Chapter 9
Dane took Shana and they snaked around the city on a small motorcycle, barely larger than a scooter, procured for them by Acer. She’d have a talk with that boy about his taste in bikes later. They needed to buy new clothes with their stash of cash from Floyd Parker.
“This is colorful,” Shana said. The image of surfers at Bondi beach in Sydney floated through her mind, but didn’t tug her under. She was alive. She was with Dane. He felt solid against her and she felt reluctant to let him go and climb off the bike, but she did.
It was early in the day, but the crowds were thick. People were outdoors all the time and they were packed in, making the sidewalks feel like the London tube only a lot slower moving.
Shana spotted a stall with colorful sarongs and leather goods and led Dane in that direction after he locked up the bike. Even with the lock, they needed to stay within eyeball distance of the overgrown scooter.
Shana took another look out over the ocean. This time it was accompanied with a deep sharp longing to go home. The surprise that heated the pain to a sting in her gut was that she wasn’t thinking of Sydney, Australia. She was thinking of the beach shack on Martha’s Vineyard.
She said, “No surfing this trip. These are real waves. They’d kill me.”
Dane turned to her and his eyes were drawn to the tendril of hair that escaped from under her helmet.
He tugged on the tendril the way he always did—to reassure her.
Although sometimes he did it to reassure himself, this time she knew it was for her.
Knew he’d heard the wistfulness in her voice but also knew that he’d never guess her true longing.
He’d assume it was for Bondi beach in Sydney.
Then he said, “Don’t worry, we’re leaving for home tomorrow. I guarantee it. We’ll be back at the shack within forty-eight hours.”
She let the shudder of longing pass and allowed a wan smile.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Here.” He pointed to a tall modern white apartment building across from the ocean and within Frisbee-throwing distance of the beach.
“I give up—what are we doing here?”
“We’ll meet the False Caterpillar here.”
“Sometimes you’re a nut for melodrama, you know that?”
“I know everything.” He gave her that smartass cagey grin with his dimple nearly hidden by the beard stubble. She felt her gut soften and her chest tighten. Then she threw her hands on her hips in her Wonder Woman pose to power up her resolve against him. He was no good for her.
She took a moment to force herself to remember the two women she knew about from his past. One he deserted and one deserted him.
He’d learned nothing from either experience.
Neither was a recommendation for her to jump into their affair with both feet.
Both were warnings to stand clear of the pool entirely and stop dipping her toes in before she was bitten by Dane-the-shark and drowned, flailing hopelessly and losing her lifeblood.
Now who was being melodramatic?
At least she had the good sense not to share her crazy thoughts.
He sighed and his grin faded.
“Stop obsessing over our romance, girlie.”
Her heart nearly stopped a beat while she processed the evidence that he was an actual mind reader. Planting her hands more firmly on her hips and widening her stance, she jutted her chin high and even stuck her chest out further than it should in good conscious go.
“Get a reign on your ego, lover boy.”
He laughed softly and stepped into her, wrapping an arm around her waist and forcing her to collapse against him. He whispered in her ear, “Let’s get on with this, shall we?”
She shoved him off her and walked through the slow traffic to the other side of the broad street toward the building he’d pointed out.
Before she got there, she noticed the man with the ball cap and the cell phone leaning against the building in the shadow.
Floyd Parker. She had to assume he’d been watching.
She wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling that was not a good thing.
Dane caught up to her and they hit the curb together. Before she said a thing, Dane said, “Floyd sighting at ten o’clock.”
“You’re so last century. No one uses clocks anymore.”
“Okay—Floyd is waiting for us against the wall.”
“I knew that.” She kept moving.
*****
The only thing he hated more than worrying about whether Shana was alive or dead while some thugs had kidnapped her and dragged her to the other side of the equator was when she made a point to point out how out-of-date he was—how old he was. How much older he was than her.
Lucky for him, Floyd Parker was a handy receptacle for the fallout of his now pissed-off mood. There was no need to play it cool with Floyd any longer. He needed to get Floyd to follow them back to the States.
Floyd stashed his phone in his shirt pocket and looked up at them when they were still several yards away.
He gave them a slight nod and went inside the glass doors of the building.
They followed him to an elevator and Dane’s antennae—another old-school reference he was sure Shana would call him out on—buzzed because being trapped in an elevator with a desperately dangerous man was almost always a bad thing.
Dane only remembered one time when it worked out okay.
The doors closed behind him and the one good thing about the closed quarters was that Shana gave up her power pose and stood close.
She didn’t squirm when he wrapped an arm around her and stood so that he shielded her from said danger.
Floyd took off his ball cap, took a hanky from his pants pocket and wiped sweat from his brow.
“I’ll never get used to the humidity down here,” Floyd said.
“How long have you been here?”
Floyd laughed. He didn’t bother answering Dane’s not-so-clever attempt at getting info from him. There was no such thing as casual conversation with Floyd Parker, no matter how much he made it seem that way.
Dane remained silent and when the elevator doors opened, he followed Floyd down the tiled hallway, keeping Shana behind him.
They stopped three feet short of the door on the right where Floyd stopped.
He waved a card in the vicinity of the door handle.
No lock and key, not even any swiping needed.
Dane was starting to hate technological progress.
But then he remembered the gadgets Acer had given him and decided to smile.
“This is your new safe house, if you decide to come to your senses,” Floyd said as he entered the room.
Following, Dane noted the temperature was cool and perfect in spite of the bright sunlight and high ceilings.
It was ultra-modern with marble tile, white furnishings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and an open kitchen dining and living area that had to be a thousand square feet.
As big as Dane’s entire beach shack—and a waste of space, in his opinion.
It lacked charm, but Dane could get along anywhere.
Shana whistled. She must have different taste in furnishings than he did. He made a mental note to buy a white sofa and throw rug for her when they got back to the Vineyard.
“I’m very sensible, Floyd. That’s why I needed to check the place out before we bring our team in.”
“Then you approve?”
“I’m still checking it out.” Dane moved around the room, not expecting to be able to detect listening devices with his eyes, but he did have that gadget which would come in handy.
“When are we expecting the call from the kidnappers?” Shana said.
“All business.” Floyd shook his head. “Except with your guy Dane here, of course. Note the master suite with the jetted tub—”
“Answer the question, Floyd,” Dane said on a sigh.
The man’s pleasure at referring to his and Shana’s romantic status prickled him more than it should and he had to work not to let it get to him.
He didn’t have to be cool with Floyd, but certain things were off-limits.
Shana was off-limits. And apparently, Shana had been targeted.
Dane wasn’t sure who was targeting Shana, whether it was the Tavares family—or Floyd Parker.
“The message I received said sunset. You have until then to move your people in, but be careful. I can’t guarantee your team isn’t being watched.”
Dane nodded, biting back a retort about Floyd’s guarantees or lack thereof.
“Is there a secure line?”
Floyd nodded and showed him to the wall of windows and a low table with an old-fashioned clunky dial phone in beige that definitely did not look like it belonged with the slick furnishings.
It looked quaint, but Dane doubted it was a working secure line.
He’d check out the wiring later. Acer had taught him a thing or two over the years. He knew what to look for.
“I’ll leave you to regroup and get your people here. You might take the time to make arrangements to obtain ransom money. Plan on millions. I’ll be back later.”
“Sunset? What time is that?”
“Seven p.m. or so,” Floyd said. That was very imprecise for a man Dane knew to be the king of precision in planning—which is the only reason the CIA had allowed the otherwise miserable man to continue to work as a handler. This Dane knew from his past experience with Floyd.
Dane nodded, while he surreptitiously checked out the kitchen. Shana did the same. He assumed they were being listened to and possibly watched.
“See ya later,” Dane said. He let Floyd see himself out.
Dane watched him go in the reflection of the large mirror on the main wall.
Once he left, Dane took off his watch that was hardly a watch and looked for the correct small metal knob to turn.
He knew he’d found it when the watch’s face changed to a dial showing a dark background and a green line that would shoot up if there were any listening devices within three feet.
It made a light buzzing noise—probably for effect, knowing Acer.