Chapter 8
Dane paced around for lack of anything better to do. The monitors were a study in monotony. Nothing was moving, not even a leaf. He hadn’t heard from Shana since she’d landed in Boston and even then it had only been a text.
Acer looked at him as he walked by the kitchen counter where Acer stood.
“You thinking of a drink?”
“Fresh out of anything halfway interesting in the cupboards around here. Any chance we can get the kid to deliver?”
Dane nodded. He’d rather call Shana, but it was time he called on the kid anyway. “I’ll text him. I’ll have to order food to give him cover, but I’m sure he can make a pit stop at the liquor store without getting in trouble. His boss seemed mighty customer service oriented.”
“Or you could ask Shana.” Acer was testing him. Dane had held back calling her all day. It was getting close to three p.m. and she should be on her way back unless she was stopping in at David Young’s office. She ought to keep them posted though. It would be the professional thing to do.
Unless you were a pissed-off female. And he had to acknowledge that Shana was definitely a pissed-off female.
“We’re partners. There are obligations that go along with that,” Dane said.
Acer raised his brows. “And does that mean she’s obliged to buy us alcohol?”
Dane realized his words amounted to a non sequitur. He had to stop thinking out loud when there were others about. Which was almost always now.
“Among other things.”
Acer grunted.
Dane slipped the cell phone from his pocket and punched in Shana’s number. He’d call the kid later. The phone rang once and she answered.
“I was just about to call you.”
“’Bout time.”
“Fun-filled times on Newbury Street. I’d fill you in but I’m about to get on the chopper so I’ll make it quick. The upshot is that someone tried to run me down—”
“Goddamn it, Shana. When the hell—”
“I’m fine, Dane. Really.” Her voice changed from businesslike to the soft sexy side of the woman he knew and—
“I got a plate number. Probably stolen but what the heck.” She told him the plate number and he committed it to memory.
“Who was in the car—did you get a look? What kind of car?”
She told him no and gave him a description of a classic nondescript car. His mind buzzed. Who the hell would be running her down and why? Not the sniper. Not likely anyway. But he didn’t share this thought with her.
“It wasn’t the sniper,” she said.
“Why not?” Damn the woman.
She said nothing and he could picture her giving him a withering schoolmarm look, spoiled by her unspeakable beauty.
“I’ll run the plate,” he finally said.
“I’ll fill you in on the rest when I get back.”
He wanted to tell her to fly safe, that he missed her, that he wished he were there to protect her from whoever the bastard was that tried to run her down. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. For what he wasn’t sure. He was never sure with her. Except he was sure that he wanted her—no—needed her.
But she’d disconnected the line while he stood there contemplating his folly.
“Problem?” Acer said. Looking more like a Mt. Rushmore candidate than the usual teddy bear.
“Run this plate number.” Dane scratched it on a piece of scrap paper he grabbed from the counter.
“She’s all right. Sounds all right. Don’t know the details until she gets back.
” There’d been no shakiness in her voice.
She’d been together enough to be concerned for him. Adrenaline made a person sharp.
“Someone took a run at her?’
Dane nodded. Acer’s mouth turned into a line of fire. He abandoned the kitchen and returned to his station at the computer on the table. Dane tapped in the kid’s number, but his fingers had a tremor in them, so he stopped. He needed to go outside and breathe in the ocean.
“I’m going out back. I’m turning off the perimeter for a few minutes,” he called to Acer who grunted in return.
Dane pulled his spare Glock from a kitchen drawer on his way to the door and went outside as if he were entering an enemy stronghold—with excessive caution.
He checked all the sight-lines for movement and shiny objects.
And he took a deep breath as he proceeded toward the back of the house and the harbor.
It occurred to him that the breach on his piece of paradise wasn’t the first and wasn’t likely to be the last—as long as he stayed in this business.
But then he realized he wasn’t in the business, the business was in him. He’d never be free of it. Shana popped into his head, underlining the need for the rule against a relationship with her beyond partners—and friends. One couldn’t be a partner without being a friend.
Unfortunately, with him and Shana, he was uncertain whether they could be friends without being lovers. He spent a few minutes breathing in the salty moist air and letting the cool breeze flow past and swirl around him until he dispelled Shana from his mind.
He pressed in the kid’s number with a steady hand and got an answer in two rings.
“Dude, you’re like a Ninja, how’d you know I was coming over? I’m just about there.”
“Turn around and pick up a bottle at the Lucky Parrot. Do you have food with you?”
“I always have food.”
“See you when you get here.” Dane punched off. The kid was growing on him. In spite of the ‘Dude’ reference. He walked back around the side of the house to go inside, but he stopped short when he got to the corner.
* * *
Shana didn’t tell Dane about the strong possibility that the FBI could be aiding Whitaker for money because David said he needed proof before they could even make the slightest inquiry from his end. He didn’t want to raise any eyebrows and burn bridges without damn good proof.
The minute she gave Dane even an inkling that FBI man, Glen Peck, could be involved in a bad way, Dane would act. Possibly, he would overreact because for whatever reason they did not get along. Well, now she knew the reason—she was certain even if David was unwilling to make the leap of faith.
She had always figured FBI Man didn’t like Dane due to professional jealousy, maybe some personal jealousy, in particular involving her. Special Agent Peck had shown an interest. And she’d turned him down flat. And now she was with Dane as far as Peck knew.
As far as anyone knew. And she could use that.
Signaling for the copter pilot to wait one more minute, she walked back away from the loud rotors and punched Peck’s number in on her phone.
And took a deep breath, with a big, albeit fake, smile on her face—because her mother had once told her that a person can hear a smile on the other end of the phone. She waited for him to answer.
“FBI here. State your business.”
“You always were a charmer.”
“Shana George? As I live and breathe. What possible reason could you have for calling me? Your boyfriend acting up—has he been away from the jungle too long and he’s hearing the call of the wild?”
She gritted her teeth, but maintained the smile. The copter pilot probably thought she was having a breakdown.
“Do you want to have dinner and find out?”
There was a beat of dead air. She rolled her eyes. No way he’d be able to tell about the eye-rolling no matter what her mother said.
“A professional dinner or a personal dinner?”
“We can decide on that later. How about tonight—eight p.m.—The Lucky Parrot.”
“That dive?”
“Is that a no?”
“You drive a hard bargain.” He paused again. She was sure it was for effect and then she heard him sigh. “Okay. You’re on. You have me curious. But I see any sign of Blaise and—”
“Don’t you worry about him.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Of course not.” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that.
“No. I’m not. Let’s be clear about this. He’s not in my league. He’s half crazy, I’m told. But then I probably don’t have to tell you that.”
“No. You don’t.” She could say that much with sincerity. Dane wasn’t crazy at all and this guy was more of an idiot than she’d realized. “I’ll see you at eight.” She was about to sign off when he spoke again.
“Dress up for me. Let’s make this more pleasure than business.”
“Of course. You know I will.”
He laughed like a man with something to look forward to. She pressed the off button with more gusto than needed and tossed the phone in her bag. Apparently, he underestimated her almost as much as he underestimated Dane, not believing he needed to be cautious or even professional in any way.
She wondered if David had filed the official complaint against him yet.
It was too soon for any complaint to have gone through channels to get to him, so she had time before he backed off to get him in some real trouble and maybe find something out of value.
The copter waited in the distance and the pilot waved her over.
There was no time to make any more calls.
She walked to the copter, anxious to see Dane.
Dreading it and anticipating it, and wishing it were all different.
It was goddamn Dane’s idea, but she felt like a traitor making the date with FBI Man all the same. She stepped up into the copter and took her seat.
* * *
Dane stood still and close to the house, but careful not to touch it, and watched as a nondescript dark sedan drove out of sight.
Squinting, he was barely able to make out the plate.
It had only four digits and one letter. A 5432.
It was highly unusual for a plate. A different but similar plate number to the one Shana had seen.
He wasted no further time getting back inside to talk to Acer.
“Anything on the plate number yet?”
“No.”
“No? Why not? Is the great hacker genius stumped?” Dane went to a hallway closet and reached into the back and plucked a dusty bottle from the floor of the dark corner.
It was time to take out the secret whiskey.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need as if he were a shaking addict in need of a fix. Maybe he was.