s that?” Did her heart skip a beat?