Chapter 9
Banging her fist on the steering wheel was not an effective way to stop her hand from shaking, Shana discovered. She stepped on the gas. It was not that she was in such a hurry to meet Peck since she would be early as planned.
It was more about running away from Dane. Damned Dane. Maybe that’s what she’d start calling him—to his face—from now on.
She scoffed at herself and pulled up along the curb out front of the Lucky Parrot. It was a short drive. Lucky for her. Less chance for her to injure herself or others in a car crash because she was in the running for the Most Frustrated Woman in the World award.
Promising herself that slamming her car door would be her last uncool act of emotional outrage, she took a breath of the heavily salted cool air, slung her slim bag over her shoulder and strutted to the front door.
She was in character now. The weight of her gun in her bag comforted her and her focus on the assignment spread across her consciousness, blotting everything else out. She felt good.
The complete confidence faltered only for a breath when she saw Glen Peck chatting up the waitress in the mostly empty dining room of Dane’s favorite establishment. She stopped. And waited for him to notice her—or to acknowledge that he noticed her—because she was damn sure he knew she’d walked in.
He was trained and he was a survivor, and he wasn’t stupid. She would not make the mistake of underestimating him. Or his snake level.
FBI man laughed at the waitress. Shana couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. Then he turned his head and faked a look of pleased surprise. That she was sure was an act. He straightened up and headed her way with a spark in his eyes—not an act.
This could be a long night. Dane’s words played in her head.
No holds barred. Clamping down on the immediate surge of defiance, she gave Peck a cool assessing smile.
On the inside, she contemplated working him up and taking him down.
On the outside, she was certain he’d take the look for approval, maybe with an invitation.
Too bad for him the invitation was not to a personal party with her, but to his takedown at her hands.
When he reached her and opted for a warm friendly hug instead of a punch in the mouth or a handshake, it confirmed that this was not going to be anything like a business meeting. He had no intentions of playing fair anymore than she did. She knew he was out for intel same as she was.
But Shana was counting on one difference in her favor.
She did not feel even the smallest bit of attraction to this man and, on the other hand, he most definitely was attracted to her.
In spite of their last encounter. It was the key weakness she would exploit as many women before her had, in an endless succession of successes.
“You dressed—as promised. And you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He laughed and gestured for her to take a seat in a booth at the window.
“I figure we should sit here to make it easier on whoever is watching you.”
She laughed and slid in.
“You don’t think I’m a big enough girl to take care of myself?”
“Touché. We know you’ve demonstrated that you can take care of yourself fairly well.
No. I think your friends—and I use that term liberally—made it very clear that they don’t like me.
I don’t think they trust me for some reason and I find that puzzling since I’m a fellow law-enforcement type. I’m one of the good guys.”
“You trying to convince me?”
“You wouldn’t be here—dressed like that—if you didn’t think so. Or if you weren’t at least going to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
She couldn’t tell if he was smugly confident or posturing or on a fishing expedition. She mentally shrugged. Outwardly, she leaned in, across the table and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me.”
“Maybe your friends shouldn’t trust you.”
“Getting right to business.” She didn’t move back or blink.
“I like to get that out of the way so we can enjoy ourselves.” He paused. She waited him out without even so much as a quirk of her brow.
He leaned in on his elbows, bringing him within crowding distance so that she could feel and smell the heat of his body. It was a test for sure, but she concentrated on keeping the telltale flare of her nostrils under control. She had Dane to thank for that lesson.
“I want you to keep me updated on whatever it is that your friends are doing, whatever they find out about the sniper that took a shot at Aceman or whoever is behind the sniper.”
“Oh, that’s all.”
“No, that’s not all. I also want you to make sure they don’t make a move. That’s my territory and I—the FBI owns this case and will make any and all moves to apprehend any suspects.”
“You don’t need little old me for that. You have people—hordes of people, probably—to handle that. Surely you don’t think a couple of guys in a beach shack could get anywhere or do anything without your people knowing?”
“That’s why I want you. I don’t want them to know I know.”
“Oh, they’ll know.”
“So you’re not ready to come back into the fold of legitimate law enforcement—”
“But I am. Shana George, Investigator for the Metropolitan Police on special assignment with the Scotland Yard Exchange Program out of Boston, at your service.”
He smiled and sat back. He had that blank stare, but she knew he was not discouraged. He was the kind of guy that liked a challenge—especially female—and the kind of guy who figured there was not a female alive he couldn’t win over with his charm and good looks.
Shana admitted that he had them both. Too bad for him she knew too much about him. He had one too many of the wrong kind of chinks in his armor. She thought of Dane’s chinks—but only for a moment. Long enough to feel a boost about her excellent choice of friends.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Peck said. “You provide me intel on their progress, comings and goings, and I keep you out of trouble.”
“There is no trouble.”
“Oh, there’s going to be a whole world of trouble for Dane Blaise. And possibly for Captain Lynch and Acer, as you call him. I can guarantee it.”
The facade of cool didn’t slip, but he had too much confidence. Her heartbeat blipped in acceleration.
“Trouble is as trouble does.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He smirked. He figured he was calling her out on a lame remark. And truth be told, it was lame—or would have been if she didn’t have some notion that he was the one in trouble.
“You’re so hot to make trouble, Mr. FBI Man, that I can’t help wondering about you.”
“What about me?” He leaned toward her again in full flirtation mode.
“Maybe you’re the trouble.” That’s as much as she would give him. “But I’m listening.”
“You know as well as I do that Dane operates outside the lines. You don’t want to be associated with a Rambo-type loose cannon like him. You’re too young and promising.” He paused and let his eyes roam, let them get glassy and unguarded. “And gorgeous.”
“You forgot smart.”
“You sell yourself short. I’d call you brilliant.”
Shana fought hard not to roll her eyes.
“Okay, say I agree—for the sake of argument—to keep you in the loop on whatever Dane is up to. What do you plan to do?”
“I go in for the kill when the sniper shows up to take a shot. I catch the bad guy, grab the credit, and discredit Dane Blaise the notorious mad man, all in one fell swoop.” His smile was confident, but she said nothing. He added, “And I share credit with you.”
“I see.”
“You are not an afterthought. In fact, I’ll be lucky if you don’t completely distract me. But I promise I will share whatever rewards I reap.”
Now she was getting somewhere.
“Sounds promising.”
“Agreed?”
“Sure.”
“First test. What are they doing right now? Besides watching us.” He watched her closely.
“Running plates. Checking in with the governor on Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker.” She didn’t mention her own activities and hoped he’d say something about the plates or about her trip to Boston, but he didn’t. He nodded. That was it.
“The governor is involved in the day-to-day operation,” he said.
She didn’t need to confirm this. It was something he should know or would know if he were in day-to-day routine communication with his Special Agent in Charge, Owen Evans.
“I know that’s not news to you, but it’s all I’ve got. For the moment.”
“Acer got anything on the sniper?”
“A possible. Unconfirmed.” She lied. He smiled. He wasn’t quite as good as Dane, but he was good.
“No hedging, Shana.” He reached out and took her hand and squeezed a touch too tightly. She squeezed back more than a touch tightly and twisted her hand from his grip.
“I thought you wanted to remain on friendly terms?”
“That’s up to you. You play me, you get what you get.”
“Same goes for you, Mr. Peck. Especially if you want me to dob in on my mate.” She stared him down.
He shook his head, sighed and pushed back from the table to study her.
“Okay. I’m trusting you,” Peck said. “What’s the name of the possible sniper?”
“Wallace White.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. It’s Acer and Dane’s intel. I’ve been out doing other things.” She didn’t add that he probably knew that because she wasn’t sure. She wanted to confirm that he was not the one behind the nondescript car with the non-issued plate.
“What was your assignment?”
“I had a chat with Mrs. Whitaker.”
It could get her in trouble, but this was no time to play coy.
He lifted his brow. “And what did she have to say?”
“You should know. You were the agent on the original case involving her husband and her father’s company and Acer. You already knew all about it.”
“And what do you know?”
“I suspect that Whitaker hid the money and now he doesn’t want to share it. He already got Harry the Hacker and now he’s after Acer in case Acer knows something.” This was all true.
“I agree. So who hired the sniper? Whitaker for greed or his wife for revenge?”
“I don’t know about that—”