Chapter 2 #2
She nodded, struggling to keep her cool. She was in the deep end of the pool with no life jacket. And a cement block named Dane Blaise chained to her ankles. Her new partner was an asshole in the skin of a lady killer.
“Governor Peter John Douglas here. Sorry we don’t have a screen for our conference call.”
“Then I’d have to see your big head. Bad enough I have to take orders from you again,” Dane said.
“How the hell are you, Demon?” The governor laughed.
“Did he just call you Demon?” Shana said.
“That’s Dane the Demon. You’ll find out you couldn’t have a better man covering your back, Detective George.”
“Listen to the general. He should know,” Dane said.
“Did you just call him general?”
“We go way back.” Dane drawled. She got the message. She wasn’t part of the boys’ club. Too bad for them.
“Down to business, your mission is to find the missing young lady, Susan Whittier, and to track down the person or persons who kidnapped her, including whoever is working behind the scenes. I hope to God she’s alive.
According to the FBI this isn’t a kidnapping.
Not yet, anyway. There’s been no ransom and the most likely suspect—our French con man--is hanging around the island, so nothing is as we’d expect.
The last thing Susan did before disappearing was sign up for the American Invitational Surfing Competition.
Something more than the usual is going on with this competition.
It’s more than coincidence that Interpol alerted us about the French con man on the island. You made contact?”
“At the airport,” Dane said. “He followed me after he spotted me scoping out detective George. It went well.”
“Until I showed up in the cruiser,” Cap said, “and almost blew Shana’s cover—”
“We’re okay.,” Dane said. “We’ll know soon enough. I’ll do some fake surveillance tonight to reinforce my role as a con staking out his mark,” Dane said.
“Fake surveillance?” Shana said.
Dane turned to her. “All you have is parrot questions. You sure you’re up to this assignment?”
“She’ll be fine.” The governor interrupted. “Shana is perfect for this assignment. I’ve been told she’s cool under pressure and fits the part. And she’s a champion surfer from Australia. What do you think, Captain Lynch?”
“I agree. She’s definitely cool.”
“Shana, you’ll sign up for the competition and see what you can find out from inside. Dane says there’s something not right about it.”
“I’m in as a judge,” Dane said. “I have the forms. I’ll need to file them at the Competition’s offices.”
“Detective Chauncey Miller will be arriving tomorrow to work with you. He’ll pose as Shana’s gay friend and stay at the Whittier house with her. You’ll all work together. Dane, Shana, you can rely on Chauncey.”
“I know. Got the word on him. Any other leads?”
“How about some background? I didn’t get a full briefing yet,” Shana said. “How do we know this man at the airport is our guy?”
There was a brief pause where Captain Lynch raised his brows at her, Dane smirked and the governor cleared his throat.
“Very well, Detective George.” Governor Douglas said, “I’ll catch you up.
Susan Whittier’s parents are friends of mine.
They happen to be very wealthy and Susan is an heiress and so it’s not a leap for them to worry about kidnapping.
They called when they couldn’t reach their daughter, and when they checked their Vineyard beach house, everywhere else they could think of and with all her friends, decided she was missing.
“I had Captain Lynch do an under-the-radar investigation. Other than routine contact with her usual friends and typical activities on the island—which ceased as of last Sunday—the police have found nothing. I also asked the Whittiers to check their daughter’s bank account and asked them about their last contact with her.
She was an attentive daughter and they had a loving, respectful relationship.
When she last called them, she mentioned meeting a charming French man and that she’d planned to enter the surfing competition.
They also found that she’d withdrawn ten thousand-dollars in cash from her bank account around the same time.
Shana listened, concern for the young woman heightened as her own role became clear.
“Checked all the hospitals and usual ways off the island and turned up nothing—but that doesn’t mean she didn’t leave.
There are plenty of private planes and boats she could have left on, but no one knows about any plans and no one saw her leave.
After hearing about the French man and the ten-thousand dollars, I had Interpol do some checking about known cons that may be in the area. ”
Dane said. “Turns out Frenchie is a known con—or likely is. There’s a record of him arriving in Boston a month ago and we tracked him to Martha’s Vineyard. Captain Lynch found him parading around using the name Jean Luc Ruse.”
“What does Frenchie have to do with the American Invitational Surfing Competition?” Shana asked.
“Unclear, except Susan was seen with him and she entered the competition, according to friends and her parents,” Dane said.
“So it’s unlikely she would leave the island voluntarily.
” Dane looked her over in a not strictly business manner, not so obvious as to be rude, but it made her feel…
something. Not discomfort, not exactly a zing. A disturbance.
He said, “I know something about surfing competitions. I looked into this one. No affiliations. All novices as far as I can tell. Feels snakey.” Dane’s stare remained even. She remained disturbed.
“Dane will go undercover as a judge,” the governor said. “You work undercover as a contestant, Shana. You’ll also pose as a potential mark—another wealthy young heiress—for Jean Luc. Dane is also playing the role of a con with an interest in you to flush him out. How is that working so far?”
“Jean Luc is already sniffing around and I already let him know Shana’s my turf. She’s made a big impression in less than”—Dane lifted his wrist to look at his watch—“two hours.”
Shana’s gut fluttered at the compliment.
The man confused her. She wanted to dislike him—did dislike him.
And distrusted him. But she could not figure him at all.
Was he an arrogant jerk or a kind gentleman?
She’d play it safe and not give him the benefit of the doubt.
Too much was at stake—possibly Susan Whittier’s life.
The governor spoke again. “We’ll be working the case following the money trail from Boston and will keep you posted. Call in daily with updates. Over and out.”
The phone buzzed until Captain Lynch punched it off.
“So is there an old boys’ club manual I’m missing here or what?” Shana lifted her chin and leaned back further in her chair.
Dane flicked a glance at her legs where her dress rode up, but she kept her cool. He didn’t bother responding.
“Don’t worry, Shana,” Captain Lynch said, “These guys are very, very good at—”
“I’m not worried. But I don’t think we’re going to need the old soldier skill set for this one—”
“I agree. You act the beach bunny. I play up to you. You show interest. Shouldn’t be too hard. We get Frenchie interested.” Dane eyed her.
“What’s his real name?”
“Could be anything. He has a few aliases.” Dane seemed to give her a straight answer for a change.
“He’s staying at a place on the outskirts of Vineyard Haven known as the Sand Castle,” Cap said.
She pushed herself forward in her chair and stood.
“I think it’s time I went home. I’m starved and I’m beat and I’m pretty sure I’ll have the night free to rest up without worrying about Jean Luc.”
“Wrong.” Dane stood and picked up a folder from the captain’s desk and shoved it at her. “This is your background. Study it. Including the covers and backgrounds for Chauncey—your friend. Don’t want Mr. Ruse catching you in lies and suspecting a setup.”
He turned for the door.
“What are you going to do?” Captain Lynch stood.
“I’m going home for a nap before doing my surveillance of Shana the beach bunny. I’ll check out the neighbors while I’m at it. Then after I get Jean Luc Ruse’s attention—because I know he’ll be there too—I’ll check out his place. Text me the address.”
“I can have my men—”
“Keep your men away from him. Last thing we need is Jean Luc sniffing state cops on him.”
Shana agreed, but she didn’t say so. Dane opened the door and stepped aside to let her through.
She didn’t show her surprise. She didn’t say thank you. She barely nodded.
They stepped into the hall and he followed her close enough for her to smell his tropical scent and feel his heat.
Or maybe that was her heating up all on her own.
He didn’t tower over her, but she was surprised to feel his height intimidating.
They got to the glass front door and she determined to open it for herself.
They pushed through at the same time into the still blazing sunlight at 6:00 p.m. He laughed at her.
“Don’t try so hard, girlie. I’m not going to bite you. You do what you need to do and we’ll be fine.”
“I’m not—”
“Save it. And pack that chip on your shoulder away somewhere. No place here for attitude. You need to be charming and you need to be convincing. So far, I’m thinking you’ll need to give an Oscar-level performance to turn it around.”
“I could say the same about you. But then you’d tell me I should know better how good you are. In fact I believe you’re quite seasoned with experience.”
“Guess we’ll have to rely on you making up in spunk what you lack in girlie charm.”
“And stop calling me girlie. Don’t use that word again.
” She felt herself heating up with frustrated anger and strode off to the car where a police officer waited to chauffeur her.
At least this car was unmarked and less obvious than the usual Ford sedan.
She clutched her fat folder of intel and hoped she’d stay awake long enough to read it.
“Don’t forget to study, bunny.”
She darted a look back at Dane to see the smirk before he disappeared down a dirt path.
The ride to the house should have been impressive and gorgeous and given her something to appreciate, but all she could think was what had she gotten herself into with that Demon man.
She would have to play flirty with him—maybe let him kiss her.
The thought kicked up the pace of her pulse and sent a flutter through her and she felt horror on the heels of the heat.
He was all male and he was attractive; she’d have to give him that.
She would concentrate on that and forget the fact that he was an insufferable pig.
And old. In both body and soul, but mostly his soul.
She hated seeing the man’s old soul. It made the otherwise tough-as-a-junkyard-dog man seem vulnerable. It softened her and she could not afford to soften where he was concerned. That was her survival instinct talking.
Dane stole down the path until he reached the supermarket where he’d left his car, his mind spinning, but not enough for him to forget to be careful and check the area before approaching the nearby supermarket.
He walked in the same back door where he’d exited, having made sure it was unlocked, and strolled through the storeroom without breaking stride and without making eye contact with anyone.
That didn’t mean he didn’t see them. None of the three grocery workers in the back room bothered to pay attention to him.
Emerging through the swinging double doors into the deli department, he plastered on his local-tourist persona and stood in line to buy something.
He’d figure out what when Jim the deli man asked.
Dane took a deep breath and thought about his new partner.
This wasn’t good. It wouldn’t work. He could feel his blood pressure rise in the form of heat and an increase in his pulse rate.
It wasn’t too late to call Peter and tell him it was a no-go.
The governor could get someone else. Sam could do it.
Anyone. Shana George was poison to him. She was the exact kind of woman he avoided—had been avoiding for years. Since Elena.
Zipping up that line of thought and any inevitable comparisons, he took his turn at the counter.
“A pound of baloney, please.”
“A whole pound just for you, Mr. Jones? You having company?” The deli man winked at him.
“No, just me. Can never have too much baloney, Jim.”
Jim laughed, and that made Dane smile and he let out a breath. Baloney.
Was he really trying to feed himself baloney? There was no way in hell he could call the governor, the man who saved his life—the man who’d introduced him to Elena—and tell him no. He was stuck in this beach bunny mission up to his sweating balls. He’d have to handle it.
Heat rose again, this time in all the wrong places, as he ran through what “handling it” meant. It meant handling Shana—literally. He’d need to flirt with her, kiss her, maybe more. The spike of testosterone made him curse as he took the baloney. “Shit.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Problem, Mr. Jones?”
“Yeah, Jim, you could say that.”
“What is it? The baloney too thick?” The man was sincere. Dane guffawed on the inside.
“Nah. Woman problems, Jim. There’s no help for it.”
Jim laughed good and loud at that one and Dane sighed as he walked away, knowing it was time to jump in with both feet.
He wasn’t about to let Shana George get him off his game, was he?
He would handle her. Even if she was a dead ringer for Elena in all the ways that counted—goddamn gorgeous, plenty of edge and attitude.
And tough. Made his heart palpitate just thinking about her.