Chapter 3
It was the last thing Shana wanted to talk about, but she had to acknowledge that she’d canceled the church.
After a pause, Dane reached across the table and covered her hand with his own, reaching her with his intense stare and grabbing hold of her heart.
She could stand a lot of things, but him comforting her when he was facing a murder trial was too much.
Blinking away the searing tears that threatened, she pulled her hand from under his, took it in hers, and squeezed it lightly.
“Not sure when the wedding will be,” she finally said.
“We won’t wait one day more than we need to,” Dane said. “It’ll be the day after I’m acquitted.”
She smiled at him. For anyone else it would have been bravado, but not Dane. She knew he was as certain as he sounded that he would be acquitted. And that they would get married the next day.
“So far,” Shana said, “the only sure thing is that we’ll be eating pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sassy—die-hard optimist that she is—made up fifty pies for the occasion.”
“I’m up for Sassy’s pie,” Acer said.
“Where are you all staying?” Shana asked. Mad shrugged and Peter said his staff had arranged a hotel.
Acer said, “I’ll be staying in your trailer.”
Joe snorted and shook his head. “You’ll be on the beach in a tent.”
“Not in our trailer.” Dane aimed a look at Acer meant to intimidate, but he should have known better when he was met with a satisfied grin.
“I have a better plan.” Shana pulled out her phone, giving Dane a smidgeon of trepidation. “I’m calling the Gables. We can all stay there and make it our headquarters.” She slid her gaze past Dane then stared into her drink as she made the call. Dane studied her, but didn’t object.
He should have. There’d been a reason they weren’t staying with any of the friends who’d offered to put them up this last month while their new beach shack was under construction. Privacy.
And the possibility of danger. Always that.
Though in truth, he knew the Gables would be thrilled, especially if there was an element of danger involved.
They were Dane and Shana’s biggest fans on the island, getting off on their close calls and dangerous lifestyle.
They also happened to be the wealthy owners of a fabulously large oceanfront estate that they’d fashioned after the imaginary home of The Great Gatsby.
They’d insisted, so Shana had agreed to let the Gables host their wedding reception.
What were a few overnight guests for an undetermined amount of time to them?
Dane ought to, but he felt not even a shimmer of shame about leaning on them for the favor.
It would be a few more favors down the road before they were even getting close to what Dane and Shana had done for them.
Dane didn’t relish having groupies underfoot—because that’s what the Gables essentially were—but since Shana was set on the plan and he was in the anything-for-Shana frame of mind, especially since she’d been injured more seriously than he liked to contemplate, it looked like the Gables’ mansion would be the new temporary headquarters of Beachcomber Investigations.
Peter said, “If you think it’s a good idea.” He was talking to Dane.
Dane nodded.
“I know that place,” Acer said. “Big and posh. Not as good a view as I have back on the Amalfi coast, but nice.”
When Shana got off the phone, she smiled. Whatever else Dane had been thinking, whatever reservations he’d had, shot from his head and he experienced one of those buoyant moments that made life glorious. He took it in with a deep breath as he captured her eyes and held on.
“Thank you for making the arrangements, Shana,” Madeline said. “The Gables must be good friends.”
Dane said nothing and neither did Shana.
Neither of them wanted to explain that the Gables had been clients and then admirers ever since they’d hired Dane and Shana to do a job a couple of years ago.
Peter cleared his throat. Dane knew that gesture.
It was nerves, and for a man who’d taught him the meaning of cool under pressure, it surprised Dane.
Flashing a look at Madeline, he instantly understood.
Peter didn’t want her around. He hadn’t seemed comfortable talking about the threat in front of her in the first place.
“About that.” Peter turned to his wife. “I think it would be a better idea if you stayed with the kids.”
Hesitating before speaking, Madeline said, “I know. But I don’t want to desert you. I wouldn’t forgive myself if . . . anything happened.”
“Understood. And I would never forgive myself if anything happened to the mother of my children.”
Madeline gave a small defeated smile and nodded at Peter’s blatant use of the mother card. The quick and calm negotiation fascinated Dane.
“Acer, give me your phone,” Peter said. Acer handed it over without question, as if Peter were still in charge and they were all still a special ops team. In too many ways they still were and Peter would always be in charge, though not on the ground. This suited Dane fine. Always had.
Peter pressed in a number and spoke to his in-laws, who had Peter and Madeline’s children in the Berkshires. He made arrangements for them to take their RV and meet Madeline on the road. Peter ended the call.
“Joe, you escort Madeline,” he ordered. “You’ll need to leave right away to make the next ferry off the island.”
Dane found it odd that Peter had memorized the ferry schedule. He must have been planning to send her away all along. Which meant he knew more about the threat than he’d said. And that he had a plan.
Madeline opened her mouth, looked around the table, and closed her eyes. She threw her arms around her husband and kissed him. Peter held onto her while everyone watched them say goodbye for a few uncomfortable beats.
Dane slid his eyes to Shana and caught her gaze, her face confessing the raw emotions.
He wanted to reach out to her, but Peter stood and, with an arm around his wife, walked her to the door.
Joe was right behind them. They stopped before Madeline went outside and Dane found himself watching their last embrace, a disturbance rising in him, affecting him.
He had no idea why he allowed the distraction, how he could allow the vulnerability now when he ought to be in full professional mode.
You’re getting alarmingly soft.
But why now, when so much was at stake? Sure, he was envious of what Peter and Madeline had, that they’d made their relationship work in spite of a million complications and odds stacked against them.
But there was more. How had Peter let go of his fear?
How could he seem so calm and commanding, enough to send his wife away, enough so that she went? That was what gave Dane the most pause.
It wasn’t surprising that Madeline left her husband to the care of others.
Unlike Shana, she was not law enforcement or military or anything that gave her skills to protect, even if she had the inclination.
She was the mother of their children, and there was no question that she would stay away from the danger for their sakes.
Heart thudding with the emotional truth, Dane would give anything if he could get Shana to quit and leave the danger to him.
But that was never going to happen. Because she was just like him.
Going with his instincts, refusing to think of the million reasons why he needed to keep professional distance, he got up and took the vacant seat next to Shana before Peter returned to the table.
Acer eyed him without comment. His friend knew better.
Hell, now that Acer was in a fully committed relationship himself, he probably understood, even approved of Dane’s move.
Peter sat back down, swept his gaze around the table, then spoke in a confidential voice. His operations mode voice.
“I know who the assassin is. She’s a professional. Part of a husband and wife duo. She’d petitioned for the release of her husband after we’d finally convicted him on conspiracy to commit murder—best we could do. It was a big operation with the FBI and Justice Department.”
“Don’t tell me—Bonnie tried to get Clyde sprung and you said no.
” Dane remembered reading about it. Bonnie and Clyde were notorious enough in assassin-for-hire circles—a place where he’d operated regularly a few years back—before Shana.
But in spite of his lack of recent activity in that world, he still had contacts, still knew people and tried to keep tabs. For self-preservation.
Peter nodded. “You may have heard of them. Natalia Stravana and her husband Benito?”
Dane nodded. Shana stiffened next to him.
He slid a hand to her knee and squeezed.
Best he could do for the moment, while they were in public—not that he had anything against public displays of affection—but that would only distract him further, make him want to be somewhere else where he could satisfy his need for her.
Would he ever get over wanting her the way he did?
He hoped the hell not.
Peter continued. “You’re right. Natalia Stravana petitioned for her husband’s release after he’d testified, assuming we owed him some debt of gratitude. I denied the pardon. The feds were okay with that. Some threats were made at the time, but nothing serious. That was a year ago.”
“So why the threat now?” Shana asked.
“Benito attempted escape a few months ago. We’re fairly certain his wife played a part, but to his credit and our chagrin, he wouldn’t rat on her.
Not even in exchange for a shorter sentence.
He didn’t want her to do prison time. We decided to up the pressure and ship him to the federal penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas.
That’s when she became more than disgruntled.
We had words and she made a verbal threat. ”
“Doesn’t sound smart.” Shana said what Dane was thinking.