Chapter 8
Shana didn’t know if she was more nervous, or angry with herself for being nervous. Even when she was a teenager she didn’t get like this, never tried to impress boys. They’d always been automatically impressed by her. Or she didn’t care.
The question popped into her head as she stepped in front of the mirror one last time—why the hell did she care what Dane thought of her?
Of course, she wanted his professional respect, but she felt she’d made a good impression at the coffee shop.
And the meeting with Jean Luc at the surfing competition office went well too.
But the chill along her skin and the twitching of her nerve endings right now had nothing to do with impressing him professionally.
Closing her eyes against the shimmering image of herself in the strapless aquamarine silk sheath that showed off every physical attribute she had—including her long legs leading down to the strappy heels.
She turned on those heels, grabbed her small purse filled to the brim with a gun and cell phone and not much else, and marched toward the front door to wait.
She ignored the low whistle from Chauncey, only smiling and taking surreptitious deep breaths to settle the twitching.
She felt like someone was shooting her with little electrical shocks at rapid fire from a mini stun gun.
Dane pulled up into her driveway in the purplish twilight with the headlights glowing from the shiny Jag.
She swore under her breath at the leap in her chest, as if a frog had escaped from deep inside her.
If the leaping frog was a euphemism for her dormant sexual desire—dormant ever since she’d begun her law enforcement career odyssey—then it had most definitely escaped.
Damn leaping frog picked a fine time to come to life.
With this man of all men? The most patronizing cowboy beachcomber son of a brick she’d ever met.
* * *
He watched her shove the door open and stride down the walk, determined as all hell to carry on businesslike.
But in that getup and especially with those heels, he could think of only one business she was suited for.
It was not law enforcement. He stayed in his seat even though his impulse was to jump from the car and open her door.
No need to further instigate her. Not now. Maybe later though.
She opened her door and inserted one long leg, strappy sandal first, then slid in.
“What are you smiling at?” She frowned.
He turned his attention from her and welcomed Chauncey, who slid into the back seat.
“Gorgeous night for a riding in a convertible,” Chauncey said.
“Is everything a go?” he asked, eyeing Chauncey in the rearview.
Chauncey nodded.
“Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you for asking,” Shana spoke sharply.
He turned to her.
“You look ready to charm.”
That quelled her. He pulled the car into the street. Shana took a deep breath and spoke.
“I’ve been giving their MO and the current setup some thought and I think we have to consider the possibility that they may use drugs tonight.” She paused, but he didn’t interrupt her so she continued with her theory.
“I think they may infiltrate while we’re in the house, presumably while we’re asleep—in a drug-induced sleep.
Jean Luc will want to deflect suspicion from himself.
Especially now with the missing heiress a hot issue.
He’s sticking around for something big since he’s taking a big risk, so we need to assume their plan is specific the area, the Whittiers’ house, maybe burglary.
I noticed the several pieces of art that are pretty high end.
But Jean Luc can’t send someone in while we’re at dinner with him or he might be suspected as a partner.
Maybe he’ll send someone to do recon while we’re out at dinner, then come back late at night when all are asleep.
” She paused and looked for his reaction.
He kept his mouth shut. Let her play it out before he popped her balloon.
“The drugs are insurance—to try to make sure we’re unconscious for the night. To minimize complications. We should guard against the drugs, but without being obvious—make them think we got whatever dose we were supposed to get.” She finished with another deep breath.
“Very interesting theory, Shana,” Chauncey said with a nod of approval. “Are you sure you’ve never been a burglar yourself?” he quipped.
Shana laughed. Dane felt her eyes turn to him and hold.
“Doubt the surfing competition is a cover for burglary. Too big an expense. There’ve been no police reports or insurance claims filed since Jean Luc appeared in the area. Doesn’t explain the missing heiress and lack of ransom.”
“He’s not noted for kidnapping. It’s not his style. Maybe the fact that she’s missing is coincidental,” Chauncey spoke up.
“Doubt it.” Dane turned to Shana as he pulled the car into line for the restaurant’s valet parking.
“I think her disappearance has something to do with the shady surfing competition. It’s a scam of some kind for sure.
Don’t know what the deal is yet. What do you think?
” He didn’t want to share his theory just yet.
“Of course. You have all the answers.” Shana’s nostrils flared. He squelched his fascination with the look, with her flustered anger.
The valet came around and took his keys, but before he got out of the car he leaned over and whispered in her ear, breathing in her scent. “Was Susan Whittier kidnapped or is she on a legitimate trip somewhere?”
Shana turned to whisper back in his ear and said, “I think she’s dead.”
He hid the resonance that vibrated through him.
Maybe Shana wasn’t a total novice. Taking her chin in one hand, he pulled her face toward his.
When her shocked green eyes were on him, he drilled her with a cold stare and lowered his lips to touch hers, carefully as if to avoid a static charge.
But no amount of caution could have prevented the stunning jolt to his system when the flesh of his lips touched her moist pouty mouth.
He quickly backed away and said in a last murmur in her ear, “Keep that to yourself for now, Ms. George. We could be wrong.”