Chapter 5
The barbaric oath that sprang into his head stayed there.
Dane refused to let it out. Especially not on Cap.
He felt his internal temperature rise—and the heat wave had already gotten it to an uncomfortable level.
Now it was damn unhealthy. But he forced calm and whatever molecules of cool he had left into his voice as he nodded and said, “No problem. Let’s get the cameras installed.
We can have a more detailed conversation with Gable about his collection while we’re here. ”
Cap nodded and held his tongue as they removed the equipment from the Jag’s trunk. Dane thought of Shana driving the furnace-like Jeep. He should have left her the Jag.
Then he shut her out of his thoughts. Hell if he would let her distract him even when she wasn’t there.
Who was he kidding? She was a distraction every damn waking minute. And in his dreams too.
He needed to become expert at blocking Shana from his mind, eliminating the distraction.
Starting now. He slammed his trunk shut with determined force.
Cap paused with a box in his arms and gave him a look that said he knew what was bothering Dane.
He didn’t ask, but walked ahead and rapped the front door. Dane rang the bell.
Gable answered the door himself. He took a look at him and Cap and almost jumped back as if physically threatened. Or it could have been the blast of heat from the scorching midday sun. Either way, they stepped inside the frigid palace.
“Gentlemen. Where should we start?”
“The master bedroom. Since neither Shana or I will be hiding under the bed in wait for your burglar, we’ll outfit the room with hidden cameras aimed to catch him or her in the act.”
“You have a drill?” Cap asked.
“Yes, but we’re not doing any drilling. Then we’d need to do drywalling and there’s not enough time for drying. We’ll have to make do with hidden cameras in plain sight.”
“The old camera-in-a-vase-of-flowers trick?” Gable said.
“Something like that,” Dane said.
They went up the dramatic staircase to the master bedroom and, along the way, Dane’s temperature returned to normal. Gable watched him and Cap as they went about setting up four different cameras hidden in various routine items.
“This is ingenious.” Gable picked up a picture frame with a sculpted design hiding the camera lens. “Where did you get my wife’s photo?”
“You realize nothing is sacred anymore, Gable? Or you should know it. We’re planting cameras around your damn bedroom.
” Dane watched him scoff and then turn a little pale as it dawned on him that his privacy had been obliterated.
Dane noticed Cap look at him with a smirk of disapproval and appreciation at the same time.
“I’m sure you have plenty of other rooms to choose from where you and your wife can spend the night tonight.”
“Yes.” He put the picture frame back on the nightstand and Dane went over and placed it so that the angle would pick up the closet door where the safe was kept.
He looked around at the other three objects.
A clock placed on a shelf and facing the terrace doors.
A book—Dane’s favorite, Mila 18 by Leon Uris—placed on the nightstand and facing the distance between the terrace and the closet.
A small pin clipped to a dress and hung over a chair that would capture a good portion of the room from four feet up.
Cap was toying with the computer, then stopped tapping on keys with a final click. “All connected and programmed for remote telecast.”
“What is it? Bluetooth?” Gable asked.
“Something like that,” Dane said. “Let’s test it.” He went over to the terrace door and stood next to Cap to watch the computer monitor over his shoulder. Four squares depicting the vantage point from each camera appeared on the screen.
“Damn good quality. Let’s see her get past this.”
Gable came over and looked over Cap’s other shoulder and they watched him on the camera as he did.
“I’ll need to adjust the picture frame—raise it higher,” Dane said. He went to the shelf and removed a hefty book and slid it under the photo of Mrs. Gable. Then he backed up to stand in front of the closet door. “How’s this?”
“Perfect,” Cap said.
“This is impressive. I don’t want the thief to get this far—don’t get me wrong—but if he does, we’ll have him.”
“If we get to her before she leaves the island.” Dane hoped the thief—and he was ninety percent certain the thief was Angelica—wasn’t already off the island.
Or too chicken to try it again. But then Angelique Dubois hadn’t gone to all the trouble to bait him and Shana to sit back and disappear again.
She was up to something. And either she or her accomplice—because Dane was seventy percent sure she had an accomplice—would make another move.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Gable,” Cap said in his official voice. “As long as you have someone monitoring this feed, I’m sure Dane and Shana will stop any thief before they get far and we’ll move right in for the arrest.”
Gable nodded his head and they took the boxes and left the room.
“Where is Shana—Ms. George? I thought—”
“She’s busy,” Dane said. They were standing at the top of the stairs and he gave Gable a look that made him grab onto the railing for safety.
Cap cleared his throat and they walked down stairs. When they got to the bottom, Gable wasted no time leading them to the front door.
“We have one more thing to talk with you about,” Dane said.
Gable wordlessly showed them to his study where he’d met them the day before. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrange refreshments. Laura is at her salon preparing for this evening.”
“We’d like to talk to you in more detail about your jewels.”
“What about them?”
“Where did you get them? The older ones—not the Cartier and Tiffany.”
“Ah, yes. The European estate jewels. My wife is very proud of that collection. Heirlooms. Antiques as well as beautiful craftsmanship and rare stones.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“What do you mean?”
“Whose estate?”
“I… I don’t remember the name… is it important?”
“One never knows. Can you find out for me? You must have some paperwork.”
“Yes, but it’s not here—it’s at our main house in New York. But my wife might know—I’m sure she would remember better than I.”
“Have her call me when she gets in.” Dane stared him down and then relented. “Or she can tell me tonight.”
Dane and Cap stood in a seeming synchronized move. Gable popped up and showed them back to the entry hall where his man appeared and took over.
“Oh—one more thing, Gable.”
The man turned before he was about to go back inside his study and waited for Dane’s instruction.
“I’d like to add two undercover people to your staff. A waiter and a kitchen worker. Here are their names.” Dane slipped a piece of paper from his pocket and Gable pointed in the direction of his man.
“That’s a great idea—of course. Frank will take care of it. I’ll see you tonight.”
Now they had two inside people to catch a thief who they already knew was guilty.
Dane and Cap walked outside into the sauna that had covered the island like a giant, hot, wet towel.
“That went well,” Cap said. Dane knew his mild-mannered tone meant sarcasm.
“What?”
“You were pretty hostile considering he’s a high-value client.”
“He’s Shana’s client. If she was worried about taking care of him she should have shown up.” The implication of where she was and what she was doing came crashing back down on him like a thundercloud. He cleared his face of any signs of darkness and looked at Cap.
“Besides, I thought it went very well. The man is scared shitless of me.” He smiled.
Cap laughed and opened his car door. “Thank the lord the air conditioning works in my car. I may drive around all day to keep cool.”
“That’s because you’re a—”
“Don’t even say it—”
“Pantywaist.” Dane grinned when Cap gave him the finger. He got into his Jag and fired up the AC. Then he tried ignoring the stab of guilt he felt about leaving Shana with the hotbox Jeep.
In the space of the ten minutes the stab of guilt turned to annoyance then anger and then a searing quiet rage of panic. Shana was planning to move out. Again.
Sweaty and hot because he’d turned off the AC to ease his guilt—and not caring if he was the world’s biggest meanest bastard, he arrived home. Shana hadn’t called him once. She was angry. She’d been avoiding him.
Or maybe he’d been avoiding her.
He flung open the screen door to the beach shack and then swore loud enough to scare the neighbors into hiding when he paced through the house to find Shana not there.
That’s when he became aware of his raging need for her, to be with her, for her touch and for her loving and her barbs, for every scrap of her—good and bad—everything she had in her.
The empty feeling surprised him. And reminded him—
The door opened behind him as he stood in the kitchen and he spun around.
His senses shot to awareness of her all at once.
When her eyes met his, she stopped and backed up an almost imperceptible step.
Hers looked startled and frightened and then worried.
His chest tightened and that pit in his stomach pushed him forward.
She stood her ground. Because she was Shana.
“Were you going to tell me you’re moving out?” Why are you leaving? He wanted to yell the words, needed to feel the anger, but the relief overtook him that she was still here before he could gain control and he let it as he pulled her into his sweat-soaked embrace. And she let him.
“I was…” She never finished her sentence.
He crushed her to him and brutalized her lips with his, taking away her words.
He didn’t want to hear it. He felt her wrap her arms around his ribs and stroke his back.
The life-threatening thud of his heart settled down to the familiar excitement.
The excitement of Shana being his. In his arms.
A phone rang. She moved to pull away and he clamped down, hard, holding her to him, spreading his hands along her spine and over her ass, her beautiful perfect round ass.
She moved again. He clamped down again pulling her hips against his cock.
It was diamond-cutter hard. She sighed and leaned into him again, arching and fitting herself to him, murmuring unintelligible nothings against his lips, into his mouth.
They were back to playing house.
The phone stopped ringing and when the answering machine came on, Dane realized it had been the old house phone—the secure line—that had been ringing. They both came to attention then and he let go.
“Give me a rain check on that,” he said.
His voice sounded raw, like someone sawing lumber with a dull blade.
He went to his living room-turned-office, checked the message, and cleared his throat before he picked up the phone and punched in the number.
He wasn’t too surprised, but the caller ID made him smile.
“Who was it?” Shana asked from close behind him. Dane drew a ragged breath and thought maybe they needed to take a shower. Together.
“Jean Luc Ruse.”