Chapter 18
“Mon Dieu.” Jean Luc stood.
“Let’s get him on the couch. Shana, get some ice. Know any discreet docs, Cap?” Everyone moved fast. Dane lifted Chauncey’s legs to lay him out and took his wrist to test his pulse. “Weak, but in the realm of normal.”
Shana handed him the towel-wrapped ice and backed up, giving him a funny look. He had no time to figure her right now and he dragged his focus back to Chauncey Miller, newlywed. Shit.
“What happened?” Dane asked, as Cap punched in some numbers on his cell—Dane hoped he was trying to get a doctor. A crease pinched Cap’s brows together and there was a gray tinge to his skin. Captain Lynch looked shook up. He said something into the phone and tossed it onto the lamp table.
“Doctor’ll be here in less than five. I don’t know what happened exactly except that Ned or his goons intercepted him before he got out of the club after Shana and Jean Luc left.
Once I heard he was in trouble I came running and found him out back near the kitchen.
Took some doing.” Captain Lynch pushed a hand through his hair and shifted from one foot to the other.
Dane stood. “He’ll be okay. He has a concussion and a nasty bump and a couple of bruises, but no broken bones.”
“I know—I checked before I moved him.”
“Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Shana asked. “Surely it would—”
“Cap did the right thing. We’re still under the radar. But now Ned’s suspicious of Chauncey and maybe the rest of us—and in particular, you.”
“I can help with that,” Jean Luc spoke up.
“Oh and suddenly you’re on our team?” Dane turned to face him.
“I can make sure Ned doesn’t suspect any of you are law enforcement. I’ve already called him to let him know Shana is our ringer for the competition.”
“And?” Dane had a feeling there was more to this than they’d figured.
“And that I would infiltrate her home and get the bank codes and information he wants. Which means you’ll have to give me some bank codes and make sure there’s plenty of money in the account.”
Dane laughed. “Always running a scam, Jean Luc. Or whatever your name is.”
“Jean Luc is my real name. Ruse is not.” Jean Luc didn’t volunteer his real surname.
“So what are the chances Ned is going to go through with the scam if he thinks Chauncey is law enforcement?” Shana asked.
“More importantly, where is he holding Susan Whittier?” Dane snarled.
“The answer is I don’t know—to both your questions.”
Chauncey moved, opened his eyes and tried to sit up, “What…”
Shana rushed to his side like she was suddenly Florence Nightingale. Dane shoved her aside and pushed Chauncey back down, then checked his eyes, moving the lids up with his thumb. “Cap—get me a flashlight.”
“What in bloody…” Chauncey said, reaching up to swat Dane’s hand away.
“Take it easy, Chaunce. You took a nasty blow to the head.” Dane took the flashlight from Lynch and shone it in the man’s eyes, looking at the degree of dilation.
He didn’t get this far in this business without knowing a few things about emergency field medicine and concussions. “You remember what happened?”
“Yeah. I think…” He closed his eyes and pushed himself up as soon as Dane switched the light off.
Dane watched him. His movements were coordinated well, if slow.
He let his heartbeat slow and expelled a deep breath, and with it the fear.
Too many casualties along the way in his life. But this was no time to go there.
“Did you recognize who hit you?”
“Ned’s thugs. They had a few questions for me and why I had an interest in Shana George and Jean Luc. I told him I was Shana’s friend and keeping an eye on her and she’d kill me if she knew. I figured it was no use pretending otherwise since they recognized me under the disguise.”
“I should have been the one—” Captain Nice said before Dane cut him off.
“They asked questions first, then beat you up?”
“You should see the other guys. When they got rough I got rough back. Last I remember sounds from someone nearby in the kitchen caused them to bring out a weapon—looked like a nunchuk or something of that sort. Then black.” He rubbed the side of his head.
“Oh—and my phone started ringing. Lucky for us they were too stupid to take it with them.”
“So now all we have to do is make sure they’re convinced that Chauncey is an overprotective friend.” Dane looked at Jean Luc. “That’s where you come in.”
Jean Luc nodded.
“In the meantime, since Chauncey is posing as Citizen Joe with nothing to hide and not undercover law enforcement, he needs to go to the hospital.” Dane turned to Captain Nice.
“Cancel the doctor. You take him to the hospital—take Jean Luc with you and go back and get the cars. Change of plans. Set up Jean Luc with some personal listening devices and GPS so we can keep tabs. Then send him on his way.”
“That’s it?” Jean Luc for the first time looked nonplussed.
“What were you expecting—a script? You’re a con. You know the drill. Act natural. Play the game. And find out where the hell he’s holding the girl and get us that information. Then get us some files—computer, paper, I don’t care—something of the smoking gun nature—”
“I assure you there is no record that would lead you to Ned—”
“Not Ned. His bosses. The Brazilians. Aldo and Bento Tavares.” Dane said. Then he bore his stare into Jean Luc’s and spoke slowly in his deadliest calm voice. “We need to shut down their white slavery operation. He’ll not get another woman out of here.”
Jean Luc’s face closed up like a switch to his soul had been turned off.
“What about my brother?”
“He’s fine as long as you keep your mouth shut and do your job. Ned needs him for his scam. Or at least for the surfing competition portion of the scam.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jean Luc asked the question and surprised everyone by showing his hand. Either that or he was playing them and pretending he had no idea. Dane figured the latter. He scoffed.
“What about me?” Shana spoke up after watching and listening.
“You’re with me,” Dane said.
Predictably, she put her hands on her hips and frowned. Classic bitch stance. He withheld the smile that almost erupted spontaneously.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Lynch said.
“Too bad you don’t get a vote,” Dane said, staring the man down in alpha dog form.
Chauncey grunted. Before the concussion, the grunt would have been a laugh or at least a snort.
Dane looked at Cap. “After you bring Chauncey back to the scene of the crime and he calls an ambulance, disappear back to headquarters and do whatever the police would do in a case where a guy gets beat up and left behind a restaurant.”
Captain Lynch didn’t say a word in response and it looked like it took a lot of effort if the whiteness of his compressed lips was a tell. He left with Chauncey the way they came in, but with Jean Luc following in their wake. Before Jean Luc stepped outside, he turned to Shana.
“In spite of everything, I enjoyed our evening. You didn’t need to be the ringer. You would have won the competition.”
“But not the money,” she said, not returning his smile. Thank God, Dane thought.
Jean Luc nodded and left.
The door closed with a satisfying thud as Dane pushed it closed.
Then he turned to face Shana.
The green intensity of her eyes burned a hole down to his soul and the cattle-prod sting sparked his heart to a pounding pace.
“We’re alone,” she said. He refused to think about the implications of her words, of her stating the obvious.
But whether he contemplated it or not, he felt the implications in his body.
The heat of racing blood spread through him and especially in his most carnal regions.
Every nerve he’d been holding at bay until now sprang at once to life until he felt like one touch to her skin would electrify them to cinders.
“Just you and me, girlie.” His voice trembled in a low sensual rumble. He fisted his hands to prevent any more telltale trembling.
Curse the girl for knowing. She licked her lips and smiled. Like a tigress would size up her prey.
“You know there’s a price to pay for calling me girlie.” She wanted to make him pay and she could see the state he was in gave her the opportunity. Her heart stuttered and her gut floated and pulsed like she was a teenager about to be kissed for the first time.
“Let’s get out of here.” His words surprised her.
“Why? Let’s stay here.” She was up for this battle; every little move from here on would be a battle for them. Probably had been one way or another since she laid eyes on him. Or since he laid eyes on her.
He didn’t respond. Not by talking anyway.
He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the door as if he were a caveman.
And damn it if it didn’t cause a major flutter in her gut and her juices to flow.
What was wrong with her? For a second she thought of digging in her heels quite literally, but either her dignity or her too-fast heartbeat stopped her.
Bottom line was he got his way and she found herself being shoved into the front seat of his trashy old Jeep with the cigarette burns in the upholstery.
“Why do we need to go to your house—or rather beach shack?”
“We’re better off there.”
A shiver of unease or dread sifted through her, leaving her nerves sparking like live wires ready to explode at a touch. His touch. She scoffed.
“I have an arsenal.” He spit the words.