Chapter 7 #2
The party—or soirée—was in full swing even at this early hour. Dane chalked it up to the heat wave and Gable’s ridiculously efficient climate control. Maybe he’d grown up in an igloo.
Keeping one eye on the busy front entry, Dane wandered toward the terrace doors past people in dinner jackets and tuxes and gowns and shimmering mini dresses and all kinds of sparkling jewelry on ears, necks, wrists, hands, and even ankles.
He was careful to move quickly and avoid eye contact.
He wasn’t ready to get sucked into the social vortex—not yet.
They were drinking, eating and dancing to the swing band.
He could imagine himself in a different era, but he wasn’t sure which one this party tried to emulate.
It seemed like a mix of the 1920s, 40s and 60s.
It felt like he was in a Best of Partying Eras mash-up.
He smiled as he reached the doors to the terrace and swung them open.
The heat had abated some, but the air was still heavy.
He looked out at late-night lights shimmering off the water and left the terrace doors open, letting the AC drift out to the sultry night.
Most people had stayed inside. He could barely see the entrance from here.
He pressed the control to his earpiece and spoke to Ronnie Ryan.
“Cover for me. Get your eyes on the front entry and look for our mark.”
“Copy. Over and out. Roger dodger.”
Shaking his head, Dane clicked the earpiece to mute.
He took a turn around the area, paying particular attention to the balcony above and to the left of the terrace that jutted out from the master bedroom.
The area looked undisturbed. He was about to go back inside when he spied her.
How the hell had she got in without them noticing?
Angelique Dubois stood at the stone wall lining the terrace and looked out at the water. Without turning toward him, she spoke.
“It’s so gorgeous here. Reminds me of the south of France—the less crowded seaside towns. Not the wild and tourist-filled cities like Monte Carlo.”
He approached and stood next to her. “I hadn’t pegged you for the country bumpkin type.”
Angelique laughed a musical laugh and looked up at him.
She had to lean her head back to meet his eyes, exposing the delicate line of her neck and the plunging neckline of her dress, which left a considerable portion of curving flesh showing.
She had an outstanding body. Petite, well proportioned, and gracefully sculpted.
He stared at her eyes a beat to see if she had the kind of heart and soul to match. It would take some study.
“I didn’t see you arrive.”
“I didn’t—not yet,” she said. “I came around the terrace after we parked. It’s too beautiful out here not to stop and…” She sighed.
“We? You have a date?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound disappointed, Mr. Blaise.”
“If I wanted to be honest, I’d admit I would be. But whoever you’re with isn’t a date, is he?”
She shook her head and kept her eyes on his, drifting closer so that he could breathe her exotic scent.
It sent a message to his libido before he could shut it down.
It was only one of those automatic male reactions, but it annoyed the hell out of him.
His so-called seduction of her was to be a professional exercise and nothing more.
He wanted to catch her in the act of thievery—or catch her with the jewels.
He only needed to stick close, charm her and gain her trust. Real seduction would be overkill.
But then he realized seduction was probably her plan for him, so he’d play the game.
“Non—no date. An escort—a friend who invited me to the party. That’s all.” She smiled up at him.
“His name?”
She tilted her head at him and drew a brow up in question.
“I’m in charge of security—I want to make sure he’s on the guest list.”
“His name is Baylor Bellarine. Satisfied?”
He nodded. He’d seen the name on the guest list. He’d bet the man was fat and middle-aged, but he didn’t ask. He’d pay deference to Jean Luc’s request for secrecy for now. Until he figured out who needed protecting from whom.
“Shall we go inside?” Dane didn’t wait for an answer.
He coaxed her toward the dancers with a hand at her back while he looked around for Shana.
He needed to let her know about Bellarine and one of them needed to call Cap with the name.
At the same time as he pulled Angelique close for the dance, Dane wished for some distance.
“You look smashing tonight,” Angelique said. Her face was turned up at him in an awkwardly sharp angle. He smiled.
“So do you. Tell me more about your… vacation plans.”
“You’re impossible. Is it so hard to believe I am here on vacation like every other person in the room—with the exception of you and Shana?”
Dane noticed how she’d not even considered the staff. He smiled anyway and looked for one of the unmentionable staffers—Ronnie Ryan. When he spotted the kid he danced them closer and caught his eye. The kid was no fool. He came their way.
“I find myself needing another drink. How about you?”
She shook her head. “I hope it’s not me—making you nervous.”
“Sure—that’s it. I’m all undone by your charms.”
She laughed and nodded at another couple.
Dane took a drink from Ronnie’s tray and spoke quietly and quickly.
“The mark’s name is Bellarine. Baylor Bellarine.
Call Cap and tell him.” Then he said in a normal voice, “I thought I recognized the brand of champagne, but I was all wrong. Thank you, young man.”
When Ronnie smiled, nodded, then left—cool as a cucumber—Angelique said, “Don’t harass the poor young man, Dane. I could have told you this was French Chateau, 1981.”
“Impressive.” He took a hefty sip. He had no idea if she was right, or if she was testing him.
The best he could do for the moment was distract her with another dance, but he was going to need to eventually get her back outside, away from the crowd, and see if he could find out more from her about why she was here. And about Bellarine.
*****
Shana kept one eye on Dane while he danced with Angelique, until he disappeared outside to the terrace.
Even if it was irrational, she didn’t like him disappearing from view.
It was a leftover effect from their harrowing case in Brazil when she’d thought he might be dead.
She turned away to keep her eyes on the rest of the room.
She didn’t spot anyone meeting the description Jean Luc had given them from where she was, so she walked in the direction of the dance floor.
Before she got far, Mr. Gable approached her. He put a hand on her arm to stop her. Good thing Dane wasn’t around. She kept still and kept one eye on the room while she listened to him.
“Shana, I’m anxious to know if you’ve forced a confession out of our suspect yet.”
“No—that’s Dane’s job.”
“Oh, I don’t know—I have my money on you.”
“Thank you.” She hoped she sounded gracious, because she didn’t feel it. She wanted to like Gable—after all he was a good client—but it was a struggle.
“How about a dance and you can update me on the mission?”
She let him lead her a few steps into the thick of the dancing. The orchestra played an old-fashioned slowish song. She thought they called it Big Band, but she wasn’t sure. She liked it and smiled at Gable.
“Mission?”
She waited for him to respond. She wasn’t in a hurry to feed his appetite for the dramatic. She supposed his propensity for drama was the reason she lacked enthusiasm for him.
“You know—the case. Tell me how it’s going. Is Ms. Dubois ready to fold? Did you get any information from her, or catch her in a lie?”
“No, no, and no.” Although Dane would probably kill her, she felt obligated to let Gable in on their lead about Angelique possibly having a partner. She sighed.
“If you must know, I’m supposed to be keeping watch for a man who might be Angelique’s partner in crime.”
“A partner—of course. How fascinating.”
She saw a man who could fit the description and didn’t care that she took the lead and maneuvered Gable in that direction. Before they got far, another man waylaid them. Gable introduced him as his neighbor and one of the victims of theft, Paul Tomkins.
“Thrilled to meet you—we’re all rooting for you. Any breaks in the case? You look far more beautiful in person than the Lucky Parrot video.”
Her earbud chirped letting her know she had a call.
She put up a hand to stop Paul Tomkins mid-sentence and she rammed her other hand into her small purse and pulled out her phone—without letting Gable or Tomkins see the gun.
After one quick look at the number, a spark of adrenaline shot through her and she said, “Sorry—I have to take this call.”
“Of course. You have work to do. Tomkins, we need to let Shana get on with her job—I’ll fill you in.”
She put the phone to one ear and covered her other ear while she walked toward the terrace doors for some quiet. “Hello—Jean Luc?”
“Shana, ma belle, it is sweet to hear your voice. I hope you do not mind that I called you. I’m an anxious uncle.”
“No problem. No need to be anxious. Angelique is—fine.”
“Have you found the man who followed her?”
“Not yet. We’re at a gala—”
“We? You and Dane and—”
“Yes. Angelique is here also.”
“I see.”
She closed her eyes and cursed herself. Jean Luc’s voice had gone dark.
“She is with Dane,” Jean Luc said.
“Not—” Shana wanted to explain.
“She is hardly more than a girl.”
“Don’t worry, Jean Luc—it’s not like that.”
“Don’t lie, Shana. I know you don’t like to lie.”
“Look, we’re watching out for her and we’re watching for the man following her. Why did you call?”
A beat of silence passed.
“You’re right. I know you are doing me a great favor.” He cleared his throat. “I trust Dane.” Then he laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking—he is in love with you after all, non? Forgive me.”