Chapter 4
The only light in the room was the sunlight shining through the slits around the steel door, but it was enough for Dane to see his surroundings when he opened his eyes.
He’d been lying in a heap on the old wood floor of the tight space.
He figured it was a hallway or entry room of some kind.
As he pushed himself up in spite of the splitting pain in his head, all the circumstances of his current predicament came rushing back. He jumped to his feet and called out.
“Shana.”
There was no answer. He looked for his Glock and picked it up from the floor next to him and checked for rounds—it was still full.
He rushed through every door off the vestibule where he’d found himself and down every hall on both floors of the unit.
Finding it empty save for some odd office furniture, a few mouse carcasses and a cat, the beating of his heart drummed out of control while he remained calm, running his mind trough it’s well trained paces for crisis situations.
Feeling his pocket, he realized his assailants had politely left him with his phone as well as his Glock, so he pulled the phone out and pressed in Cap’s number, only to find that the battery was dead.
He slammed the front door open to the street where the morning sun blinded him.
Pain shot from his skull down his neck and through the blades of his shoulders.
It might as well have struck him through the heart.
What the hell had happened?
Shana was gone. Floyd Parker—or whoever he was working with or for—must have her.
But why? Dane forced himself to hold back on his conclusion.
Someone had hit him, but he had no idea who it was.
It could have been Floyd or whoever he had lured Dane into meeting with.
It could have been a random mugging. It didn’t have to involve Floyd—but it was too coincidental not to involve him.
What had happened to Shana? The question blasted in his mind, too insistent to keep under control. He knew better than to make assumptions. She could be back at the beach shack drinking coffee right now.
But he knew she wasn’t. If Shana weren’t in trouble, she would never have left him there.
If she knew he’d been hit on the head—but maybe she didn’t know…
He ran back down the street to where he hoped his car would still be, felt his pocket and found his keys.
Damn it to hell. And back. Where was she?
The pounding in his chest as he reached his car took his attention over the splitting ache in his head. Not because he ran too fast, but because it was fear driving him, throbbing in his veins until he thought his chest would explode if he didn’t get control. Shana was gone.
Worst case—someone had taken her.
Dane jumped in the Jeep and circled around to where he’d seen Shana park her bike. It was gone. Stepping on the gas, he headed for the beach shack, forcing himself to breathe and to think.
Why the hell would they take Shana and her bike—and leave him?
Shana could have driven her own bike—back to the beach shack.
Dane checked his rear mirror once to make sure there were no cops—or anyone else—in pursuit.
He’d pushed the old Jeep to its tire-screeching limits on the turns more than once until he slammed on the brakes, shoved the gear handle into park, and pushed from the vehicle.
He wasn’t surprised to find Cap’s state police car there waiting at the beach shack, but Cap was accompanied by a local cop car with lights flashing and radio blaring intermittent static, codes and commands.
Leaden dread settled in his gut as he forced himself through his back door.
He found Cap in his kitchen barking orders at a couple of his people—a man and woman Dane recognized.
They were taking pictures. The place was in a shambles.
Cap turned to him. Dane gingerly stepped into the kitchen.
Someone made a mess of the place, but the computer equipment was still there.
They didn’t bother taking the computer possibly because they knew it would be useless to them.
It was encrypted to a degree that would frustrate even the NSA.
Or the raid had been a scare tactic from someone sending a message.
But Dane figured it was most likely a diversionary tactic.
Too bad, because he refused to be diverted. Nothing could take his focus from finding Shana.
Cap said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes—I was worried. I got your message, but Shana had already called me. David Young and Chief Dan O’Keefe are on their way.” He paused and they stood for a beat. “Where’s Shana?”
Dane had been about to ask Cap the same thing. He didn’t say anything, but he knew the expression on his face answered Cap’s question.
The look on Cap’s face—shocked and drained of color—froze him.
Except for the acid burn erupting in his chest. Dane might have harbored a hope that Shana would be here, waiting for him, that whoever hit him had nothing to do with his meeting with Floyd Parker.
But now he knew for sure. Shana was in trouble.
“Call the Coast Guard and don’t let anyone off this island,” Dane said.
He ran back outside with Cap following. “I’m going to the airport.
We can’t let anyone take off. What time is it?
How long have I been out?” In his haste to get back to the beach shack, it hadn’t even occurred to him to check his watch. He’d known. Dreaded knowing.
“It’s been close to six hours. I’m coming with you.” Cap followed him out the door into the driveway.
“Shit.” He sounded lame with the understated epithet. His chest thudded but more steadily. His hand shook as he dragged it through his hair, feeling the baseball-sized lump on his head. He didn’t bother wincing.
“You took a blow to the head—I’m taking you to the hospital first,” Cap said.
Dane laughed. “My head is fine, but you’re out of yours if you think I’m wasting time going to the hospital.”
A faint bit of color came back to Cap’s face then and he nodded, a slight twitch to one side of his mouth signaling as much of a smile as he had in him.
Cap dialed up the Coast Guard and spoke in clipped tones as Dane considered whether to wait for David Young and Dan O’Keefe.
But he decided he had one place to visit before his guests got to the island.
Dane didn’t slow down. He jumped into the passenger side of the state police car and Cap’s spinning tires blew crushed seashells from the driveway as they launched into the street, siren blaring, racing to the heliport.
“There are too many places they could get a boat out of here. The Coast Guard can’t corral the whole island.”
“I have a feeling these people aren’t boat types.
I think they’re in a helicopter.” He remembered the MO from the last time he’d met Oscar’s handler and the uneasy feeling he’d gotten.
Oscar had insisted he could handle his handler.
They’d been in Columbia, which was a tough place. But Oscar was tougher.
Wasting no more time, Dane called Peter while Cap drove.
“Trouble,” he said the instant the governor’s voice came on the line.
“Tell me,” Peter said.
Dane told him about the call and the e-mail from Floyd Parker, Oscar’s handler. Peter remained silent until Dane finished. “Shana’s gone.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Dane. We’re on this. I’ll find out where Oscar was last operating. Hold on.”
Dane looked at Cap while the governor put him on hold and they drove toward the heliport.
“I’ll check in with the Coast Guard—Captain Tony Vendi,” Cap said as he pulled the car into the parking lot of the heliport.
Peter came back on the line and Dane’s spine snapped to attention as another sharp pain shot straight through his shoulder blades and up into the back of his neck and head.
Peter said, “Oscar was last in Haiti. According to the station chief he last reported in four days ago and is due to report in again tonight.”
“What do they have on Floyd?”
“As far as they know he’s currently on assignment as Oscar’s handler and is in communication—such as it is. You know the CIA.”
“Last time they spoke?”
“They didn’t say, but I didn’t ask. You think he has something to do with Shana’s disappearance?”
Dane ignored the question and instead asked, “What was Oscar working on?”
Peter paused a fraction of a beat and Dane’s insides iced over.
“Oscar was working on the disruption of a human trafficking pipeline.” Peter stopped and took a breath.
“Where did the pipeline lead?” Dane asked, but he knew.
“Brazil.”
“Shit-damn.” Dane took a deep breath and kept his black thoughts stowed away. Cap jumped back into the car and looked at him.
Something had clearly gone wrong.
Someone was using Oscar to flush Dane out—to get him to Brazil. For revenge.
But if that was the case, why the hell hadn’t they taken him instead of Shana?
Another arctic chill went through him.
They were in the human trafficking trade. And they wanted Shana. Someone wanted her. Someone named Tavares.
His mind went back to the Brazilians and the surfing competition scam the Tavares brothers had run the summer before to recruit unsuspecting beauties into their business.
He, Shana and Cap had shut down the operation, but they knew it was only one tentacle of an oversized octopus-type operation run by the family. Henrique Tavares was the CEO.
He feared giving voice to his suspicion. He feared his voice would betray him, but he spoke anyway.
“It might have something to do with the Brazilian operation run by the Tavares family.” He explained his theory to Cap.
“Oscar was working with the CIA to shut down the funnel of women from Haiti to Brazil and Mexico. There are few coincidences in this business and I don’t believe this is one of them,”
Dane and Cap talked to the heliport manager and he told them a private copter had left a few hours ago with a party of four. They’d arrived with a party of three.
“Was there a woman with them?”