Chapter 19
Reports on swell size and wave heights dominated the morning weather report on the local news, proclaiming the conditions perfect for the competition, before Dane could shut his radio alarm clock off.
“Damn. I was hoping for a reprieve,” he muttered as he tossed the sheets aside and shoved his feet to the floor.
Glancing over his shoulder, he took in Shana’s too-sexy-for-fair-play form, the thick blond curls splayed over the white of the pillow as she turned lazily in his direction and squinted open her eyes.
“You were hoping for a reprieve? From what?” she said in a raspy voice, worn from the screams of rhapsody, he imagined. Or maybe rusty from the night’s short sleep.
He had predicted in his own mind that it would be awkward this morning, but he hadn’t expected the jump in his pulse as her scent wafted toward him and her voice played on his nerves.
He fisted his hand to stop himself from reaching out to her.
He had to remember their objective. Ned.
The Brazilian brothers. The women they bought and sold and did unspeakable things to in between.
He shuddered at the rush of fear for Shana’s safety.
Turning away, he stood, naked, and headed for his bathroom without speaking.
He needed to be all business now. They both did.
* * *
After dressing quickly and departing the beach shack with haste, they parked in the competition’s makeshift VIP parking lot for personnel and competitors where they discovered they were far from the first to arrive, even at this early hour.
Dane didn’t worry much about arriving with a competitor though he was a judge.
This competition barely followed the Association of Professional Surfing rules and they didn’t care if they drew attention or ire from APS officials.
If the radio news rehashing an interview from yesterday was any indication, there was little need to worry about rules.
Jean Luc was quoted as saying the ASP could run their qualifying competitions however they liked, but the American Invitational Surfing Competition, or AISC, had their own rules and goals.
Which he claimed were to encourage and attract young new talent to the sport with big prize money and a venue that was geared to new talent.
Very democratic if it weren’t for the gigantic entry fee.
He switched the car’s radio off and Shana said, “What’s the matter? Don’t want to listen to Jean Luc playing his role?”
“That interview was done early in the day yesterday—before he was playing for our side. Not that he’s about to change his tune with Ned watching.”
“What’s Ned’s role in this competition, do you think?”
“He’s the Beach Marshal. Jean Luc is the Surfing Director. I’m the head judge. Don’t you read your official event emails?”
“No. I’ve been unforgivably distracted.”
“Get your head on straight, girlie. This is a high-stakes operation and you need to be on top of your professional form. Starting now.” He meant every word and felt the reverberations of what he said in a bone-deep chill. He looked sideways at her.
She stared straight ahead. But the look was not a worried look, not a blank poker face stare.
Instead a dark rigid determination colored her features so that he hoped he was not the object of whatever malice she held—because there was malice inside that couldn’t wait to escape.
Anger and disgust combined into determination on her face.
Maybe he shouldn’t have called her girlie again.
After last night. But it was too late in his life for him to worry about being an insensitive prick.
He slipped his phone from his pocket, thumb dialed and held it to his ear, waiting. While it rang on the other end, he opened his mouth and slid his jaw from side to side in an attempt to loosen the tension.
“Who are you calling?”
“Jean Luc. Testing him,” he said, a beat before the man himself answered.
“Are you crazy? You’re lucky I answered. This better be important.”
“Anything you hear from me from now on you should consider a matter of life and death, Jean Luc. Yours. And your brother’s.”
After a snort, Jean Luc answered. “Then your inside tip for today is you should be more worried about the girl—Tamara. Ned just informed her she will not be winning the competition and she… made some threats. She’s too far gone for surfing—even my brother knows.
Ned—the idiot—told my brother to watch her.
Mon dieu. He has no concept of the havoc Cupid can play with a man’s brain.
Of course, my brother is sufficiently taken with Tamara so that all he did is tell her to behave.
He will not do anything else. And she knows it. ”
“And the upshot is?”
“The upshot is that Shana must watch her back.”
“We’re all watching her back. Tamara isn’t going to be in a position to do anything once we get to the marshalling area. Too many eyes—not to mention TV cameras. I’ll be with Shana until she gets there.”
“Ah. I forgot to mention. Ned removed Tamara from the competition and ordered her to be Shana’s surfing caddy. This is the danger.”
“Shit.”
“Your man Chauncey Miller has been approved as an authorized water photographer. Chaunce is a bit beat up, but the swelling in his eye is down enough for him to see through the camera lens. You and he will have to keep an eye on things.”
“Sure. What about their house—The Sand Castle? Is the bulkhead leading to the basement unlocked?”
“Yes, but I doubt Ms. Whittier is down there. I asked my brother and he said he hasn’t seen her in a couple of days, but he’s been busy with the competition. I don’t trust any of the other men to ask.”
“How many?”
“There are five others, but today the Brazilian brothers arrive and I don’t know how many men they’ll have in their party.
They are not scheduled to stay at our house.
We’ll meet with them after the first round of the competition today.
Les imbéciles want to be interviewed on television.
That seems to be their main goal.” Then he added in a dark voice, “That and they also want to meet Shana.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m hoping this thing doesn’t get past day one, but it depends on finding Susan Whittier and connecting the Brazilians to the operation.
We did some background on them. We know what they’re into and I don’t need to remind you how deep you are in bed with them.
You’re going to need to go out on a limb and ask Ned about Whittier. ”
“Ned is not happy that I didn’t stay with Shana last night.
I suggested to him I know my business and women better than he.
He questioned me about Miller. I told him I knew about Miller’s protectiveness and that’s why I didn’t stay—I didn’t want to spook her or her protective gay friend.
Now Ned’s more watchful and even more paranoid than normal.
He wants to impress his bosses and considers this his big chance.
They are big surfing fans. This is a—what do you Americans say? —public relations opportunity?”
“Maybe. But I don’t care how watchful or paranoid Ned may be. You need to find out about Whittier—whether she’s alive and where she is—dead or alive—and I don’t care how you do it. If we don’t find her in the basement today—either you’re on the hot seat or your brother will be compromised.”
“I understand.” Jean Luc paused, then added, “You need to watch out for Shana. Ned is… more than interested in her as a ringer for the event. I think he fancies her the prize for his bosses. And maybe more. I know what the Brazilian brothers are involved in and I am not a part of it. You must understand this.”
“I understand.” Dane’s jaw clenched. “Get us something on them. Find some files, a signature, an email, a check, a text message—anything that ties them to Whittier’s disappearance or the financial fraud of the surfing competition.
” He shut the phone down and pulled into the nearest parking spot to the newly erected tent labeled Competition Personnel Only.
Then he dared to look at her. She sat still, her eyes ahead, and didn’t turn to him when she spoke. “What about Tamara?”
“She’s your surfing caddy and she’s angry and jealous and slightly crazy. If I were you, I’d watch for a knife.”
Shana nodded and then turned to him. “And you? What will you be watching for?”
“I’ll have a weapon—it’s in my bag, and since Jean Luc is the event director I’m going to bring it to my assigned post—which I’ll choose—and keep my eye on you and Tamara.
Chauncey will be a water photographer, so he’ll be closer to the action and watching Jean Luc’s brother—but he’ll also be keeping his eye on you and Tamara. ”
“Does he know about this?
“I’ll let him know as soon as you’re situated in the marshalling area and the TV cameras are shining on you. I’ll stay with you until you get your competition jersey.”
She drew a deep breath. “I have a knife of my own.”
“I figured. You’re a pro.”
She turned to him. “Don’t patronize me.”
“You know I’m not.”
She nodded. “It would be easier if you were.”
They got out of the car and headed for the officials’ and competitors’ tent with their bags. Dane scanned the horizon.