Chapter 2 #2
Dane knew him enough not to trust him. Even if he was with the CIA.
Especially because he was with the CIA. Dane squelched the paranoia born of the knowledge that Floyd had been Oscar’s handler for a long time off and on.
There was no telling if Oscar was on or off with the CIA now or whether he was conducting his supposed import-export business, or up to some other no-good—unless and until he heard it from Oscar directly.
Dane held the silence. He could out-mind-game Floyd Parker if he needed to and it appeared he would need to.
Unfortunately, Shana didn’t feel the same way. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dane was fast. Reaching around her head with his arm, he clamped a hand over her mouth before she managed more than a startled sound.
“What’s that?” Floyd asked. Dane drilled Shana with his eyes, willing her into compliance. Even if she got why he wanted to keep her from talking, she might do it just to defy him. That was his Shana. He held on while she squirmed and struggled with her decision.
“Where is Oscar, Floyd?”
“Good old Dane Blaise. All business—”
“Cut the crap, Floyd. You sent a trouble code—panic level. What’s going on—where is Oscar?” Dane raised his voice a notch the second time he asked the question.
“I won’t lie. He’s in trouble. I don’t know where he is. That’s why I called you. You’re the best at finding people.”
“Who has him?”
“I’m waiting for a call.”
“What makes you think there will be a call?”
“That’s what the note said—sent by messenger in lieu of Oscar when we were supposed to meet yesterday. I checked on him. Didn’t find him. Found his phone—this phone. Luckily, I knew where to look—and I called you.”
The fact that Floyd sounded reasonable instead of flip could mean this was real trouble. Or it could mean Dane was being played. But to what end?
“Where are you?” Dane held his breath and let go of Shana, who had decided to listen instead of talk. She apparently also decided not to hurt or maim Dane in any way for his heavy-handedness. At least not at the moment. He’d have to keep one eye open all night.
The man on the other end laughed in a course rumble. Of course he wasn’t going to tell Dane where he was. Dane extracted himself from Shana, who’d been leaning close to listen, and turned aside to finish the conversation.
“You know the protocol. When and where do we meet?”
“All business. You haven’t changed, Dane. I like that about you. I can always count on you to be there and do the right thing.”
Dane said nothing and waited. He heard a sigh and some rustling like Floyd was changing position, like he was cramped in a car somewhere.
“Okay, have it your way. We can catch up in person. Meet me at the Black Cigar Shop in Edgartown at one a.m. The front door will be open.”
“Where was Oscar working?”
“When we meet.” The line went dead. Dane knew better than to dial him back up.
He felt the chill of foreboding. The only reason that Floyd couldn’t have shared more information about Oscar over the phone would be if Oscar were truly in danger and Floyd truly believed he needed to follow the Trouble Protocol.
Floyd was not ordinarily a stickler for rules.
If Floyd wanted to meet in Edgartown, that meant he was already in the neighborhood. Then Oscar must be in country—but that made no sense. Dane had a bad feeling about this—aside from the fact that it was a panic level trouble call.
“What?” Shana said. Her hands perched on her hips, her chest heaved.
“No word. We meet tonight.”
“That man is such a—”
“Never mind, Shana. I’ll find out Oscar’s status tonight and I’ll let you know when I know.”
She snorted. “I’ll know when you know because I’ll be there with you tonight.”
He stopped mid-motion, with the gun drawer half opened. He’d planned to retrieve, clean and fully load his Glock. He looked up at her and gave her a shake of his head.
“Yes I am,” she said. He couldn’t help smiling at her wronged-kid-sister pose, when she was the furthest thing from that in his mind, in his soul.
“You’ll stay here. Cover home base. Floyd doesn’t know about you. You’re my ace in the hole. Work with me on this.”
She narrowed her gaze, apparently trying to decipher his angle, but found there was none. Because there wasn’t.
“All right. Have it your way. This once. I don’t trust Floyd either. But don’t leave the island without me.”
She was good. She knew the likelihood that he’d be leaving as well as he did. He nodded, grabbed his Glock from the drawer, and proceeded with his task.
“We’ll have the strategic advantage if Floyd—and whoever has Oscar—remains blind to your existence.”
“You think we’ll need an advantage over Floyd? He should be on our side on this.” Her words held a tremor of hesitance.
He nodded. “I thought you said you didn’t trust Floyd?” He watched her now. Maybe she’d been too green back when she worked with Floyd and Oscar. “Would you trust him one hundred percent?”
“He has to be trustworthy on this—he would never betray Oscar.”
Dane paused a beat and spoke in his most clipped, professional voice. She needed to hear it. “This could be one of those situations where Floyd has to make a difficult choice and I’m not betting my life on him being noble.”
“Okay. But tell me why you distrust him—aside from your gut instinct. Something must have happened.” She was back to the full hands-on-hips, Wonder Woman stance.
As if he needed to be reminded of her power over him.
He never forgot it. Not for a millisecond.
But it was best she didn’t know she owned him. He answered with his game face on.
“I only worked with Floyd once. And someone got killed.” Dane decided not to mention who it was that had died. It had been an ATF drug bust in Colombia. It had been a long time ago.
“What happened?” She moved closer. Sometimes she was very smart—too smart. He wondered if she really knew how much her heat and the feel of her soft skin against him persuaded him, moved his mountainous will from its course.
He stayed silent. She waited. Then she wrapped an arm over his shoulder and raked her fingers through the fine hair at the back of his neck.
He gritted his teeth against the tingling sensations.
His blood pumped hard and his heart beat loud.
In his mind, he told himself to push her away. His hands fisted in protest.
She whispered, “Tell me. I have a feeling it’s something bad. You need—”
“I need to prepare.” The words sounded hoarse as if he was pushing them from his rusty throat with a ram. He moved away from the kitchen counter where he’d been leaning, away from her, struggling against her steadfast magnetic hold.
She puffed out a breath. “I’m going to assume the worst, you know. I’m going to assume whoever died meant something to you—or maybe meant something to Floyd.” She paused. He met her eyes. He knew his face was blank. He knew it wouldn’t matter.
He walked toward the door, toward his solace, his escape. Before he stepped outside to breathe he said, “Floyd’s mistress died.”
He pulled the door closed behind him and walked out back across his grass as it sloped to the harbor wall and his pier. He walked out to the end of the pier. The urge to jump in and swim as far as he could made him laugh at himself.
Maria had been collateral damage in the ATF drug bust he and Floyd had been working on.
Oscar had been working on the periphery.
Neither Oscar nor Floyd had been there the night of the raid.
The night Maria died. Floyd should have warned her to disappear.
He should have told her when and where to hide.
Dane never knew why he hadn’t, but he’d heard rumblings from a couple of ATF agents that Floyd had blamed Dane for not telling her.
He hadn’t seen Floyd again since then. Never went back to Columbia.
He’d never had a reason to think much about it since.
People say things when they’re grieving.
Hell. Dane had said things. He’d written off Floyd’s attitude to grief and hadn’t bothered to speculate further on it since.
But it was time to speculate now. It took Dane no more than a few seconds to run it all through his mind and conclude that Floyd’s blaming him for not warning Maria was a flimsy smoke screen to cover Floyds’s own guilt back then.
It had been too weak a grudge then for action and now it was old and distant.
It would matter even less now, years later.
Something else was going on with Floyd. Of that, Dane was certain. And that unknown is what Dane needed to be wary about.
After a few minutes contemplating the option of jumping in the ocean, Dane felt Shana approach.
He turned and watched her walk across the grass, closing the distance between them.
He walked back, stepping off the pier to meet her.
No sense taking a chance on her pushing him in.
It wasn’t that he’d mind the water, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of pushing him.
“So bottom line is you don’t trust Floyd,” she said.
“Natch.” Dane smiled. The smile was an automatic reflex. He usually controlled it and metered it out stingily for his safety and hers. “I don’t trust the guy. And I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
“I never liked him.”
Dane snorted. “Like him? He makes sure no one likes him. I don’t know what Maria—his mistress—ever saw in him. Maybe he was different with her—or so she said.”
They walked back inside.
Shana remained quiet, but he knew she was simmering, holding something in. He hated that. She opened the gun drawer and withdrew her Century Arms CZ 82.
“I’m going with you.”
“This is only a meeting—with me.” Dane paused to gather his patience. “I thought we agreed that we’d keep your existence here a secret? If they don’t know you’re with me—”
“It’s not as if Floyd doesn’t know me. He would be fine with—”
“I don’t want him to know you’re my partner, or that you’re anywhere in the vicinity.” He stared her down, took a breath and softened his voice.
“This meeting is intel gathering only. I’ll let you know every detail when I get back.
” He didn’t say that he didn’t trust Floyd with Shana.
He knew Floyd was, at his best, working both sides.
At his worst, he could be working against them.
Like a sharp pebble in the recesses of his boot, there was the thought that Oscar could be bait. For what he wasn’t sure. For Dane?
Or even worse, bait for Shana.
“Fine.” She looked him in the eyes. “Have it your way. But for the record, I don’t like it. I’m your partner. And this is big trouble.”
Reaching out a hand, he tugged at a lock of her hair.
“I’ll be back. I won’t leave the country without you.”
Batting his hand away, she scowled and that gave him the inner sigh of relief he needed more than any of her words of agreement had.
“Shouldn’t we call David?” she asked.
Dane shook his head. Shana was still loyal to her old boss, still had one foot in the Scotland Yard Exchange Program. Official law enforcement was a tough habit to break for her it seemed.
Without looking at her he said, “Not in the protocol. Not yet.”
He wanted to wait until he knew the status before he had that conversation. He felt her stare, knew she was reading his mind. Lucky for her she knew better than to push it. Oscar was one of David Young’s oldest friends in the world.
The other was Dan O’Keefe, Chief of Police of the City of Boston.
Dane knew their story and knew that in spite of the fact that Oscar skirted the line between the two sides of the law, he’d saved David’s and O’Keefe’s lives when they were young.
He’d bailed them out of a tough spot more than once since.
Dane knew they’d move heaven and earth to be in on any rescue operation. He’d do the same. He was doing it now.
He’d call them as soon as he found out whether there would be a rescue operation—or whether it was something worse.