Chapter 1
Shana was a few steps behind him in front of the courthouse when his phone rang.
Thank God she isn’t in earshot. Not because Dane was happy that she was slow and still recovering from her knife wound, but because he didn’t want her to hear this particular phone call.
It was from the governor’s private line.
Tapping it on, before he said a thing, the governor’s wife, Madeline Grace, spoke with uncharacteristic urgency, bordering on panic.
“Dane, there’s been a threat against Peter and . . . I’m afraid this is a legitimate one.”
“Tell me about it.” He used his operations mode voice.
The minute he heard the words legitimate threat, his adrenaline kicked in along with his years of training to control it, use it.
His senses had a sharp edge to them now.
Listening to Madeline he heard everything, including the background noise.
She was in a car in the city, but she wasn’t driving. Her two children weren’t with her.
“A note was left on my car’s windshield at my office at the university with photos of Peter at home, as if taken by a drone through a window. I’m calling you now because Peter is en route to the island for an interview with your attorney—for your trial—and he has Joe with him, but I’m worried.”
“Who’s driving you?”
“David Young.” The chief of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program in Boston and good friend of the family. He wondered which role David was playing now, whether he was protecting her in his official capacity or there for moral support, to keep her calm. Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d called Dane.
He was hardly in a position to help. With his trial pending, he was on a short leash.
His attorney, wild-haired Nora Kimble who looked exactly like she acted, had managed to get him a reasonable bail amount and Peter had posted it.
He had to wear an ankle bracelet and he had a curfew, but he wasn’t in jail.
It wasn’t in his DNA to do anything else but agree to help.
There was no way he would say no to Madeline Grace.
There was no way he wouldn’t have Peter’s back if he was being threatened.
They’d been through too much together, starting when Peter had been the leader of their special ops team back in the day—too many days ago to count now, but that didn’t matter.
If he lived to ninety years old, he’d drop everything and lay his life on the line to come to Peter’s aid.
“What did the note say?”
“It was short and to the point,” she said, relief in her voice. “Large font Times New Roman on plain white 20-pound bond paper. It said, ‘Peter drops out of the Senate race or we drop him.’”
Shit.
The next call he made would be to Acer. Walking fast to stay ahead of Shana and Sassy Stevens, who refused to leave her, he slipped around the side of the courthouse and along a path.
Shana would notice and he’d have to come up with a plausible explanation when she inevitably questioned him about it.
He might even need to tell her the truth.
Madeline would be on the island soon. He knew without being told that that was where she was headed now.
He found a private space among some bushes and stopped.
“Who’s behind it? A political rival?”
“I doubt it. I’m assuming it’s an extremist nut who doesn’t like Peter’s politics.”
“Then it’s an extreme nut with means and motive to go to the kind of trouble of taking photos with a drone, taking a big chance.”
“You think there’s a personal grudge?”
“More than likely. Make me a list. Get with his Lt. Governor, Rick Racer, and come up with anyone who thinks he’s done them wrong—real or imagined.”
“I’m on my way to Martha’s Vineyard now, but I’ll call Rick and get on it right away. Could be a long list.”
“I know. But we have Acer to help narrow things down with some cyber research.”
“Thank you, Dane. I feel better talking to you.”
“For no reason at all. It’s a special talent I have, giving false impressions.”
She laughed. “Not exactly. I think your legendary status is well deserved.”
“Don’t tell your husband that.”
She laughed again. It had a nervous edge, but he’d take it. She was as cool and solid as they came and it disturbed him to hear her shaken.
“Mad, where are the kids?”
“Safe.” She whispered, “With my parents in the Berkshires.”
“You’ll need to have your parents take a vacation. Somewhere they’ve never been. Don’t they have an RV?”
“Yes. Great idea. I’ll call them right now.”
“Use someone else’s phone to make the call and don’t discuss the destination.”
She paused. He’d spooked her.
“Doesn’t hurt to be extra cautious. Until we narrow down who your nut is.”
Hearing her shaky breath, he cursed himself for being so heavy-handed. He should have had that conversation with David Young. Dane would have to call him later. They said their goodbyes with a promise to connect on the island.
Dane hoped to hell whoever was making threats didn’t have the capability or wherewithal to listen into Madeline’s conversations. If they did have that capability, that would be bad. Very bad.
Slipping his phone into his pocket he trotted back to the courthouse door to face Shana with some sort of explanation.
She was in an even worse position than he was to help Madeline and Peter, but she was even less inclined than he was to ever say no.
It would be up to him to stifle her urge to protect.
Or at least divert her to the less physical tasks.
He would assign her to work with Acer on the cyber research and intel gathering.
It was all she was good for with her knife wound recovery still in progress.
The physical toll had been steep on the last mission—which hadn’t even been a mission unless you called running for your life from a madman a mission. But they’d turned the tables, naturally, and become the hunters instead of the hunted, setting a trap and getting the perp.
Dane had got the madman all right. He’d shot him in the back. If he hadn’t, the man would have killed Shana, because he’d been standing over her hospital bed with a knife in hand at the time. Now Dane was to be put on trial for murdering the bastard.
This was the crux of the issue at trial.
Had Dane murdered the man, shot him in the back even though the man hadn’t been about to kill him?
Or was it justified homicide because the man had been about to kill Shana?
And had Whitey Nash really been about to kill Shana?
That last was the idiot prosecutor’s question.
Everyone else knew the answer to that was yes. Nash had threatened her and stabbed her and his accomplice had ratted him out on his intention for revenge.
Dane’s attorney swore she’d get him off and couldn’t ever understand why he’d been arrested, let alone prosecuted for murder.
Cap had arrested him. State Police Captain Colin Lynch, his former best friend and sidekick.
Why Cap did, Dane wasn’t sure. He had ideas, but was afraid to speculate much, preferred to put the matter out of his mind. And keep it banished.
As for the question of why he was being prosecuted, that answer was much clearer. Dane had a lot of enemies in official law enforcement, almost as many enemies as friends. And prosecuting him for murder was viewed as the best way to put him out of business.
“Who was that?” Shana stopped him, blocking his path to the door.
“Madeline Grace.”
Shana raised a brow and stood with one hand on her hip as if settling in to hear his explanation. He thought of waiting her out, but blew out a breath and tried for a short-cut version of the story.
“She’s worried about a threat against Peter. Wants us to look into it.”
Shana nodded. “Sounds like a conversation we’ll need to save for after we get out of court. Today.”
Dane kept his sigh of relief to himself, but he knew she knew she was letting him off the hook.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, careful to avoid pressure where her wound was still sore.
The sharp pain through the middle of his own shoulder blades accompanied every instance when he encountered her injury, where he witnessed the aftermath of her close call.
But he’d saved her.
And now he had to answer to a judge and jury for having done so.
Inside the court house, it wasn’t hard to find his attorney, Nora Kimble.
She looked like a queen bee buzzing about.
Plus, she was wearing a black-and-yellow striped blouse with a black skirt and hose and the only pair of neon yellow pumps he’d ever seen.
Not resisting the smile, he moved forward to take his spot inside the bar at the defendant’s table.
Nora didn’t notice him until he touched her shoulder as she was bent over a pile of documents.
She didn’t startle. She didn’t even look up.
Nora Kimble was in no-nonsense mode. But then, when wasn’t she?
She was one of the most serious customers he’d ever met.
Also, one of the most passionate about justice.
He was lucky she’d agreed to pack her bags and move from Boston to the island for the duration.
Apparently, she had no life outside the job.
Dane could relate to that.
Talking fast, she said, “Take a seat, Blaise. We’re picking a jury today.” She glanced up and gave him the once-over, ending with a nod of approval. He wore his funeral suit. Appropriate, in his mind. He was in mourning, after all, over the loss of a friend. Damn Cap.
“We’re not taking any plea deal no matter what they say, no matter what they offer.
Because there’s no way you should be doing jail time for saving your fiancée’s life against the onslaught of a deranged killer.
” She looked up and pushed the glasses to the top of her head, snagging them in her wildly bushy dark hair.
“I wish we had Nash himself for a witness.”
He said nothing, but she wasn’t smiling and his heart rate kicked up.