Chapter 12
Dane had never felt a sensation like the one that struck him like a bolt stronger than anything he’d experienced in his life, not even when he’d been tortured in his last Special Ops mission in Somalia.
It was as if someone had sliced through his gut straight to his spine and snapped the cord.
His knees buckled, his mind blanked, his heart froze mid-beat.
Elena.
The woman he’d loved, the woman who he’d thought betrayed him long ago, the woman who was supposed to be dead, stood in the Gables’ kitchen staring back at him, alive and well.
Acer stood at his side, held him up. Shana. Where was she? That was the first coherent thought Dane had when his short-circuited brain cells started working again. He heard his breathing in the heavy silence, his chest rising and falling hard, his heart beating loud.
“Elena.” His voice was tight, but gave away little of the sickening turmoil and shock waves running through him, even as he regulated his breathing, willed his heart to calm.
“Dane.” He heard her voice, no dream, no ghost-whisper.
She came to him, to embrace him. He let her step into his arms, almost needed to touch her, feel her, to verify that she was real. She was shorter than Shana, fleshier, her dark wavy hair shorter than he’d remembered. But her deep brown eyes were the same.
He put his arms around her as soon as he felt that first electric shock of her body touching his, as her arms wrapped up around his neck and she tucked her face into his shoulder. He felt her sob, her words flowing over and through him like impossible ashes sparking back to life.
“Dane . . . I never thought I’d see you again . . . you have no idea how much . . . how long . . . how hard it was . . .” She trailed off and all that was left were her tears.
Taking her head in his hands, his movements were automatic, natural, second-nature, like pre-ordained déjà vu moments, like he’d done before, like he’d always do. As if she were still his love. A frisson of danger went through him and he looked up. Saw Peter.
Peter was looking over his shoulder, his face a storm of concern and Dane knew.
Shana.
The foreboding in Shana’s bones had nothing to do with the aches and pains of her recent wound, she knew it.
But she couldn’t stop herself from throwing on her clothes to go after Dane, to find out what made Acer knock on their door, knowing he never would unless it was something terrible.
Or something momentous and big. Pulling the door closed behind her, she ran down the hall and then took the stairs two at a time.
With her heart pounding, she forced herself to calm, to slow when she reached the bottom step and turned into the hall leading to the Gables’ kitchen, the new headquarters for what was left of the shambles of Beachcomber Investigations.
Walking toward the kitchen, she saw Acer’s back and Dane beyond him.
Beyond that were all the others in their crew, she imagined.
Her heart pounded. It must have been the deadly quiet that caused the trepidation pulsing through her like repeated high voltage jolts, testing her resolve to move forward with each step.
In spite of the singing alarm, she went, didn’t stop, not when Acer reached for her arm, murmuring something she didn’t hear, not even when she met Peter’s disturbed eyes over Dane’s shoulder.
Not until she saw the arms of another woman around Dane’s neck and knew instantly who it was, no matter how impossible it seemed.
A silent scream streaked through her, shredding her heart.
Dane spun around. Shana met the unmistakable eyes of Elena, Dane’s first love, and then the world turned black.
Everyone reached for Shana as she dropped, but Dane caught her first. Not because he was the fastest, but because he was the most desperate to hold her, to save her, to make her understand. Because he knew what made her collapse. He knew she’d seen Elena in his arms.
And there was nothing that he’d ever been sorrier about in his life than allowing that, than allowing himself to get lost in his past, to forget where he was, who he was, and who mattered to him right now. Shana mattered most and she would for the rest of his life.
“Shana.” He whispered as he carried her to the family room couch and everyone in the room buzzed to life around him.
Laura Gable brought a cold cloth. Peter was at his side.
Acer had his back. He laid her down and sat on the edge next to her, stroking her face, and checking the site of her wound, gently touching, checking for fresh blood and tenderness.
When her eyes fluttered open he lowered his head so that she saw only him.
“You’re all right.” He brushed his lips against hers as she struggled to sit up.
“Dane, who—” Her eyes darted around the room. He tried pressing her back down, but the only way to stop her was to overpower her and he wasn’t about to do that. She was strong enough to struggle and any struggle would hurt her.
“It’s okay.” He held her, wrapping his arms around her to get her attention, to give himself a chance to explain.
Peter said, “Let’s give him some space.”
Dane met Joe’s eyes. He stood in the kitchen with Elena, held onto her arm, with a strong grip.
Joe gave him a nod. Dane knew that meant Joe had briefed Elena on Shana, likely their impending wedding.
That would make it easier. Or it should.
The reality seemed messier as Dane’s gaze slid over his old love, saw the lost look in her eyes, all the regret.
Felt the regret roll through his gut as real as the intoxicating scent of the woman in his arms now.
Confusion wasn’t something Dane was used to.
Didn’t remember the last time he’d felt it.
He lived in a crystal-clear world where survival was paramount, right and wrong quickly assessed, and hard cold reality ruled.
Emotions never played a role in his decisions—or hadn’t until he’d met Shana.
And when they did, there was no confusion about it.
Now he felt like he was drowning in a gray fog, nothing but haze clouding his vision. He had no idea which way was up, what he was supposed to be feeling. It felt as if someone had taken away his rule book to life and he was playing blind.
“Dane . . . is . . . was that Elena?” She pushed away from him as she whispered, staring into his eyes, seeing the cloud of confusion there. He breathed in deep, sucking in her scent, holding onto her tight, feeling her flesh as if she were his touchstone.
Maybe she was his touchstone the one sure thing in his life, the certainty, the place, the person he needed to focus on, to not lose sight of.
He nodded. “Yes.” She held his eyes, he held onto her, feeling more grounded with every beat of his heart. He took another deep breath. “I was as shocked as you to see . . . to find that she’s still alive.”
Shana smiled then, and it was as if she was the sun burning off the fog because everything became crystal clear again, the confusion lifting from his soul, understanding and feelings swirling together, uncertainty washing away.
“Joe brought her here. I don’t know anything else.” He smiled back, swiped a small tear from the corner of her eye. She leaned her forehead against his.
“I feel like such a ridiculous girl. Fainting, of all things.”
He grinned, as he watched her flush a pretty pink, felt her squirm in his arms.
“You always were, girlie. Let’s go find out what brought Elena back from the dead. Should be a hell of a story.”
She nodded and as he rose from the couch, lifting her with him.
She clung to him as if she were still weak.
Ignoring the frisson of concern for the moment, promising himself he’d talk to her later, cross-examine her if he had to, to get the real story on her health, he walked them back into the subdued kitchen.
Peter, Acer, and Elena sat at the table. Joe stood. The Gables were gone.
Elena half stood as Dane sat Shana down in a chair across from her. He stood behind Shana, staring down at Elena.
“I’m so sorry. I shocked you—”
“Where the hell have you been, Elena? And what the hell are you doing here now?” Dane didn’t mean for his voice to sound harsh, but if there was a line in the sand, then he and Shana were on the opposite side of it from Elena.
He flashed an accusing look at Joe. The man, of course, didn’t flinch.
Peter said, “Elena was just telling us the story.” He nodded at her to continue.
“Back then, in Chicago, during that last undercover operation, only one person from the department knew the full extent of how deep I was, knew it was going to be hard to get me out after the arrest. They decided it would be easiest, best if I went into witness protection. It turned out they didn’t need my testimony since everyone they wanted to prosecute was killed in the ambush.
That’s when it was decided to fake my death too. ”
Her words stabbed at old wounds on so many levels, that he was not one of the ones who knew, that she’d had secrets from him, his department had secrets from him, that he’d been the one to make sure those bastards they were after were dead.
And the most painful twist was that the deaths of those bastards led to Elena’s worst, darkest secret of all—her so-called death and rebirth in witness protection working for the US Marshal’s Office. Damn.
“Whose decision, Elena? Who was calling the shots in Chicago?” Dane asked the question, knowing the answer.
“The chief was in on it. Only two people from Chicago knew and they were sworn to secrecy—especially sworn to keep it from you.”
“Who was the second person?” Dane asked. The sting of her words bounced off him now, had no more power. His granite shield was up in full force. For the moment. Shana covered his hand with hers where he rested it on her shoulder.
“FBI.”