Chapter 3
Dane dressed in black, not to give in to the I-Spy stereotype, but because he truly didn’t want to be seen tonight.
He planned to be in the vicinity of The Black Cigar shop ahead of time and do some reconnaissance.
His distrust of Floyd Parker was far deeper than he’d let on to Shana.
He’d only had that one association—more like a run-in—with the man.
Oscar had run interference for Dane. Oscar was good.
He knew what was what, but maybe Oscar’s confidence in his own ability to handle Floyd had exceeded Floyd’s trustworthiness in the end.
Or maybe not. Maybe Floyd truly had reached out to Dane for help to rescue Oscar from whatever trouble he was in.
He slipped the Glock into the waistband of his black jeans and pulled the black T-shirt over it.
A part of him wanted to call the governor—Peter John Douglas—to get some intel at least on Oscar’s last known whereabouts.
If anyone would know it would be Peter—Dane’s old special ops leader. Peter had more contacts than Dane did but Dane hadn’t wanted to set off the alarms yet. He’d settled for some surreptitious and general inquiries via his loose network of ex-special-ops types. He’d gotten nothing.
“You sure you don’t want me to back you up—from a distance?” Shana said as she stood in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, sipping an iced coffee as if she meant to stay up all night. He eyed her and realized she was dressed the same as he was.
“Don’t even think about it. I want Floyd to think he can trust me. No monkey business. I don’t have any reason to believe this is anything more than a meeting to communicate sensitive intel.”
She eyed him and took a drag on the straw planted in her cup.
“I promise I’ll come back,” he said. “I won’t leave town without notice.”
He moved in on her and wrapped his arms around her.
She kept the cup between them. He took it from her hands and put it down on the counter beside her and pressed his body into hers.
He meant business—the intimate kind of business, the kind that meant a promise of something more.
Even if he had no business making any promises.
His body thought otherwise. Dane didn’t usually let his body rule him—except where Shana was concerned, and even then, only on the rare occasion. Her eyes glittered back at him with a glaze of arousal. He was almost surprised she didn’t push him away or punch him in the gut—or worse.
It was as serious as he’d thought.
“I’m not going to the guillotine, but I thought I’d seal my promise with a kiss.”
“Like the song says,” she said.
He didn’t wait for her to say more, or to say yes or no.
He leaned in and kissed her like he meant it, like maybe he was worried he wouldn’t be back tonight.
She kissed him back. The cool coffee taste of her mouth and lushness of her lips sent spirals of desire through him.
He let the desire run through him for a few beats, then he nipped her bottom lip, not quite drawing blood, but enough to taste her, enough to remember her all night, and pulled back.
“You sure you’re coming back?” she said.
He laughed. “You’re not rid of me that easy. Hold down the fort and I’ll be in touch within…” He looked at his watch. “Two hours. Three a.m. You can call me then—or Cap if I don’t answer.”
He knew he could count on their friend Captain Colin Lynch, chief of the state police and in charge of all trouble on the island of Martha’s Vineyard.
She nodded without smiling. He felt her energy vibrating as he stepped away from her. He hoped to hell she didn’t plan to pull any fast ones, but he’d have to watch out for it—watch out for her.
As always.
He stepped outside into the light breeze of a perfect May night and headed to his appointment with Floyd.
*****
The Black Cigar Shop wasn’t far, so Shana knew she couldn’t give Dane too much of a head start before she scrambled to tail him.
Of course, she’d strained to hear the name of the meeting spot and figured it out.
She’d called Cap to back them up. He’d stay at Dane’s beach shack—just in case someone dropped in or called or…
whatever. She had no idea what to expect and her anticipation had her jumpier than the excess of coffee she’d gulped down would have caused.
Shana wasn’t any surer than Dane was that they could trust Floyd—and whoever else was working with him.
Even if they didn’t want Floyd to know she was Dane’s partner, she was still his partner and there was no way she was letting him go to a secret CIA meeting alone.
If Dane distrusted Floyd, that only confirmed her thoughts and feelings about the man. They would never know she was there.
She banged out the back door, not bothering to lock it since Cap would be there later.
She’d called him and told him there was trouble and she needed him to ‘hold down the fort’ as Dane had put it.
Now Shana jumped on her Kawasaki 1000, aka rice rocket, and took off for Edgartown.
She knew exactly where she’d park her bike and then circle around on foot.
Pulling into downtown Edgartown, she swerved neatly into the side street and parked the bike.
There were a few people about. It was 11:30 p.m..
Plenty of time to look around before the appointed hour.
Shana didn’t kid herself, though. She knew Floyd would be there early and scoping the area.
He wouldn’t be looking for her, but she had enough tradecraft sense to have her hair up and to have replaced her helmet with a ball cap.
Her jean jacket covered her shoulder holster and a black polo.
She wore skinny jeans and boots to look like every other twenty-something woman out at night.
Dane was the one she’d need to watch out for most of all.
She’d need to find him first, before she stepped onto the main street.
Damn. Shana had her phone out and made a good show of reading a text as she surveyed her surroundings, looking up occasionally for a fuller view.
After two futile minutes of nothing in spite of several changes of angle and location, she saw nothing.
Not his car and not even a shadow of Dane himself.
She moved out from the narrow side street, keeping the cell in her hand and pretending to play with it, then walked in the general direction of the meeting spot.
*****
Dane knew Shana would follow him—or try to.
So he waited a few blocks away from the beach shack until she took off on her new excuse for transportation and followed her from a good distance since he knew where she was headed.
Less than two minutes after she got there, he parked a block behind her bike and kept out of sight while she did her due diligence—looking for him.
Naturally, she didn’t spot him. Lucky for him, she wasn’t paranoid enough to turn off the navigation tracker built into her phone. She should have been. Dane tracked her close enough to move into sight of her once she started moving. He followed.
Dane watched as she strolled along looking like she was texting someone on her phone—but he saw her glancing at the storefronts and down an alley before she stepped off the curb and to the next block.
He stayed back far enough so that she wouldn’t catch his reflection from any windows or from her phone—which he knew she could use as a mirror.
Unless she turned her head fully around, she wouldn’t see him.
He was fairly certain she wouldn’t chance that.
So far he’d been right. She walked another half a block at a leisurely pace.
Thirty yards from their destination, The Black Cigar, she looked up and turned her head toward a doorway. She seemed to see someone or something that stopped her. Dane’s heart drummed and he sped up his pace as he kept his eye on her. She was saying something. He was too far to hear.
Then the worst possible thing happened. She stepped forward, toward whatever storefront was holding the mystery person who had her attention. There was no sign that he could see marking the doorway.
He watched Shana walked cautiously forward into the unseen well of the doorway as if someone had invited her. Dane couldn’t see what shop it was, but he knew it was not well-marked Black Cigar Shop where he and Floyd were designated to meet. And he didn’t like it.
There was no doubt in his mind who that mystery person was inviting Shana forward.
It had to be Floyd Parker. Dane moved from walking fast to a sprint.
She’d disappeared from view so he didn’t bother calling her name.
Floyd had her. He knew Shana. Floyd had been waiting for her all along.
Dane grabbed his phone from his pocket and pressed her number on speed dial. No answer. Goddamn.
Dane wasn’t foolish enough to run right in behind her blindly.
He stopped short three feet away and pulled out his Glock.
Then he tapped one more number into the phone, leaving an emergency code for Cap.
It wasn’t an official code, but Cap would know there was Trouble when he saw the code message: Surf’s up.
Once he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Dane listened for a beat and, hearing nothing, he cautiously turned into the dark corner of the doorway where he was certain she’d gone.
There in a three-foot deep recess he was confronted with a gunmetal gray steel door.
No windows. He tried the handle. It was open.
Of course. Holding his gun low and ready, he took a deep breath, yanked the door open and plunged in.
That was the last thing he remembered, save for the painful bash of a heavy object against the back of his head.