Chapter 4
“You going to just let her go?”
“What’s it to you? You want her? Go for it.” Dane felt a stab saying the words, but it was weak and listless, a dim memory of what would have been a month ago. Not enough to count.
Cap scowled at him—a rare sight.
“You know it would be a cold day in hell before I ever went after Shana. She’s yours. Forever, as far as I’m concerned.”
Dane shrugged. Felt a small smile that didn’t reach his face.
“Too bad. It’s a waste.”
“Quit the stupid talk. Where’s your pride, man?”
“I can’t afford to have pride. Costs way too much.”
Dane turned to look down the hall toward his bedroom door. It was dark and silent. Cap stood like he wasn’t going anywhere, folding his arms across the red and green argyle sweater. It would be Christmas tomorrow.
Dane mumbled as he turned back to his living room office and strode with more energy than he remembered having to his desk.
“Damn hell of a time to be running out—on Christmas Eve in the middle of a snowstorm.” He didn’t care if Cap was listening to him. He was mostly talking to himself.
Dane flipped some switches on his weather station and took a long hard look. The barometer was sinking and the pressure looked ominously low. “Shit.” He said that loud enough to catch Cap’s notice.
“What the hell are you doing in here? Have another drink with me—no hot chocolate this time,” Cap said as he walked into the room.
Dane took the shot glass and Cap filled it from a surprise bottle of Patron.
They lifted their glasses and Cap said, “Merry Christmas, old friend.”
Dane downed his drink. He knew Cap hadn’t meant to be ironic, but there was nothing merry about it. Especially not now.
Cap finished his drink and walked back to the kitchen with the bottle. “What’s the weather report?”
“I’m checking with NOAA online right now, but I don’t like the way the barometer is reading.”
“Since when did you become a weatherman?” Cap pulled out a chair and sat beside Dane as he clicked through a few screens to drill down to the local details on the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration site. He ignored Cap’s attempt at good-natured banter.
“Shana would kill you if she knew you brought me Patron,” he said.
“I know. But I know you can handle it. You’re not the type to keep on feeling sorry for yourself. Won’t kill yourself with drink. You’re more likely to kill yourself in a suicide mission.”
Dane stopped tapping the keyboard and looked at Cap. He was right.
“Aren’t we all,” Dane said.
“All” was a reference to their special ops team back in the day. None of them had stayed in the service, but most of them stayed in the game of protecting the weak and standing up to the bad and sacrificing themselves for justice.
“Used to be true,” Cap said. He put his glass down. Twirled it on the table. “Not so much anymore.”
“You wistful or relieved?” Dane didn’t know why he cared. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the question was for him. He’d lost his centering ever since he’d partnered with Shana, ever since they became private investigators. He didn’t even say the words out loud.
“I’m good with where I am.” Cap gave him that look that said Dane was the one with the problem, not him.
Dane scoffed. Eyed the bottle of tequila. Then tossed his glass in the sink. The glass rattled against the metal of the sink. Then the wind rattled at the windows and they both looked up.
“Shit.”
“Saved by the storm,” Cap said.
“I’m calling Vendi.” Dane picked up the secure house phone from its old-fashioned cradle and put it to his ear.
“Damn.” He couldn’t pretend to be surprised that there was no dial tone.
He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his coast guard captain friend.
The call wouldn’t go through. Either their line was overloaded or there was a problem with the cell tower.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we’ll need find out in person if they’re letting the ferry go out in this.”
“Let’s go pick them up. They’re probably stranded down at the port now, cold and too proud to turn around and come back here,” Cap said. “Unless you’re too proud—”
“Of course I’m too proud.” He shrugged, admitting to feeling repelled right now at the thought of going out, of going after Shana. He needed to let her go. But he didn’t need to let her drown in a storm.
“Well? You coming?”
“I’ll go for the ride since I’ll never get any sleep around here with the storm blowing, and I’m not fit for anything else.
” Dane grabbed his coat from the door—a serviceable all weather Carhartt with a tear in the elbow and dirt streaking it like a badge of honor.
It was only a year old, but dearly worn.
Shana had given it to him last Christmas.
Cap took his wool dress coat from the hook and the warm-looking plaid scarf that matched.
“Some Christmas Eve,” Cap said and clapped him on the back. Dane felt a pinch of regret. Cap was a good man, had been a good friend. Deserved a better friend than Dane had been.
“I’ve had worse.”
Dane shoved open the back door against the wind.
They’d both had worse. The kind of Christmas Eves that made them forget the fact that there was such a thing as Christmas.
Notions of Santa Claus bringing gifts to children, decorated trees, and lights around town might as well have come from an alien existence, a fantasy on those Christmases. On this Christmas.
They paused against the wind, Dane hunched against the now driving snow, and got into Cap’s truck. Dane was glad Cap had brought the truck and not the state police car for this weather.
Inside the cab, Cap said, “What did that weather report say? This a squall? When is it going to let up?”
Dane shook his head. “According to the weather report, this ain’t happening at all. It’s out at sea. And it’s not a squall. It’s a fierce storm and it was due to hit tomorrow—then slow down some when it hit land.”
Cap gave him a look like he was trying to figure out if Dane was for real.
“The report was off. They miscalculated or Mother Nature took a turn.” He gave Cap a hard look. “Get us down to the ferry terminal.” He felt his pulse tick up a notch, thoughts on the edge of his mind creeping in about Shana and the old padre heading out in a boat.
Cap put the truck in gear.
Dane didn’t like not being the one behind the wheel. He fiddled with the radio and found only static.
Cap said, “The coast guard would never let them go out if the weather was bad at sea.” He pulled into the street and proceeded at a crawl. There were no cars on the road. Hardly any traffic on a clear day this time of year on the seasonal vacation island that was Martha’s Vineyard.
“You’re driving like your grandma. This is a truck built for the damn snow, man. Pick it up.”
Cap raised a brow, gave him an evil grin, and stomped on the gas. “You got it, Mr. Death Wish.”
For the second time that day, Dane’s pulse blipped to a lively pace.
Cap pulled up along the curb of the deserted street outside the Steamship Authority. The snow was piling up.
“You go inside and talk to them. Find out if the ferry is running. I’ll wait here.”
“Ah. So there’s the pride. Fine. I’ll check on them. You sit tight. On your ass.”
“You calling me an ass, Cap?” He shouldn’t push the point. He was an ass. He didn’t really have a problem with Cap calling him out on it, did he? He took a deep breath.
Cap didn’t bother answering him. He slammed the door closed.
It didn’t take him long to return with a shake of his head and a swirl of snow.
“The boat is gone.”
“Shit.”
“What now?” Cap said.
“Head to the Coast Guard station. I want to talk to Vendi.”
Station Vineyard Haven had to be one of the smallest US Coast Guard stations in the country. Or at least Dane hoped so as he pushed open the door. Cap followed him inside.
“You don’t believe in security much in this joint, do you?
” Dane waved the man to sit back down as he breezed through the outer office and into the open door of the inner command center where he knew his friend and sometimes co-conspirator, Tony Vendi, would likely be.
He shouldn’t be there as the Officer in Charge—or O in C as he called it—some junior officer ought to be. But Dane knew his man better than that.
Vendi spun around and he didn’t greet Dane with the usual smile, not even the equally usual scowl. The look that greeted Dane was perplexed.
Not good.
“What the hell do you want?” Chief Petty Officer Anthony Vendi—according to the nameplate on his desk—turned back to his monitor.
“Merry Christmas,” Cap said.
Vendi sighed and turned back to them. “What is it? When you two show up, one thing I’m certain of is that it’s not a social call—not even on Christmas Eve.”
“How bad’s the storm? Is it safe for the ferry?”
Vendi nodded. “Governor is one of the most implacable ferries ever built. Old and sturdy.”
Dane nodded and made his way over to the desk and bank of monitors and gadgets and the windows above lining the wall facing the sea. The office reminded him of the bridge of a boat. Apt.
“Do I have to play twenty questions or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Shana is on the ferry,” Cap said.
Vendi nodded. “She picked a fine time to leave. Christmas Eve in the middle of a snow squall. What the hell did you do, Blaise?”
“You sure this is a squall and not a blizzard?” Dane ignored his question. Vendi was less reticent about asking personal questions than Cap, but Dane’s impervious wall of granite was up and bouncing all inquiries.
“You’re a piece of work.” Vendi gave him a look like he was deciding whether he was going to take pity or torture him. Dane continued to behave like a piece of granite. He felt like one too. For only a moment. Then he felt the instability rumbling deep inside him.
“No—I’m not sure it’s a squall. That’s what the NOAA reports say. They’re saying the seas will calm within ten minutes.”
“But?”
“But my thirty-footer on patrol says otherwise.”
The three men stood in silence. Dane had no idea what the others were thinking. But he used all the strength in him to keep from exploding into action, racing to the Steamship Authority and stealing a boat to chase the ferry and drag Shana from it.
Maybe Vendi read his mind. He said, “Either way, the ferry is okay to go. They head northeast for a short stretch and then the route turns west into easier waters. They’ll catch some waves and wind at the elbow of the route, but nothing the ferry can’t handle.
The passengers will need to stay inside and there might be a few getting queasy.
We put out a small craft warning, but that’s it. ”
Dane nodded. He had a bad feeling about this.
Cap said, “Thanks.”
“If anything changes—if we need to close the ports—I’ll let you know.”
Dane looked at his watch. “The ferry is already out.”