Chapter 3 #2
Peter nodded. “I know. Out of character for her. She is normally a very cool professional. Trained in the French military.”
“At least she’s not ex-Mossad.” Dane snorted, knowing that she’d be a formidable opponent as a well-trained woman who’d been wronged.
“So why threaten you?” Shana asked. “Why not just come back with a better escape plan?”
“Very good question.” Peter sighed. Shook his head.
Dane’s dread meter shot up. “We just discovered the answer two days ago. Unfortunately, Benito contracted Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. It’s a rare, fatal degenerative disease of the central nervous system.
He has about three months to live. Apparently, Natalia blames me. Not for any rational reason.”
Boom.
‘Took you long enough to get to the punch line,” Dane said. “She’s the ultimate woman scorned. A cool skilled professional with just enough grief-induced crazy to make her dangerously unpredictable.”
Peter nodded. Shana clutched Dane’s arm while he kept his tension at bay, forcibly willing his muscles to remain relaxed under Shana’s grip. Would do neither of them good if they were both bothered.
“She has a team and we think she may be planning a kidnap and hostage exchange.”
“And you never told Madeline?” Shana made no attempt to hide the accusation in her voice.
“You sent the family away to make sure you’re the kidnapping target,” Dane said. He needed to keep Shana on task. Her emotions had been running high. Higher than his and his were higher than normal.
Peter nodded. “She’s good and she has a team.
But even if the team is loyal, the operation would take a lot of resources—is taking resources.
The feds calculate that she doesn’t have the kind of stash she’d need to find or go after my family if we elevated the level of difficulty.
Now we force her to try coming for me.” He looked around the table. “Here.”
It all clicked into place for Dane.
“This whole trip to the island is a setup. You came here to make a public appearance figuring it would be easiest to corner her on the island.”
Peter smiled. “You were always my star pupil.”
Dane snorted. “You figured between us and the feds and the limited geography this would be the best place to lure her in and take her down. How many on her team?”
Petr shrugged. “The feds haven’t been able to determine that. I’ll leave that up to you and Acer to figure out.” He took a folder from his briefcase. “This is the file. Everything I gave to the feds and some things they shared with me.”
Acer said, “I don’t know. Seems too easy. Like maybe the feds have things under control.”
“Maybe. But they’re distracted.” Peter looked at Dane. “More than one of them has a grudge against Dane.”
“Let me guess. Some of Peck’s associates don’t like me.”
“They’ve been throwing the word vigilante around. And something about the trial and some prison time teaching you a lesson.”
“And you kept your mouth clamped shut I hope,” Dane said.
“Hell no. I’m respectful of them, but I know where to draw the line in the sand. I may have suggested that they have a little respect for a war hero and former police officer. Reminded them of your background.”
“Did that work?” Shana asked, hope in her voice.
“They stopped talking to me.” Peter shrugged. “But they liked my idea of coming to Martha’s Vineyard and giving a press conference.”
“Front row seats for the debacle.” Dane took a deep, controlled breath. One good thing he got from Peter was that Shana hadn’t been targeted by the feds as an enemy. She slipped out a photo from the folder she’d been shuffling through.
“This is our assassin?”
Peter nodded. The woman was a dark-haired beauty who should be making a living as a model instead of killing people. She appeared to be late thirties. Experienced. Great. Another chip stacked against them.
“I’ll have copies made up of this photo so we can—”
“No need,” Dane said. He took the photo from her. “Acer and I will do the legwork. You rest. I’ll call you if we need you.”
She stared him down. He knew she wanted to protest, but he could see the pain and exhaustion in her eyes. She’d cut down her pain meds to nothing. No way was she taking chances with opioid addiction. Dane knew she’d cut back too soon, but he couldn’t argue the point with her.
“Fine. See that you do.” She stood. He stood. She put a hand on his arm.
“Sit. I’ll see myself out.”
In his head, he played back Madeline’s departure and how Peter had escorted her to the door, how they’d embraced, kissed.
He wanted that, longed for it, needed it.
He didn’t sit. Instead he followed her to the back door.
She glanced once over her shoulder with a knowing look, but didn’t say anything until they reached the dark hall at the door to the back-alley parking lot.
“You want something?” she said, leaning against the wall, waiting for him to confront her. So he did, pressing into her, holding himself up and framing her with his arms on the wall behind her, burying his face in her hair, nuzzling her neck, getting lost in her scent and her warmth.
“Was there a reason I shouldn’t come with you? Join you for a rest.”
Chuckling, she turned her face to his and kissed the corner of his mouth, shooting sparks of irrepressible lust through him until his hard-on reached its limit.
“I should take you right here.”
She laughed as if she didn’t care. He nuzzled her neck to find the pulse there beating furiously. Like his.
“Even when you were a teenager you had more self-control than that.” She taunted him as if she knew, as if she’d been there, then she ran her hands under his shirt up his back, leaving a zipper of sparking nerves as she did.
“That was before you. Before I fell madly in love.” It was the truth. The power of hearing himself speak the most vulnerable words to her that he could possibly admit sent off all kinds of self-preservation alarms in him.
“With emphasis on the madly.” She said what he’d been thinking. He pushed himself back from her, tugging at a tendril of her irresistible soft hair, letting it curl around a finger as it slipped though.
“Damn.” He closed his eyes and dropped his hands to his sides, stepping all the way back. “I’ll see you later.” He gave her a warning glare, as if it was her fault he couldn’t take her here, wouldn’t go with her now.
“I’m counting on it, big boy.” She slid past him, quick though not as quick as she should be to escape, as if she knew he might change his mind any second, knew his control could slip in a millisecond. She’d be right.
The back door shut behind her and Dane took a moment before returning to the table, to the task at hand: gathering the disparate threads of the mission together. The familiar tension of letting Shana go took hold.
In spite of the seriousness of the matter, in spite of the fact that he had some work to do that evening, in spite of the fact that it was against all the rules—the ones he usually followed—he intended to down a tumbler of tequila before he left there. To ease that tension. If it was possible.