But that had been before he knew Shana, before they’d become partners, and before they’d declared their undying love and planned marriage. If he’d thought that last part—the commitment of marriage—might put a damper on the romance, he would have been wrong. But of course, he’d never given any of it a thought. Because he’d never thought it possible.
Shana was flat-out a miracle worker.
They reached the Jeep and he drove them back to the beach shack. He wondered how many Secret Service agents were on island by now. He’d spotted their tail down the street from the Gables’ estate. He’d been right to assume they were under constant surveillance and wondered if they were being monitored by the NSA.
As he brought the Jeep to a stop in the beach shack’s crushed-shell drive behind the nondescript sedan, he put a lid on everything except concentrating on getting a grip on this assignment.
He needed to get some intel from a couple of very secretive guys.
When Dane got out of the Jeep and approached the back door to his beach shack, he heard someone talking in his backyard. Shit.
He waved Shana to stay back—uselessly—and went to the corner of the house, hugging the wall, to take a look.
The two Secret Service men—wearing Bermuda shorts, pineapple shirts, and flip-flops—were set up on lounge chairs. The only nod to their federal agent status was the sunglasses and the laptop computers. Andrews turned and lifted his shades. He didn’t smile, instead telegraphed a warning that a donkey could read. It screamed dire consequences if there was any jocular commentary on their attire.
To Dane, such a warning look translated into a challenge, the kind he never backed away from. After careful consideration that took less than a blink, he decided this time was no different as he walked toward the two agents.
“The set of Magnum, P.I. is about five thousand miles west of here, but I think they discontinued the show a couple decades ago. You two need to update your wardrobe if you want to fit in on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Shut the f—” Goodley didn’t finish his sentiment before his senior partner cut him off.
“Blaise, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing or who the hell Sassy is—”
“She’s our house guest. She rented out her apartment to make money and had nowhere else to go. Everything on the island is booked.” He stepped closer to the two men, to where Andrews stood and matched the man’s irate scowl. “She is staying with us.”
Shana came up beside him and said, “And she’s staying in the guest room.”
“How is that going to work?” Andrews didn’t sound like he’d taken Shana seriously.
“You two can stay on cots in the living room. It’s the accommodations you deserve, after barging in uninvited. This isn’t like in your civil war when soldiers could conscript a person’s home and do—”
Shana would have gone on, but Andrews had apparently heard enough, because he said, “Enough.”
Dane put up a hand. “Bottom line, it’s a condition of our cooperation. Sassy stays or you two go.” He didn’t bring up the fact that Ronnie Ryan would be staying too. This wasn’t the time for that detail.
“We’ll see about that,” Goodley said. “We’ll bump it up to our superiors and see what they have to say about it.”
“In the meantime,” Andrews said, “we’re not going to be relegated to doing top secret government work outside because you have a houseguest. We don’t trust you, let alone your guest.”
Andrews seemed to be ending the argument in a truce of sorts for the moment. But Dane was slightly worried that their superiors might have Sassy thrown out, and then either he or Shana would need to stay with them at the shack at all times. Ronnie hadn’t arrived yet and when he did, it might incite another round of discontent from the agents.
The hell with it.
By the time the agents ran it up the chain of command and received instructions on what to do about the house guest, he figured they would have at least twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours to work on finding out what they weren’t being told.
“So you admit it,” Dane said.
“We need to be able to work without worrying that some so-called houseguest is spying on us.”
Dane shrugged. “You can find out exactly who Sassy is if you don’t already know. You can work on the dining room table. She won’t bother you. I’ll even let you put up a curtain to close yourself in if you need privacy.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not being funny, Andrews, because the truth is, we don’t trust you either. And I’m not having you and Goodley left alone in my home unattended.” Dane figured the truth was as good as anything to tell him. It wasn’t as if Andrews wasn’t going to figure it out on his own.
“What do you have to hide?” Goodley asked the sophomoric question.
“The family jewels. Government secrets. The atomic bomb hidden in my basement. What the hell does it matter? I don’t owe you carte blanche to my life and home. As it is, you’re asking us to go into an assignment half blind.”
“You know exactly what you need to know.” Andrews had calmed down, but he stared back unflinching at Dane. He felt Shana move closer and step slightly forward, as if ready to pounce on anyone if they made a move. Or that could have been Dane’s imagination.
“Sure. Glad we got that settled. Sassy stays and Shana and I do your dirty work.”
He turned and Shana walked with him back toward the house, but he stopped after a couple of steps and turned back to the two Magnum, P.I. impostors.
“You really won’t fit in around here dressed like that. People will stare, possibly laugh at you.”
“What do you know about fitting in?” Andrews looked him up and down with one of those snide expressions that said he was up to the challenge.
Dane didn’t have to look down at his own clothing to know what Andrews saw. The tan cargo shorts with a short-sleeved white linen shirt and mud-colored hiking sneakers might not look right to Andrews, but the attire covered the bases. Casual, classy and practical.
They both looked at Shana who came up from behind to stand next to him. She could wear whatever the hell she wanted, of course, and always fit in because she set the standard for gorgeous no matter where she went. That was Dane’s thinking, but it looked like Agents Andrews and Goodley might agree with him. Andrews sat back down.
“Dane’s right,” she said. “The look on Martha’s Vineyard is more conservative than what you’re wearing. You’ll stand out. But if that’s what you’re going for.” Shana flipped her hand in a dismissive gesture and walked away as if she were bored with them. Dane watched her go into the house.
“Damn it.” Andrews tapped something into his keyboard.
“What are you doing?” Goodley sounded angry, but then, that was how he normally sounded. The chip on the chippy agent’s shoulder must be getting heavier by the minute.
“I’m ordering us some new clothes. They’ll get here by tomorrow.”
“Don’t listen to—”
“Goddamn it, Thaddeus. This is exactly the kind of stuff we’ve been told to listen to.” Andrews shut down his laptop and stood. “Let’s go inside. We need to talk to you about your assignment.”
“Oh?”
“You and your partner. The assignment you agreed to when you agreed to cooperate.”
They all walked to the back door.
“You mean the one where the Secret Service was going to use us?” Dane let Andrews and Goodley go inside first.
Dane asked Sassy to go down to the basement to allow them privacy for the moment. There was some space Shana had set up as a lounge with a television, books and even refreshments if she didn’t mind stale potato chips.
“You sure she can’t hear us from down there?” Goodley stood with his hands poised on his hips, one of them noticeably close to his holstered gun.
“Cut the crap, Goodley. You’ve already run the place over for listening devices and she doesn’t have supers
onic hearing,” Dane said.
“Let’s get on with this, gentlemen,” Shana said waving an arm toward the dining table a short distance from where they stood in the hall near the basement door.
No way Dane wanted them going downstairs to have a close look around.
“I can’t wait to find out how you plan to use Shana and me.” He moved forward, herding them toward the dining room where they’d stacked some documents.” I certainly hope it doesn’t involve life-threatening danger.” Dane flicked his eyes in Shana’s direction.
She’d changed her clothes when she’d gone inside ahead of them, from her business suit into a floral sundress and strappy flat sandals. He was sure no one would object to her Hawaiian outfit. She made a nice distraction.
Shana compressed her lips in that way she had when she was trying not to smile.
“Have a seat.” Andrews gestured toward the dining room table.
Dane went still. He’d intended to take a seat, but it was the way the man said it, as if this were his home and he were playing host. No way was this guy, federal agent or not, playing host.
“If I wanted to sit, I would. It’s my home. I’ll stand. Say what you need to say.”
Andrews gave him a measured stare while his junior partner snorted. Dane didn’t pay any attention to him and the four of them stood leaning on walls or the counter dividing the dining room from the kitchen, except Dane, who leaned against the refrigerator with his arms folded.
“I printed out the itinerary for you. You’ll need to attend every one of the President’s public events where he’s away from his vacation home, as well as the dinners and cocktail parties he’s hosting at the house. There are maps and blueprints to the house where the President is staying. Your assignment will be to look for a couple who doesn’t fit into the crowds wherever the President may be.”
“A couple?”
“Yes. We have intel that says we’re looking at a couple—man and woman—likely posing as tourists.”
Dane nodded at Shana. She held her face blank, and the only sign of her triumph was the barely perceptible lift of her chin.
“You’ll start with the President’s arrival on Air Force One tomorrow.”
“What do you expect to accomplish?” Dane knew Andrews was holding back. It was in the man’s posture. His question got the usual hostility from Goodley, but Andrews remained passive.
“Your observations. Let us know if you see someone who could be—”
“What?”
“Assassins. Or lookouts for the assassins.”
“Don’t you have a whole boatload of Secret Service Agents trained to do exactly what you’re telling us to do?”
“Sure, but you two fit in. You can chat people up. If we see someone we’re interested in—you talk to them without tipping them off.”
Dane nodded. He knew it was bullshit. They were being set up. But whatever they were being set up for he still had to think about. Except that he knew it was something dangerous, something they were afraid to tell him about. Or maybe it was something Andrews or his bosses at the Secret Service weren’t telling Homeland Security about, even though it was Homeland Security who was watching the terrorist cell.
Whatever it was, something was afoot and Dane was damned well going to figure it out. Either from Acer’s probing of Internet sources or from pure inference and puzzle-solving.
He and Shana studied the itinerary that was given to them and answered questions about each of the locations—giving the unofficial backgrounds on people they knew. Before the afternoon was over, Dane assessed Andrews to be satisfied that he and Shana were cooperating to their very fullest.
It was time for them to meet with the Acer up their sleeve. There was no way in hell either of them were going along with this game any further without knowing full well what they were getting into.
The Secret Service was about to get out-maneuvered.
Chapter 6
It was six p.m. and the sky was still bright when Dane emerged freshly shaved from the bathroom—the only one in the small house—to find Andrews and Goodley still hard at work, sitting at the dining table in front of their laptops tapping away.
Sassy was in the guest room, but Dane had reminded her that when he and Shana left, her assignment was to stick with the two agents and not let them out of her sight while they were in the house.
Andrews took his attention from his keyboard and stood. Dane noticed that the process of straightening was not fluid or quick. The agent couldn’t be ten years older than him. Dane didn’t appreciate the insight that getting up from a chair as if he were the squeaky Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz might be in his near future.
“Let’s talk first. I know you don’t like this, or us.” Andrews spread his arm to encompass Goodley. The younger man grunted and scowled at the screen, but didn’t take his attention away from it.
“So?”
“We’re relying on you.”
Andrews let that sit without explanation. Dane read his mind, or tried to. He could outwait the man, but they were scheduled to meet Acer. Shana sauntered from the hall and met him, looping her arm through his. She smelled like an impossible combination of angel and devil, or it could have been his wishful thinking. The effect would have been dizzying if he hadn’t had his guard up.
Dane noticed that Andrews’s guard hadn’t been up if the sudden dilation of his pupils was any indication. She was dressed to kill—someone—way past the dress code for the Lucky Parrot. Her slinky black dress with the missing back and short hemline was one of his favorites.
“Get to the point, Andrews. And quit eying my wife—”
“You’re married?”
Dane heard Andrews’s disbelief and felt rather than saw the singe from Shana’s shock. His blood heated but he kept his cool. He’d never been such an idiot before.
“Not yet.” Shana moved in closer. “You’re jumping the gun, darling.” She sounded part cat, part woman the way she purred, like she was channeling some siren from a sixties cold war spy movie. He’d have to start monitoring what she watched on late-night TV.
More importantly, he needed to monitor himself and get back to that detached professional persona that kept him alive all these years.
“Get to the point,” Dane repeated without taking his eyes off Andrews. He remained undistracted on the outside, managing to prevent himself from staring at his almost-wife. Later he’d analyze why he’d needed to prematurely claim Shana as his wife. Or more likely she’d analyze the hell out of the episode for him. For now, he could tell she enjoyed it, could feel the vibration of energy sizzling off her.
“The point is,” Andrews said, his lips hardly moving as if he were a ventriloquist—an angry ventriloquist. “That if you want to go out, you need to be in touch at all times and say nothing to anyone. That includes Captain Lynch, the Gables, and any other friends you might have.”
“Might have? We have plenty of friends,” Dane said. Purposely missing the point, he refused to react to the crack about the Gables. Dane had known they’d been followed.
“Don’t be a wiseass. We’ll be watching you. Because as I’ve said, we don’t trust you. Maybe you should keep that in mind.” Andrews went back to his laptop at the dining table.
Dane knew when he’d said “watching” he’d also meant “listening,” but couldn’t say it because strictly speaking it would be against the law in Massachusetts to listen to someone covertly without their permission.
They’d managed to evade the listening devices out on the Gables’ yacht, but that was no long-term solution to the private communications problem they were developing. Dane hoped Acer had the problem under control in the basement of the Lucky Parrot. His assignment had been to construct a surveillance-proof space, an NSA-spy-free zone where they could meet and talk, using it as a base of their own counter-surveillance operations.
Acer had been game. When wasn’t he? If his old special ops team member thought Dane was paranoid out of his mind
, he didn’t show any sign. So far Shana was going along.
“Let’s go, darling.” He took Shana’s hand and led her out the door after calling Sassy up from downstairs.
Dane didn’t bother trying to evade the car he noticed following them starting three blocks from their house, presumably Secret Service. He turned the radio up and opened the window then, before he had a chance to pull her to him, Shana leaned in and put her face close to his. He took a deep breath of her scent and let the intoxication of her cloak him.
“We’ll head to the basement first before we eat.”
“You don’t think they’ll notice?”
“Make it look like you’re going in to the ladies’ room and slip through the basement door instead.”
“You think Acer’s set up and waiting for us?”
“We’re in a shitload of trouble if he isn’t.”
“I love your optimism.” She kissed him on the side of his mouth while he drove. He knew if the Secret Service men could somehow see inside their car they’d guess at the intimate conversation. He knew the loud radio and open window didn’t fool them. But it didn’t tell them what was going on either.
When they walked in the back door of the Lucky Parrot, Dane hid his surprise. He counted no fewer than three tables occupied by various feds. No one he knew. He and Shana both managed to slip down through the door off the back hallway that led to the basement stairs. Shana went to flick on the light switch and Dane slapped his hand over hers, stopping her.
“No light. One of the feds out there may have noticed us and may try following. I don’t want to leave a trail.” He whispered this next to her ear as he nudged her forward with his body, holding her so she wouldn’t fall as he felt along the wall with his other hand.
She was smart enough not to speak and nimble enough to climb down the stairs in the dark without incident. By the time they got to the bottom, his eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness and they encountered a small open space showing two doors.
Beachcomber Danger_Beachcomber Investigations Book 8_A Romantic Detective Series Page 5
