Chapter 1
“I have no idea how anyone could mistake you for a beachcomber,” Shana said. She stood on the opposite side of the wooden dock two feet from him with her hands on her hips and an accusation etched on her deceptively angelic face.
Dane enjoyed answering her rhetorical questions—especially because he knew it would annoy the hell out of his favorite girl. His only girl. Maybe his girl.
He smiled a lazy grin and watched the harbor breeze wreak havoc on her wild golden hair.
He said, “I have all the markings. I surf, don’t wear a watch, run the beach every day and drink tequila religiously.”
“Sure. You also carry a 9mm Glock religiously—although I don’t know what the hell religion that is—and not to mention that your so-called beach shack is wired up with some kind of futuristic high-tech security system.” She paused and got serious, dropping her Wonder Woman pose.
“A real beachcomber wouldn’t take a call from a Russian mobster. So—”
“So I answered my phone.” He wished he hadn’t. “Besides, Toly is a retired old man now. And he was never really a mobster. He was into espionage. Maybe some arms sales.” Dane looked out over the harbor and soaked in the cool salty air wafting across the island.
The Great Martha’s Vineyard heat wave had finally broken this week and they could breathe again.
More importantly—for Shana’s sake—Beachcomber Investigations had broken the crime wave and they were flush with cash.
Their last case, involving a rash of jewel thefts, had been hell between the heat and the scorned women—including the thief, her backer and Shana—but it had paid well.
He and Shana didn’t need to take Toly’s case—not for money.
“Stop stalling. What did he want?”
Dane turned and moved to stand close to her on the wooden dock. She looked up at him, not reacting to his proximity—at least not on the outside.
“He wants to hire us.”
“No kidding.”
Her sarcasm made him laugh and then, because he couldn’t resist, he pulled her in tight, squeezing all the distance out from between them. And leaving no doubt about his intentions.
Which did not include discussing Anatoly Ivanov any further.
Her green eyes glittered and he was a sucker for those eyes.
“Toly received a threat. He’s worried about his granddaughter Lara and her baby Paulette.”
“And?”
“And we’re invited to a wedding.”
“Lara is getting married? That’s great.” Her smile disappeared after a blink. “We’re doing protection.”
He nodded.
“Where’s the wedding?”
“I’m inclined to suggest they have it here.”
“Here on Martha’s Vineyard.”
He heard the unspoken words at the end of her sentence. Another case at home. More potential violence in their backyard. Or maybe that was his own head talking.
“Best place to keep the wedding safe.”
“What’s the threat?”
He took a breath before answering her. He hated that she put herself in danger to protect others. He wanted to protect her more than anyone.
“Toly received a symbolic threat from an unknown source. In the mail.” He didn’t bother sharing the gruesome details and thankfully she didn’t ask. She knew he wouldn’t say.
“He thinks Lara and the wedding might be targeted?”
He nodded. “He’s hiring us to protect Lara and his granddaughter Paulette primarily, and the entire wedding party.”
“Tall order.”
“That’s why he’s paying us the big bucks.”
“How much?”
He sighed at her avarice. She would be relentless until she knew. It was no use keeping it from her. She’d call Toly herself to find out if he didn’t say.
“Twenty clams up front. Five clams a day plus expenses. Each.”
The smile almost blinded him. He frowned.
“That makes the Gables’ enormous fee look like—”
“There’s a reason for the steep fee. It’s a dangerous assignment, Shana.”
“It’s always dangerous. Since when is that a problem for you? That’s the business we’re in.” She probably didn’t realize that she put her hands on her hips when she paused to give him a look.
“Or is it? Are we still in business, Dane?”
He couldn’t say no. She was his partner. Without their partnership, he’d lose her. Of that he was convinced.
“We don’t need the money. You don’t need the money. We need rest more.”
“Speak for yourself, old man.”
“Low blow.” He wondered if his age didn’t have something to do with his reticence. But he knew better. It was the danger. Not to him. To her. Hell. She was his partner in a dangerous game. But if he tried to avoid the danger, she’d quit the partnership.
A damned hair-tight Catch-22.
“What is it with you and money? You couldn’t possibly—”
“Stop it. You know the answer to that.”
“You think I do, but I don’t flipping understand.”
“Flipping?” She raised a brow at him.
“Quit stalling.”
“You know I send money to my mother. To my family.”
“Your brothers have long been old enough to take care of themselves.”
“And my mother is too old.”
“What the hell are you talking about, girlie? She has a pension from your Dad. You told me that. Sure, everyone could use extra money, but—”
“Not extra money. The pension fund for the police department was … compromised. My mother doesn’t get a dime from it.”
She squirmed from his arms and turned from him. He could see the strain in her posture. He turned her back around to face him and when she flipped the hair from her face, he could see the strain there. “What the hell—”
“Stop it. Why do you think I’m working with you instead of Scotland Yard?”
A furious heart-stopping cold crashed through him.
His body went into survival mode, shutting down all emotional response, imposing the familiar life-saving calm on him.
“You partnered with me for the money. That’s what you’re saying.
” He took her shoulders with both hands and pulled her in again, not violently, but firmly.
In spite of his calm control, she looked frightened.
But only for a flash. Then her chin rose and she glared with that green-eyed defiance that only she could inflict.
“Not only the money. I could work for any number of security—”
“No you couldn’t. You barely had any credentials when we did our first case together. The only reason David Young recruited you was because of your surfing skills.” He spoke in a reasonable voice, as if he were explaining a menu choice rather than a career choice.
“That was then.” Her words sliced like a rapier through the breeze, severing his control, his heart. He could feel the bleeding, his hot blood flowing through him.
“We’ll have the wedding on the island.” She licked her lips. He saw a tremble of hesitation followed quickly by the resolve. He barely heard her over the pounding in his chest.
He gathered whatever control he had from the deep well inside and said, “Don’t you get any ideas about a wedding.”
“Our partnership is more solid than a marriage.” The impersonal tone chiseled away a chunk of the granite wall he’d constructed around his heart and soul.
Then she said, “You and I need to call a truce.”
That was code for hands off.
“I’m not making any promises. I don’t think it’s possible.” He told the truth. He knew she didn’t want to hear it.
“It is possible and I can prove it.”
He was well aware that she’d ignored every word he’d said.
He turned away from her and walked off the pier. He said over his shoulder, “If it’s what you want. If this is all about the money—we’ll take the case.” He would do whatever she wanted, no matter what it cost him.
Only after he pushed inside his—their—beach shack, ripped the bottle of tequila from the freezer and poured half a glass did he acknowledge what he’d done. He’d succumbed in a way he’d never thought possible.
He’d lost complete control of his life. The very thing he’d been out to avoid.
He’d given in to emotional blackmail.
He’d given her what she wanted—the case, and worse, the cold truce, just to keep her with him.
His mind refused to compute the implication, but his heart and soul felt it. The thudding of his pulse drummed in his ears and his chest tightened until he felt like he’d shrunk into nothing. He picked up the glass and tossed the liquid down his throat.
There was no way to avoid making the call to Anatoly. She had him. And he had no idea what that would mean. Couldn’t feel it past the monumental devastation of all he knew. He had no idea where he was now. His life was no longer his.
Once the burn eased his throat so that he figured he could speak, he went to the secure phone in his office—also the living room—and dialed the number.
After two rings Toly picked up. They made arrangements to meet even while he heard the screen door slam in the background, even while he heard her approach, felt her presence.
His grip on the phone tightened, but his voice didn’t waiver.
Dane should have removed his Ray Bans as soon as he pushed through the door to the Lucky Parrot.
He went blind with the transition from the light of late summer sun glinting off the ocean going into the dark wood interior of the bar.
Until his eyes adjusted, the familiar tang of stale beer and fried fish told him he was in the right place.
Screeching the chair from the centermost table across the rough floor, he aimed it to face the front entrance but with a good angle to the back hall.
He still hadn’t bothered to remove the Ray Bans when Shana walked in from the back.
She glanced directly at him before looking around.
She joined him without the commotion of chair dragging and without sunglasses hiding her serious green eyes.
“There’s no one out back. Is the front clear?” She seemed to see through his shades. He left them where they were anyway and wondered how long it would take before they annoyed her.
“Clear as snow.”
“Clear as snow? What does that even mean?”
He shrugged. Didn’t show the dimple he felt trying to emerge. She rolled her eyes.
He lowered the Ray Bans.
She raised her middle finger.