Chapter 9
“Uncle Don, good to see you.” Joe played along with the backslapping reunion and Dane let him carry his own bags outside to the car rental area, where they didn’t talk much. So far Joe had been smart about the need for a low profile.
“I hope you don’t mind me driving,” Joe said with wiseass relish as he got behind the wheel.
“As soon as I get out of this clown outfit, I’ll be driving. You brought the new ID, right?”
“Sure, but it’s for Hector Johnson, not Don. Point is, you’ll need to maintain the old-man suit.”
“Stop enjoying this. You know it’ll catch up with you.”
Joe pulled through the airport exit to a light and handed Dane his credentials.
“Whose idea was it to name me Hector? Do I look like a Hector?”
Joe ignored him. “I got us an AirBNB house rental at Bondi Beach within sight and sound of the ocean. Thought you’d appreciate the hominess of the sea air.”
“Now we’re talking. At least we’ll be comfortable while the New South Wales police force hunts us down.”
Joe shifted a quick glance in his direction. “Tell me the story.”
Dane filled him in on what had gone on in the two short days since he and Shana had arrived. When he finished, Joe blew out a long whistle. They were nearing the diner where Dane had left Billy and Shana.
“Shit. Have you called the US Embassy?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll have the governor do it.”
“Shana’s not a US citizen.”
“Shit. Still. It’s worth a call. I bet Peter can do something. Get the right people involved. Bounce this up the food chain outside the local jurisdiction if there’s a bad cop involved.”
Dane nodded. Joe pulled the car to the curb. Dane jumped out, pushed through the glass door, and headed straight for Shana, where she stood next to the back booth.
“Let’s get you the hell out of here.” He put an arm around her and swept her out the door.
Billy followed. Dane thanked God and Governor Peter John Douglas for the spacious back seat in the Mercedes rental, then slid in after Shana.
“Nice ride. I’m Billy.” Billy got in the front seat with Joe.
“Take us away, Joe,” Dane said. He’d be happy to get them squirreled away somewhere they could rest and plan their next move without looking over their shoulder.
“I’ll be so happy to be able to take a shower. Where are we staying?”
“Not a hotel,” Dane told her. “Too many cameras. Joe got us a house.”
“What about Mum?”
“We’ll have him pick her up later after he drops us off. We can’t take you anywhere near that neighborhood. Not even with a ball cap and sunglasses.”
“Maybe I should consider cutting my hair—”
“Not on your life, girlie. I love that hair.”
She stopped and looked at him. He paused a few beats to let it all sink in.
All the trouble she was in, how much he loved her hair.
How much he loved her. He hugged her in when she sank forward into his arms, resting her head against the thud of his heart in his chest. Playing his hands through her lush hair, he held her, stroked her back, breathed deeply, taking in her special sweet scent, warming himself and her.
Joe asked Billy, “Any more reports on the news?”
“It’s bonkers. Dane and Shana are famous—or infamous now. Their faces are being plastered on the screen every ten minutes.”
“Put the news on the radio, Joe,” Dane said. He’d closed his eyes, enjoying the respite, but they needed to keep aware of their status.
After Joe fiddled with the radio a moment he found a station and it wasn’t long before a report about Dane and Shana came on. The newscaster described Dane as the sketchy fiancé of the once reputable detective of the New South Wales police force.
“George is now suspected of being the insider in the infamous police pension fund embezzlement, a three-year old case where the New South Wales police have still not recovered the money. It was thought to be hidden in foreign bank accounts. Police are hopeful that once they take Shana George into custody they will find the money, make the arrest, and put the true guilty party behind bars.”
“Shit.” Dane spoke under his breath as the newscaster went on.
“Billy George, the brother of Shana George, is being sought for questioning in the assault of a police officer at Muddy Mary’s last night. Dane Blaise, Shana George’s fiancé, is also being sought, wanted for arrest in the assault case.”
Joe flipped the radio off. “Double shit.”
“Man. I’m wanted.” Billy shook his head in disbelief. Dane knew the reality was sinking in for the young man, but he hoped he could still count on Billy to hold up under pressure.
*****
As Joe pulled into the garage, Shana let out a sigh of relief, anxiety somewhat eased by being back in Bondi Beach and being somewhere she could feel safe.
For the moment. They all went inside with Dane in the lead, checking out the house.
He and Joe were using their anti-surveillance detection devices as a precaution.
Shana shushed Billy, and he only needed one warning not to talk before he collapsed into a chair in a sullen quiet heap.
After going through the house Dane and Joe returned to the living room, where Shana paced in a circle.
“All clear,” Dane said.
Letting out a breath, she stopped pacing and said out loud what had been playing at the back of her mind since they’d listened to the last news report.
“Looks like they have that joker Chancy Peterson locked in as their so-called witness to attest to my guilt.”
Dane sat on the long low couch and waved her to join him.
Shana didn’t need to be prodded. She sunk down next to Dane and slung one leg over his lap.
While she settled in, aligning her body with his to feel as much of the hard-muscled body and heat of him, he toyed idly with the hem of her new sundress.
The comforting brush of his fingers along her thigh was lost in the red heat singeing her core at the accusations made against her, like a branding iron to her gut.
Blinding emotion stopped her brain from functioning.
Damn it, she needed to think, needed to find the chink in their plan, to create their own plan to get out of this.
“At least Mum should be safe with me as their proper target now,” she finally said.
They all watched as Joe turned on the giant television, tuning it to a news channel. It took no more than a few minutes until another report about her now notorious ass came on. Heaven only knew what was going through her mother’s mind.
This report showed a clip of Chancy Peterson being escorted to police headquarters.
“He does remind me of the Joker,” Dane said. He gave her a look meant to reassure her, the kind of look that would have melted a lesser woman, but she felt no more than a smile.
“You know we’ll get you out of this.” He squeezed her thigh and she felt a twinge of the heat, the comfort that he was offering. But she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she’d be safer to hang on to her anger.
“Hah. Says the assaulter of women, now on the run as a fugitive from the law.” She was being unfair. With her eyes, she pled guilty.
“Don’t worry, there were a lot of witnesses at the bar. Push comes to shove, I think Maggie Baker will tell the truth.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know. I have a feeling about her. She’s honest. Deep down. She wanted to tell me about the safe house. I gave her the excuse.”
“So you did manhandle her.”
“Not exactly. I told you. I took her outside.”
Shana took pity on Dane because he looked pained about it. He couldn’t even admit that he’d hauled her out by the arm , but she knew that’s how it must have been.
“I know you did whatever you did out of desperation to find me.” She bit her lip. There was no sense being squeamish about this, was there? The realization hit her about how she would have reacted. “If our positions were reversed, I’d have done the same thing. I’d have scared the woman silly.”
“Except if it was you scaring the woman, no one would have said jack shit about it.”
She was about to protest, but he had a point. It would have made a far less compelling case to post her picture all over the media as a cop marauder than Dane’s scary photo.
“Where did they dig up that old photo of you in fatigues and carrying an Uzi? It has to be a dozen years old.”
Dane shrugged. He wasn’t one to complain or rail uselessly at what was already done. But she couldn’t help being offended on his behalf at the unfair portrayal.
“Guess they couldn’t find the photo of me reading Dr. Seuss to the orphans.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled at his sarcasm, then did a double take, looking closely, squinting her eyes.
“You’re not kidding. You really did read Dr. Seuss to kids at an orphanage, didn’t you?” Her astonishment shouldn’t have outweighed her certainty that it was true, that it would be something he might do. That he would never have mentioned it until now.
“Don’t get all sappy. The book was How the Grinch Stole Christmas. A mean, badass book.”
She laughed and leaned into him, circling her arms around him, ready to feel his strong solid warmth, give him all her warmth, sooth his battered soul. The battering was relentless, even now.
“You poor, misunderstood man,” she whispered, half teasing.
After a beat, he wrapped one arm around her, pressing her hard against him. She felt the need in his gesture, the grateful appreciation. She knew he’d never admit to either. At least not in front of her brother or Joe.
Billy cleared his throat with theatrical style.
“We’re all in a shit-dump. Except Joe.”
“Guess it’s my job to be the face of this mob.” Joe smiled.
“Your first job is to go pick up Tillie. Make sure you’re not followed and bring her back here,” Dane said, letting go of Shana.
Blanching at the mention of her mother, who was still on her own, Shana felt her chest tighten with guilt.
“Surely she’s not still in danger?” Shana asked Dane.
His mind was straight, unlike her head, which was muddled with emotion.
Even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true, no matter how much she wanted them to be.
As long as they had Shana, her mother was of no use to them.
Now that Shana had escaped, her mother was a target again.
“You know she’s a pawn. They’ll still be watching her, figuring you’ll make contact at some point. I wouldn’t put anything past Chancy Peterson.” He looked at her. She met his clear eyes.
“I wouldn’t put it past the inside man, either. You know who he is, don’t you?”
She nodded. A lump of disillusionment in the form of her thudding heart filled her chest, cutting off her ability to speak, threatening to rise in bile and leap from her throat. She made herself say his name, made herself speak, forced the words from the tangle of emotion holding her back.
“It’s not Kevin Ivory.” She spoke quietly. Everyone in the room sat forward to listen to her, including Dane.
“It’s Wade Grisk. My old department supervisor.
The one who approved my promotion. The one who Kevin Ivory reports to.
He’s the only one it could be.” Saying her suspicions out loud, uttering the unthinkable betrayal, freed her.
She took in deep breaths of the clean sea air floating in through the open windows from the beach, the tropical scent so different than the mossy ocean air around Martha’s Vineyard.
The familiar scent of home satisfied her, fortified her.
She straightened, then stood and spread her feet.
Realizing she was striking a pose, but unable to stop the automatic stance, she put her fists on her hips.
She couldn’t stop who she was, couldn’t hide her need to avenge. Even if it did make her look ridiculous, it made her feel right. She would make that bloody man pay for his betrayal.
“All we need now is a plan,” she said. The smile on her face was far more sure than she had a right to be.
But when Dane stood and looked back at her with those simmering eyes, that pride, that adoration as if he wanted to bow at her feet then ravish her until she screamed his name, how could she feel anything but supremely confident, like a conqueror, an avenging angel?
“How do you know it ain’t Kevin himself behind it? He was the one who held you, that rat bastard.” Billy didn’t bother holding in his anger.
“Because he wasn’t high up enough in the chain of command to pull it off, to hide his trail,” Dane answered.
“That and the fact that he truly thought I knew where the money was.” She paced around, glancing out the floor-to- ceiling windows at the spectacular aqua ocean and glaring white sand of the beach.
“This place must have cost a fortune to rent,” she spoke absently.
“The governor said there was no ceiling to the budget. It’s coming out of his pocket,” Joe said. He stood. “I’m off now. Fairly certain I can lose a tail, but not certain I won’t get lost myself so it may take a while before I get back.”
“No worries,” Dane said walking Joe to the door. “You can go on a shopping excursion while you’re out. Get us a few things.”
Shana watched the calm in Dane, how there was no urgency in his voice, not a speck of panic, how he spoke with authority without being pushy—the pushiness he saved exclusively for her.
His voice was conversational as he told Joe to pick up supplies such as rope, plastic ties, wigs, makeup, chains, and various other sundry items that would be far from any normal shopping list of ordinary provisions.
He finally got to the food and she spoke up.
“Coffee. Get a box of Belaroma coffee. It’s what Mum always had in the house. I haven’t had it in years.” It would be the only small thing that would make this trip a homecoming of sorts—that and seeing her mother again at long last.