Chapter 10
That damn hurt look of betrayal Shana gave him over her shoulder would haunt him all night—give him nightmares. But he was right, damn it.
“You two will stay here for the night,” Peter broke into his thoughts.
Dane dragged his stare away from the empty doorway where Shana had just walked out, fighting the urge to go after her, and faced Peter and David.
He tried unclenching the grip of tension that strangled his gut and settled for unfisting the hands at his sides and rolling his shoulders one time around.
“Man oh man, am I in trouble,” he said at the dour looks of the two men. No use pretending otherwise.
“Yeah. You’re in a world of shit either way,” David said. “But it’s probably the right way to go.”
Joe, who’d been sitting off to the side, flipping through a sheaf of freshly printed papers, put it aside and went to a sideboard, opened a door and pulled a large bottle filled with amber liquid.
“Is that what I think it is?” Dane asked.
“My man Joe doubles as the sanity keeper. If this wasn’t the governor’s mansion we’d call him a barkeeper,” Peter said.
Dane watched Joe pour a generous measure into an old-fashioned glass and deliver it to Dane’s outstretched hand.
David helped himself to a glass and Joe brought a drink for the governor and himself to the circle of men as they sat on two leather couches face-to-face.
Dane lifted his glass to the men and then swallowed a healthy mouthful. The liquor’s satisfying sting was followed by a hot flowing trail down to his gut. The governor spoke next.
“You’re staying here tonight. Cancel whatever room you arranged. You and Shana can have—”
“We’re not together.” Dane felt the words reverberate through him like a Richter nine and willed himself not to flinch at the surprise on the men’s faces.
Except Joe. He’d been witness to the fiasco in the car where Dane and Shana had that ridiculous conversation about being the best of partners.
Joe knew the score, even if he didn’t know the why.
The surprise was quickly replaced by speculative understanding in Peter and David’s eyes. They were probably silently coming up with likely reasons why, plausible reasons why. There were lots of possibilities.
Hell. Dane didn’t even know what the real reason was. He might as well ask them for the reason rather than ask himself. They were both successfully married men—they probably knew a shitload more about women than he did. Even Joe was likely more of an expert, though he wasn’t married—yet.
Finally Peter said, “No problem. We can arrange separate guest rooms.” That was all any of them said on the subject. Dane drained the rest of the top-shelf bourbon in one fast gulp.
“Anything of interest in that stack of paper, Joe?” Dane slipped his cell phone from his pocket and pressed in the number for the Parker House, then looked at Peter.
“Can you have someone pick up our things?” Their luggage was sensitive and he didn’t want the hotel people rummaging through it or packing it up—in case they hadn’t already let their curiosity take advantage. The governor nodded.
Joe said, “This is the response to David’s request for intel based on the tattoo and description of your man--sent to David’s email ten minutes ago.
Could be interesting. Depends if Ivany is our guy or not.
If he is the guy, he’s got a pedigree.” Joe handed the recently sent papers to him, including a couple of grainy photos.
It might be the FBI’s case from here on in, but that didn’t mean he’d lost his professional curiosity.
“I’ll arrange a meeting with the Assistant Special Agent in Charge—Mark Richards—in the morning first thing before you leave,” David said. “You can brief him on what you know—what we all know.” Dane knew that was code for not giving up any big secrets.
“I’ll call Father Donahue in the morning and let him know the case is going hot,” Peter said.
Dane half-listened as he scanned the pages. His heartbeat picked up speed, but not in a good way. “Ivany—aka Spartak Ivnov is our man based on this picture—and has a pedigree, all right—I knew his grandfather.”
*****
“I need to call Sassy right away—do you have a secure line? Forget I asked—of course you do.” Shana stopped short in the hallway as they approached a staircase and realized they were heading away from the public rooms toward the private residence portion of the mansion. “Where are you taking me?”
“To your room—I thought you might want to—”
“We’re staying here?”
“Is that all right? I’ll get you a secure line in your room so you can make your call,” Madeline said and gently took Shana’s elbow and led her up the stairs.
It wasn’t the grand staircase that visitors saw from the main entry, but it wasn’t a dark, dingy service stairwell either.
It was the kind of stairs you’d find in any good colonial residence with fine woodwork for embellishment.
As soon as Madeline left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the comfort of discreet understanding in her wake, Shana lifted the phone from her purse and dialed. To hell with security. She had to hear Paulette’s baby voice even if it was unintelligible, and know she was safe.
Sassy answered the phone.
“How are you? How is Paulette? Anything unusual?” Shana felt the pounding that had expanded in her chest, tightening it, and tried to take a deep breath.
“Good—no, nothing unusual. Is everything all right?”
Shana closed her eyes and forced calm into her voice, holding her hand over the voice receptor as she let out a massive breath.
Her tension remained—and probably would until she was back at Paulette’s side.
She determined she’d get back to Martha’s Vineyard first thing in the morning—even if she had to blow her entire budget on a helicopter.
She could hear Dane’s voice in her ear saying rash words and felt a comfort in spite of everything.
In spite of the fact that she wanted to punch him or at least slap him or—
“Shana?”
“Yes—we’ve found a possible suspect. I’ll be back as soon as I can in the morning.” As she said the words, she wondered if she could get back there tonight. Wondered what Dane would do next, if anything. Was she on her own? They were the best of partners.
She’d give the damn man a chance to explain himself. He would tell her about that baby case that haunted him from his past. He’d do it tonight. At least she hoped he would. She would insist. Her insistence might or might not have any effect whatsoever on what Dane did or did not do.
“I’ll call you in the morning when we’re on our way—you sure you’ve seen no one or nothing unusual?
“Nada. Captain Lynch has been by and had his police car out front for a good part of the day. That might have helped, even if someone was trying to spy on us.”
“It’s not—” Shana was going to try and explain that it wasn’t about spying, but more like surveillance and kidnapping, but she didn’t bother.
“Is Cap there?”
“Yes—you want to talk to him?”
“No.” She would call Cap from the secure line next and fill him in. And beg him to spend the night at the beach shack and stay until she and Dane returned. He could use Dane’s room. Sassy was in her room with the baby.
She wished to God she was there with that poor, innocent, little girl. No way was any Russian baby seller getting a hold of Paulette. Ever. Not while she was breathing.
Four seconds after Shana slipped her phone back into her small bag, Madeline returned with a big clunky phone with two cords dangling. Shana hadn’t expected the woman to bring the secure line herself.
“I apologize for the old-fashioned style, but secure is secure. My husband tells me it’s important. I haven’t found a cure for his paranoia yet. In fact, I think it may be contagious.”
Shana laughed while she watched Madeline hook the phone up and plug it in as though she’d done it a million times before.
Naturally. This woman had a very interesting life.
A big reason for that was because of her husband—even though she was an impressive and accomplished woman all on her own.
The thoughts lifted Shana’s spirits. Maybe Shana could reach for the moon herself.
Madeline left the room and she dialed up Cap.
“If it isn’t Shana the mother hen,” Cap said. Shana could hear the smile in his voice and smiled herself as she stood in the middle of the guest room, not bothering to sit.
“How is she?”
“Ridiculous question. As Sassy told you, Paulette is fine. Sleeping like a baby. I always wanted to say that—and mean it.”
“Humor me. There’s a twist to Paulette’s circumstances. We might know who the mother is and there might be a connection to some Russian mob—”
“Baby selling?” Cap cut her off with an edge in his voice she hadn’t heard in a while.
“How did you know?”
“I keep up with all the law enforcement alerts and case reports. It’s my business. How else do you think I stay sane during the long lonely winters here?”
“Can you stay the night?”
“I already am. Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes—sorry. I’m all keyed up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dane.”
“Jesus—”
“No—I mean he is refusing to take this case any further—he really does have a problem with cases involving babies. He’s willing to turn it over to the FBI tomorrow.”
“Shit. That does not sound like the Dane Blaise I know. The FBI will sit on their mark for eons until they build a case—they could take years to close it.”
“I know. Dane knows. Paulette will be in danger until the case is busted. The thing is—it’s officially the correct thing to do and so the governor’s and David Young’s hands are tied.
Dane was their out—and mine—to try and get something done quickly.
Now he’s giving up before our one week is up and—”
“What the hell is the problem?”
“I was hoping you would know.”
“Has to be something bad. Any chance you can keep the case open yourself?”