Chapter 21 #2
“I know the place. It’s more like they went to talk business. Maybe we should have planted our camera there instead. I’ll call in later. You go with Shana—both of you. Take care of her.”
“I let my guys know to watch your back. Look for them. You can watch their backs too.” Cap signed off and Dane tossed his phone on the passenger seat where it fell on top of a burn hole, covering it.
Dane walked into the place, moving fast right past the two familiar thugs, nodded to the same scared waitress and landed a yard from the table where Ned stood in a half crouch, rising from his seat, but not fast enough.
The thugs caught up with him, grabbing his arms and yanking on them. He relaxed.
Ned said, “Who invited you?” with his usual snarl.
“Now, Ned, don’t be so rude to our accomplice,” Jean Luc said in a smooth unruffled voice. But it didn’t hide the underlying tension in the man, who looked like he longed to jump out the nearest window. Dane wasn’t sure if it was the decor or the company that got to Jean Luc most.
The Brazilian brothers Tavares looked at him with interest. He nodded and gave them a smile, the kind that might be mistaken for a snarl by a more civilized person.
“Who are you?” Bento, the less friendly of the two asked.
“I’m the judge. The head judge in the surfing competition.”
The brothers nodded and smiled in unison. “Have a seat.”
Dane pulled up a chair from the next table over—which was empty. He looked around and confirmed that the whole place was empty. Same as on his last visit.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ned said with his sick smile.
He had it mastered. It might have instilled fear if Dane hadn’t already gotten to know the man and if Dane had been someone else—someone he hadn’t been since long before his stint in the service.
But now men like Ned didn’t scare him. Not unless there were a gang of them and they had him chained.
He flashed back to his last mission for a millisecond and shuddered.
Ned mistook the reaction. Suited Dane fine.
“Mr. Dane Blaise is the one I was telling you about—earlier,” Ned said to the brothers.
They nodded noncommittally.
Ned continued. “He’s Shana’s special friend. The one who muscled in on Jean Luc. The one we don’t know nothing about.”
“Sure you do, Ned. Ask Jean Luc. We go way back.”
“I ain’t asking him nothing. You think I’m gonna trust a frog?”
“A frog?” Dane pretended not to understand. The Brazilian brothers laughed.
“A Frenchman, you idiot,” Ned screeched. He snapped his fingers at the waitress in a fury and, in spite of the blatant look of terror on her face, she came rushing over but stopped well short of the table.
“Bring us the bottle—top shelf. Rum, for me—what’ll you have, Mr. Blaise?”
“Tequila.” That got him a nod of approval from Aldo Tavares the more pleasant brother, on the surface.
“Don’t listen to Ned,” Bento said. “We’re very grateful we made Mr. Ruse’s acquaintance. He’s done well for us in this venture.”
“We owe the introduction to you, Ned,” Aldo said with a distinct accent. The man raised his glass and the ice cubes diluting the gold liquid shifted and clinked as he tilted it toward his mouth and took a long gulp as if it were iced tea.
“But it is true,” Bento spoke to Dane with almost no accent, “that you’ve interfered with the girl and Jean Luc cannot guarantee her one hundred percent cooperation—”
“Of course I can,” Jean Luc said. “She plays games with this, this beachcomber,” Jean Luc waved his glass of red wine in Dane’s direction, “but after I rescued her today, she—”
Aldo interrupted. “Yes, that was well done.” He looked between Dane and Jean Luc and said, “I must say I’m puzzled, Mr. Blaise. What is it you do here on the island? You live here all year?”
“No. I travel. A lot.”
“And what do you do? Are you always a—what is the word—gigolo?” He laughed and his brother scoffed. Ned smirked. Jean Luc’s face remained passive.
Bento said, “You don’t seem to be the type. You seem—rough. Maybe you have other skills?”
“You’d be surprised. Some women like it rough,” Dane said. It wasn’t easy not to laugh, but he stayed in character. Other than a flicker in Jean Luc’s eyes and a tic at the corner of his mouth, the comment met with no suspicion, and much approval.
Ned laughed louder even than usual and kept going until he realized Bento Tavares was glaring at him.
The waitress brought two bottles and two shot glasses, put them on the table and then scurried off.
But she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the smack on her rear from Ned.
It was loud. The sound of it stung Dane’s ears.
The woman didn’t turn around and didn’t slow down in her retreat.
Didn’t make a sound. It hadn’t been the first of Ned’s abuses, Dane guessed.
A heat that had been in abeyance in his gut fired up and his heart pounded with it.
Ned would be sorry. He’d see to it. At some point in their scheme, before the man’s arrest, Dane would make sure of it.
“Still,” Bento pressed. “I sense, from what I’ve learned of you, that you do have other skills.” He paused. Dane didn’t answer him and this made Bento smile and nod. He picked up his drink in a salute toward Dane. Dane poured himself a shot and lifted the small glass.
“I like you, Mr. Blaise.” They both emptied their glasses. The smooth sting of the tequila quelled his rage. That was what he needed for the moment. He gazed surreptitiously at Jean Luc. The man appeared less pale.
“Maybe you can help us with Shana,” Bento said. “We need to make sure she behaves. Make sure she follows orders. Although Jean Luc may be able to handle this, it’s good to have a backup, do you agree?”
“Shana will do whatever I tell her.” That was the biggest lie Dane had told during the whole operation.
It made him smile. It was okay that the Brazilians mistook his ironic amusement as self-confidence.
But he noticed Jean Luc’s smile and they exchanged a bonding look.
They were bonded by their understanding of the treachery of the wild card, Shana George.
It wasn’t that Shana wouldn’t want to do the right thing, but the damn woman had an independent streak. And they both knew it.
“Good,” Aldo said. He looked at Jean Luc. “We need backup. Looks like Jean Luc already miscalculated once. This is his second woman.”
“No…no need to talk about that,” Ned said. He looked daggers at Jean Luc and warily at Dane. He seemed undecided whether Dane was worth the risk of shutting up his bosses.
But this was the exact conversation Dane came out tonight to have. Jean Luc sensed this and he leaned forward slightly.
“I did my job. It was you, Ned, who miscalculated—”
“Shut up, you f—”
“You’re worried about him?” Jean Luc gestured in Dane’s direction with the most disdainful snort he’d ever heard.
“Don’t mind me.”
“Yes, Mr. Blaise is one of our … associates now.” Aldo raised his glass.
“Not yet.” Bento, who liked him, put his hand on the drinking arm of his brother.
“We haven’t completed our goal yet. Mr. Blaise must prove himself.
Once the job is completed. Until then, we don’t air our laundry.
” Bento was the brother in charge. They’d been in sync and relaxed until now, playing rather than doing business.
But the seriousness of Bento’s stare at Ned and Jean Luc—and even his brother—left no room for doubt.
It was that special stare that looked like a combination of a shark and a wolf.
Dane had seen it many times before—sometimes in the mirror.
He took a breath and swallowed his disappointment. They were right not to trust him. He poured one more drink for himself while Aldo resumed a leisurely conversation about surfing in Brazil versus surfing on Martha’s Vineyard. Apparently, there was no comparison. Which they all knew.
When Dane got up from the table and walked past his two friends, thug one and thug two, no one said a thing besides good night.
But he knew he’d be followed. And watched.
Even more closely than before. Shit. He doubted their admission of a miscalculation would qualify as enough to get a search warrant.
And where would they search? It was clear wherever Susan Whittier was being held, it was not at their rental house.
Dane got into his car and started the engine, stared out at the water and the boats in the harbor, the lapping waves rocking the hulls. He pulled into traffic, but after a second’s thought, he took in a sharp breath and swore.
He’d been a damned fool. Of course Susan wasn’t in the house. Where would you keep someone if you wanted to escape fast and you were on an island? He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and rounded the corner sharply, stomping the gas.
On a boat. On a state-of-the-art speed yacht.