Chapter 8 #2
“I’ve hacked every place there is to hack. There is no such license plate. It’s a fake—more importantly, it’s a purposeful fake, carefully designed not to duplicate a real license plate. Hard to do—impossible for an amateur.”
Dane felt that drumming inside his chest and the bubbling in the pit of his stomach that was familiar to him, like an engine being revved. He felt the escalation of this matter into a new realm, the kind he was all too familiar with.
The game was now raised to a higher level of danger to be played against opponents more ruthless, more skilled, and with more resources than they originally thought.
This was no longer about some guy with a grudge because he’d been thrown in jail and wanted to get even.
It was no longer about the missing $20 mil, or however much was left of it.
“There’s something afoot that we know nothing about,” Dane said.
“And we’d better find out what it is—”
“And quickly. I saw another plate on another car skulking out front. Barely saw it. Plate A5432. I bet you don’t find it.”
“Damn. There are only a few possibilities of organizations with these resources.”
“A few we know. Maybe a few we don’t know, except by reputation.” Dane felt a bubble of excitement mingled with fear rise to ratchet his mind into survival mode. “And whoever they are, they’ve decided Shana should be eliminated.”
“And they’ve decided your beach shack ought to be watched,” Acer added.
Dane knew this might not have anything to do with the sniper matter or Sebastian Whitaker.
He looked at Acer and nodded. He knew it might be some old rooster coming to rest. And he traced the long list in his mind of potential roosters to examine who might be powerful enough and resourceful enough, and angry and vengeful enough, to come after him here and now.
Acer spoke and echoed something he thought. “Whoever it is—appears they’re patient. No immediate breach today.”
“No. But I don’t understand why they’d try to run Shana down and why they’d be so clumsy about it.”
His heart hammered then and not because of excited adrenaline, but because of fear.
He clenched his fists and stared out the kitchen window into the harbor at the boats that were familiar to him after watching them every single day.
Not to say he hadn’t made it his business to know each one of them, to memorize their dimensions, makes, models, and positions on the buoys and docks in his sphere of the harbor.
He knew in theory this was his vulnerable area. If he were a paranoid man—and he was.
“I wish Shana would hurry up and get home,” he said aloud, surprising himself.
Acer was surprised, too. Dane turned to see the man’s brows raised.
“Me too. I’m stumped about that—except maybe…”
“What? Maybe what?” He had no patience. He unclenched one hand and ran it through his hair. Acer eyed the bottle of whiskey he held in his hand.
Dane plunked it on the counter, retrieved two water glasses and cracked open the bottle. No need to be stingy. They could hold their liquor and Dane, for one, needed some slowing down to keep his racing mind and racing pulse behaving. He needed to stay under control and he was too revved up.
He handed Acer a glass. He knew he couldn’t rush his friend to spill his insights. Acer had always been slow to think. But his thoughts were usually invaluable.
“It occurs to me that maybe they weren’t trying to run her down.” He paused. Dane got his meaning.
“Maybe they were trying to pick her up,” he said without a maybe in his voice.
Acer nodded, and then gulped down half the whiskey at once.
Dane took a swallow of his and put the glass down.
He heard tires on the gravel and went to the door.
Damn, it was only the kid. His heart hammered.
He opened the door and hurried the kid inside.
He had some questions for him. And maybe an assignment.
But this would be the last time he’d let the kid come to the house. Ever.
Dane was a danger magnet. Yet another reason for the rule he’d broken with Shana.
The rooster had done his homework. Dane felt a machete-sized blade twisting in his gut and slicing sharply up through his heart as if the steel were solid and real and he could pull it from his soul dripping with his blood and dreams.
“Man, I got news for you,” the kid said, sporting a seriously proud grin.
Dane felt the twisting and the sweat of fear popping on his temples and down his spine between his shoulder blades as if the torturer were in the room. He needed Shana to be there. He needed to be out finding her and protecting her.
He needed to send her away to some place safe never to return.
The kid looked at him, expectant and then puzzled, clearly afraid to say more for fear of saying the wrong thing.
“What is it?”
“That FBI guy checked out of the motel and checked into Mansion House.”
“Interesting.” Dane had no idea what to make of it, except that maybe the guy was planning to stay a while—maybe on his own dime. Mansion House was a swanky Vineyard Haven Inn outside of the usual FBI overnight budget. Maybe he was rogue—but that made no sense—why would he be so open about it?
Then again, there was another reason he could think of and it sent a shiver of cold sweat through him followed by a fiery rage that he had to steel himself to keep tamed.
He threw on his cloak of stone—the one he’d used for self-preservation all these years to protect him from the follies of emotion and vulnerability to enemies.
It was worn and crumbling, but he had the will—had to have the will to rebuild it, to make it work again.
Dane continued. “I think he’s taken a room more suitable for a tryst—or potential tryst with Shana.
That Inn has several very well-appointed rooms with doors going directly onto the veranda for easy access in and out.
” He made the statement matter-of-factly, but it cost him.
He tightened every muscle in his body under the onslaught of the machete of pain.
Acer blew out a whistle. Then he took another swig of his drink. The kid eyed his drink.
Dane said, “No, I’m not going to be responsible for you drinking and driving.” His voice sounded normal. It was a start. His chest tightened and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing Shana to arrive and appear in front of him whole and intact by the time he opened them again.
“I got more news. I showed the picture to a few people—only trustworthy people like you said—and there were two spottings.” The kid paused with a grin. Probably waiting for a pat on the back, but with a wave of his hand Dane prompted him to move along.
“He was spotted at the airport and that was funny because he didn’t get on a plane—that plus the guy’s height and my informant—had no trouble remembering him.”
“Your informant?”
“Yes—you know—”
“What about the second spotting?”
“My second informant saw him later in the day—not too long ago—at the Lucky Parrot. Just sitting there drinking. Looked like he was waiting for something because he stared at the clock a lot.”
“Good job.” Dane didn’t have the heart to tell the kid they’d already had their own intel about the sniper being on the island, but at least they knew he was still there. As soon as Shana got back, they’d be reengaging the electric perimeter.
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said. “Call Cap and see if he got the full official file on the shooting of Harry the Hacker—your witness in the case against Sebastian Whitaker.”
“Sure boss—wanna tell me what the hell you mean by change of plans?”
“Sure. As soon as I know—you’ll know.” He looked at the kid. “For one thing, your services are no longer needed.”
“But—”
Dane cut him off and used his steeliest voice. “You need to go off island for a while. Today.”
“But… I can’t—my job—”
“Job won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”
Acer grunted and shook his head. “It’s come to this, has it? Full battle survival mode.” He was grim and resigned and there was no question or skepticism in his tone. Dane was grateful for that much. The kid was going to be a problem.
“What the hell? What… do you mean—dead?” His voice squeaked.
“I think you know what I mean.” Dane did not gentle his voice. There was no hint of playfulness or anything except ruthless steel.
“I—okay. I could visit my sister I guess. It’s off season—”
“I don’t care what the hell you do or where the hell you go. Do it now. And stay away for at least two weeks. Call before you come back to the island. You have the number.” Dane pushed him toward the back door and took a cautious look around the perimeter before he let the kid out.
“Don’t you want your food?”
Dane walked to the truck with him and took the hot food and the bottle and gave the kid whatever money he had in his pocket.
“Do not call before two weeks are up. Not for any reason. You don’t know me or any of us or anything about us. Do not drive directly back to work. Drive around the island for at least an hour before you drop off the truck and then leave the island. Leave before nightfall.”
“This is all so surreal.” The kid got in the car and paused. Dane gave him a nod. The kid rolled down the window and Dane wanted to punch him for making him stand out here, keeping them both exposed. He knew someone was watching them.
It killed him that he didn’t know who it was or why.
“Will you be okay?” the kid asked. Dane sighed and felt a momentary lift of the granite layer, like a peek of daylight from a deep dark cave. He grabbed onto it, just for a moment, before retreating.
“Don’t you worry about me. And don’t you make me worry about you.” The kid nodded. Dane banged a fist on the roof. It was as good as it would get for good-byes, it was the best he could do for the kid.
* * *