The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  Tuning in on the heat he felt where their thighs whispered against each other, the sensation of warmth waved through him in a comforting measure. For once at least it didn’t rouse lust. He knew the attraction was dangerous, but no more so than the automatic antagonism. They were like two magnets attracting each other at one end and repelling each other on the opposite end. Dane hoped he could keep the balance. Of course he could. He was betting his life on it.

  Shana rose to take her ritualistic turn in the ladies’ room, signaling an end to the meal. Jean Luc of course stood when she stood, forcing him and Chauncey to do an awkward half stand. Shana gave him a look over her shoulder that said “don’t bother.” That bothered him. Shit.

  “I know of a wonderful place we can all go dancing,” Jean Luc said as if the evening were only beginning.

  Dane kept the deep sigh to himself. The man had probably slept until noon. When the waiter came back, Dane ordered coffee.

  “I love to dance.” Chauncey smiled as if it were true and his only aim in life was to party.

  Jean Luc turned to Dane. “This is where our wager will be made or forfeited. I think we both know what the stakes are.” He kept his eyes on him.

  Dane met his stare and said nothing, only conceding a barely perceptible nod.

  Lucky for Dane the outcome had been predetermined. As long as Shana kept to the plan. And as long as Ned stayed out of it.

  Dane hoped the surge of tension tightening in his chest didn’t show. Jean Luc would be an expert at discerning the slightest hint, and although he may not be dangerous, he appeared to be playing with dangerous people on his team.

  When they left the restaurant, they went to their respective cars to meet at the Flying Horses Club on Seaview Avenue in Oak Bluffs. Dane automatically surveyed the area while Shana checked out their car in a subtle manner that gave him a surprising blip of warmth toward her before he clamped down on it. So what if she finally showed some good tradecraft?

  As he reached for his door to slide inside the driver’s seat, his eyes rested on the darkened corner of the parking lot at his ten o’clock. The bulb was out in the light near there, but he saw the silhouette of a head in a car and memorized the plates. He knew that head. Cold flowed and all the slivers of instinct he thought were worn sprang to life.

  Thank God. He would need every last one of them.

  Chapter 10

  “What is it?” Shana could tell he saw something. It was like the cool stupid macho Marlboro Man beachcomber had disappeared and was replaced by RoboCop. She felt the frigid steeliness emanating from him and she admitted in a tiny corner of her mind that it both scared her to death and turned her on in equal measures. Her heart pounded loud and fast no matter how much she told herself to calm down.

  “It’s Ned. He’s trouble. And he’s waiting for us. I think Jean Luc is in over his head and, whatever his usual game is, we can throw it out the window because it’s clear Ned is in charge and he’s a wild card. A lethal wild card.”

  “I’ll call Captain Lynch and see if he can find out anything on the man,” Shana said and turned to Chauncey. “Give me your tiepin and I’ll send the pictures.”

  “The pictures were automatically sent to HQ when I took them. You can call Cap to see if they have anything.”

  “Oh…” She felt like she’d just got left back in first grade because she didn’t know how to spell go. She punched in the number for Captain Nice and he answered on the first ring.

  “Hello, Shana—what can I do for you?”

  “What do you have for us on the picture Chauncey just sent from his tiepin gadget?”

  “Nothing yet. I’m running it now on the facial recognition program against all databases—including Interpol. I’ll send you a text when I have something.” He paused a beat. “That all you need?” He sounded too hopeful.

  “I don’t know—that all you got, big boy?”

  Cap chuckled at her. “Look for my text.”

  “Will do. But if I don’t get something soon, I’ll have to come looking for you.” The good captain grunted and signed off.

  “Was that absolutely necessary?” Dane asked her without taking his eyes from the nighttime traffic on the busy village streets.

  “Warming up my flirting muscles.” She didn’t bother looking at him either.

  Dane sighed. If she thought he might tell her that her flirting muscles were in fine shape, then she would have been disappointed.

  The Flying Horses Club was on the right in the next block. The live music ricocheted through the night air to reach them. He pulled up in front and the valet came around to open their doors. Taking in a deep breath of the heady salt air mixed with magic glamour and expensive perfumes, she walked with Dane. He held a proprietary arm around her as if they were together. Something about it all swallowed her up and carried her away in the moment. She turned to his profile before they walked inside and the overwhelming need to kiss him, the want and draw of his strong jaw and sensual lips—and maybe the effect of the champagne too—all made her giddy and edgy with excitement.

  He glanced down at her from his two-inch height advantage—a rarity that caused a flutter to waft up from her stomach—and his eyes blazed.

  “Don’t look at me that way, girlie. Not unless you want to be kissed.”

  “I could say the same thing to you.”

  “If you did, I would say go for it.” He paused a beat and smiled.

  She had enough self-preservation instincts still operational under the haze of her glamour-fueled high to not take him up on his dare.

  “And here I thought you were a bold girl for a minute.”

  “And stop calling me girl.” She withdrew herself from his hold and strode through the door ahead of him, leaving him to pay their way. She headed straight for the dance floor, propelled by the music and the crowd.

  Jean Luc was right. This was a great place. The crowd was a mix of everyone from poor college kids, twenty-something trust fund brats, to middle-aged couples of varied means. More singles than couples. She turned over her shoulder to see Dane followed by Jean Luc and Chauncey heading toward her. She scoured Dane’s face for a clue to his mood but found nothing useful. His undercover mask was back in place and he took her hand the moment he reached her and pulled her into a dance at the center of the floor.

  Luck must be commonplace for him, she decided, when the band melted into a slow song meant for romance. He held her close and she forged her defenses, not worried a whit if anyone noticed because they couldn’t possibly see her face with his so close by. The heat of the place closed in on her. His strong lean arms tightened around her to flatten her body against his. He was hard and she felt dizzy. She shouldn’t have had that last champagne.

  He pressed her head toward his with one hand, and she felt the sandpaper texture of his face, smelled the overwhelming manly scent, powerful and waving over her like the ocean itself.

  “You’ll need to make yourself more accessible or Jean Luc may pick another mark and stop wasting his time with you.”

  She pulled back. He forced her to keep dancing when she would have stopped. The urge to slap his face flashed through her, but instead she stiffened her spine mentally.

  “You don’t think he finds me suitably wealthy and flighty?”

  “No, I think he finds you smart and distant and your wealth maybe not obvious enough. You are inaccessible.”

  Her nostrils flared and she moved her mouth close to his ear. His scent nearly choked off the bite of her words, but she managed to say, “I think it’s you. You’re the problem. You keep me from pursuing him when you behave like a proprietary jungle cat.”

  She felt the warmth emanate from him. Smelled that male sweat. Saw the thud of the pulse in his neck. The coil of heat inside her spiraled and clenched to a spot between her thighs and she felt the moisture pool there. She struggled to keep her back straight and her knees from buckling as he pulled her close enough to grind their hips. She sucked in a stunned bre
ath. He turned his head, dragging the roughness of his stubbled jaw against her cheek until his mouth fronted hers and she breathed his breath. Chest heaving almost to the point of panting, she felt her own breath deflect off him, mingle with his and come back to her. She swallowed his breath, his scent. She felt moisture from his lips touching and not touching, wisping together and apart from her lips. He said nothing. She had no voice, no words.

  His hand slid up her back, gliding over the silk of her dress and searing across the skin of her shoulders and up under her hair to cup the back of her neck. Her breath stopped; then she gasped as she saw the blaze in his eyes before he pulled her mouth against his in a crushing ravenous kiss. His mouth felt greedy and his lips soft and hot and moist and seductive and punishing. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth and between his teeth and held on, flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until he nipped it with a pinch and let go.

  She pulled her mouth from his, and the simmering heat of her body from the soles of her feet to her thudding heart to her mouth and face screamed at her, telling her she was out of control. The shaking of her hands against his chest caught his attention an instant before she realized she should hide it. He covered her hand with his larger cooler one, steadying her. Lifting her chin with the other hand, he forced her to look into his eyes.

  She didn’t find the mocking look she dreaded. She found a mirror of the tumult inside her. The music stopped and she pushed her palms against his rock-hard chest to get space, to breathe. A million words fled through her mind in and out of her grasp and so she had no idea what to say. Feelings dominated reason in her brain. Her hands stayed there on his chest and she felt the thudding of his heart slow as they stared at each other. He held her in place so she couldn’t flee. Like he read her mind or at least one of the multitudinous thoughts flying through it. Or maybe he felt the nerves skittering through her so that she was afraid she’d start twitching if she didn’t run the other way.

  “It’s all right, Shana. My kiss won’t kill you. I’m not made of poison. Not technically. Maybe euphemistically.”

  “I… I didn’t think—”

  “Neither of us did. I won’t apologize. We’re playing a role. We both need to remember that. A role. Professional. Keep it cool.” He stopped talking and let his eyes relax on her and go dreamy rather than intense, almost afraid and vulnerable the way they’d been when he spoke—no rasped—those words. Scolding words. But he’d been scolding himself too. They’d been in it together, lost in the moment together and that thought gave her comfort.

  He pulled her back in and consoled her with a caress along her back as he whispered in her ear.

  “Jean Luc on your six. He’ll want to break us up and dance. You’ll say yes. Even when I put up a fight. You’ll get angry. It’ll work out.” He took a deep breath, tickling the hairs on her neck and making her shiver.

  “You okay? You ready for this?”

  She nodded. Then she felt Jean Luc approach before she heard the man’s polished accent. She smelled his distinct yet subtle cologne even in the crush of bodies and their smells. The spell was broken. Her moment with Dane disappeared. He became rigid under her hands and in his arms. Then he pulled away and it was as if the door to the Arctic had been opened and she’d been abandoned to the cold.

  “May I have the next dance?” Jean Luc came around to speak directly to her in spite of Dane’s menacing stare.

  She gave him a smile. She remembered Dane’s words and raised her chin.

  “I’d love to heat up the floor with you—it’s about time we got to know each other better since we’ll be sharing the island all summer.” She put out her hand and he took it.

  Dane grumbled. “Remember who you came here with, Shana.” He raised a hand and caressed her chin before Jean Luc blocked him and took her away.

  “Nonsense. Shana can get a ride from me or any one of a dozen admirers, Dane. In spite of your attempt, you have no hold on the lady.” He smiled over his shoulder at Dane.

  When Dane let go of her chin he gave her one more look. A look that didn’t hide anything, a vulnerable caring look full of animal lust and want and worry. Shana wasn’t sure if the worry was for her or for him. She felt the same worry, the same confusion.

  Dane turned away and walked straight to the bar. He forced himself to ask for ice water. After all, that was what he needed most, wasn’t it? He was in trouble. They were in trouble. The mission was in trouble. Most of all, Susan Whittier was in deep trouble—if she was still alive. They needed to force the hand of Jean Luc and they didn’t have the luxury of time. He checked his watch and nodded to Chauncey, who joined him at the bar.

  “Any word from Captain Lynch—or from the governor? We need backup intel on this. We need to know something about Ned and we need a way to get into Jean Luc’s house.”

  “I didn’t get much from Cap’s text except that Ned is staying with Jean Luc and the brother and his girl. The other two don’t go out much. Ned has something on Jean Luc is my bet and he’s holding them up for some action. The other piece of information is about the text from Susan Whittier—or someone using her phone.” Chauncey paused.

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Our suspicions were correct. It came from Jean Luc’s house. Either they’re holding her or she’s dead and they kept her phone—along with who knows what else of her belongings.”

  “Shit.”

  “Doesn’t look good,” Chauncey agreed.

  “No, I mean Ned just walked in.” Dane looked away from Ned and smiled at Chauncey as if they were having a joke and some drinks. He wished he could afford another whiskey. “Don’t turn.”

  “That bad?” Chauncey asked.

  “He brought two friends with him.” Dane spared another glance without turning his head and clenched his jaw. “Not the brother and his girl. A couple of gentlemen who look decidedly tougher. And they’re armed.”

  Chapter 11

  “Shit indeed,” Chauncey said.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle myself. You watch out for Shana. I’ll go chat with Ned and see what he’s up to.” It was truly the last thing in the universe of possibilities that he wanted to do. The taste of Shana’s bottom lip came to mind, spearing through his gut and straight to his loins. The universe’s honest answer for his first choice. Damn.

  He turned from the bar and shoved his way over to where Ned stood with his accompanying thugs on the edge of the dance floor, ignoring the music, the crowd and everything it seemed, except Shana and Jean Luc. They danced to a frantic tune and flashing lights. The air became denser the closer he got to Ned. He took a deep breath and circled around the man who hadn’t given him more than a cursory glance. Ned kept his gaze fixed on the dance floor and his man, reminding Dane of an overprotective nursemaid minding a mischievous toddler.

  “Introduce me to your friends, Ned.” Dane stood next to the man, closer than he liked, but as close as the noise dictated.

  Ned turned to him and said, “You don’t want to know them. Hope you don’t have to end up meeting them up close and personal.” He turned to his goons and nodded toward Dane as if to say he’s your target. Then he returned his stare to Shana. And Jean Luc of course.

  “They make a lovely couple,” Dane said.

  “Very lovely. I’m glad you’re seeing it my way.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said.”

  Ned shook his head. “That’s too bad. For you.” Ned tilted his head slightly in Dane’s direction.

  Dane tightened before he felt a beefy hand on his shoulder. He didn’t react.

  “Guess you have no confidence in the charming abilities of your man Jean Luc.”

  “Sure I do. It’s more a matter that I don’t trust you.” Ned delivered his lines without looking at him. Dane felt like a bad actor in a Lifetime melodrama.

  “Your loss. I predict you may need to change horses. Soon. No sense chasing a bad bet.”

  That got Ned to turn and look at him. He gave the man a
stare back to match the shark-like dispassion.

  “You are a cool one. But you don’t owe me anything. Jean Luc needs to repay a debt. I find that makes a man more reliable.”

  Dane shrugged from the grasp of the henchman and leaned uncomfortably close to Ned’s overly perfumed person, only to find that the excessive cologne did not hide the man’s stench. He whispered, for his ears only. “I don’t care if he owes his life; he can’t win if I’m in the game. On the other hand, I’ll never owe you a thing. So you’re in a tough place, Mr. Ned. Just wanted to leave you with that thought. Have a nice night.” He eyed the henchman, daring the guy to touch him again, and brushed past both of them and went to the exit.

  He walked out into the cool air, needing to breathe in the salty breeze, but hating to leave Shana in there. Even under Chauncey’s protection. He wondered how the man concentrated with his little wife back at home. It took all Dane’s willpower to keep walking toward his car without breaking stride. He swung by the valet and took his key.

  Dane knew they’d follow him home. Chauncey knew too. They both knew the pair meant to rough him up to warn him off Shana. Everyone knew the game.

  Dane only hoped he was up to playing in top form.

  Shana sweated, but she wasn’t worried about her blue silk dress. She was worried about Dane disappearing from the spot where she’d just seen him, especially when she saw Ned with two large friends in the crowd. The trio couldn’t be more obvious about not being there to dance. The band took a break and Jean Luc took her hand and led her to the bar where, with a flash of his diamond-ringed hand, he captured the coveted attention of the bartender and ordered them drinks. She had no idea what he ordered, but what she wanted was an ice water. Preferably in a bucket.

  She let her gaze wander as she smiled at Jean Luc, but she still didn’t see Dane. She caught sight of Chauncey. It occurred to her that she might learn something about Jean Luc’s doings by talking to this bartender who seemed to know him.