The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series

by Stephanie Queen

  Jean Luc handed her a tall glass of ice water and she didn’t bother hiding her grateful surprise when she looked up at his smiling face. She thought about it and held back for an instant, but then she leaned in and kissed him. On the lips.

  They were cool lips. He didn’t force it further or hold her, but accepted the kiss graciously. He swept one hand up her bare arm without raising a tingle. She felt the cold glide of his ring. He circled his arm around her.

  “Thank you for reading my mind… about the ice water,” she said.

  “I live to please you. I enjoyed dancing. You are a treat to watch.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer, but not touching. “Your kiss was… an unexpected treat.”

  The burst of self-consciousness made her double her efforts to find Dane in the crowd as she looked from under her downcast lashes. She could do this. This was her job.

  But God help her—she didn’t want to do this. She wanted Dane. She wasn’t sure why she felt so desperate until she saw him walk outside. And then saw Ned and the two men follow him.

  “Why don’t we go outside for some air?” She started moving before Jean Luc responded, but he took her hand and followed.

  “Perfect idea, my beauty.”

  Outside she took in the cool salty air and shivered as it wafted over her overheated skin. He held her hand and led her in a stroll out front, although she managed to get a look at the parking lot. She wanted to find out where Dane was. Maybe she ought to stop the pretense and express her concern. She knew Jean Luc wasn’t Dane’s friend and she wanted badly to call him on the ruse and get him on their side to turn the game over. They came to a bench and he invited her to sit next to him.

  “Tell me your troubles, ma petite. It’s clear something is worrying you.”

  “How do you figure?” She at least hid her surprise that he saw right through her. His insight made up her mind on it. She would need to come nearer to the truth of their circumstances. “I’m worried about Susan Whittier.”

  “Ah. You are a very good, caring friend. But I thought you heard from her and all is well? Don’t worry your pretty little head needlessly, ma cherie.”

  “Ma cherie? I didn’t think people actually said that any more.” She smiled at him.

  “Not even French men? But of course—or maybe I am aging myself, non?”

  “Yes.” She laughed. He really was charming. And she would bet her last bullet he had nothing to do with kidnapping or harming Susan Whittier—or anyone for that matter. In fact she was probably betting more than her last bullet playing this charade. She was betting her life—or would be if she were a helpless beach bunny heiress for real.

  In reality, Shana figured she could take Jean Luc inside of thirty seconds.

  “You look much happier now.”

  “I am. I feel better. Thank you.” She spied Dane pulling out of the parking lot into the street and did feel better. Not better about being alone—but better about him escaping from Ned and his thugs. They were very worrisome.

  “So how well do you know Ned? He doesn’t seem like the type of guy a man like you would hang around with.”

  Jean Luc contemplated her with his wise eyes and said nothing for several beats. She waited him out.

  “I wouldn’t. Ordinarily. But life gets complicated sometimes. Let’s just say he’s more a friend of my brother’s than mine. And as they say, one can’t choose family.”

  “Maybe not, but family can get you into a hell of a lot of trouble,” she said. She didn’t want to let him off the hook about Ned that easily. “Besides, I don’t like Ned. I don’t want to associate with him. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all, cherie. You are a very wise young lady. Much more than you seem at first glance.”

  The comment, coupled with his knowing look, caused a stab of fear to pierce her gut, but she held back a shudder. She forgot to play her role. He was outfoxing her, getting her to warm up to him. But damn it, she didn’t think she was wrong about him.

  “Everyone is more complicated than they seem, Jean Luc. Even you.”

  “Touché.” He laughed and put his arm around her and hugged her to him. He was more solid than she expected. Wiry and lean, but barely her height. She’d make a note to wear lower heels next time. There would be a next time. She was reeling him in. Or he was thinking he was reeling her in. Which scenario was closer to the truth was yet to be determined.

  “Would you like to take a drive down to the beach? I know of a place overlooking the ocean and I have an excellent bottle of wine and two glasses.” He led her in the direction of the valet.

  “I don’t think so. I—”

  “I saw Dane leave. I know you saw him drive away as well. It seems you lost your escort for the evening.”

  She shrugged like it was nothing. “No—he only stepped out for a while. He’ll be back. He had something to attend to.”

  “What could possibly be more important than you, here, tonight? He’s a fool for leaving you for even a moment.”

  “Was he a fool for leaving me with you?”

  “Especially for leaving you with me.”

  “I don’t know. I think he knows I’m in good hands. That nothing bad will happen to me with you here.”

  There was no mistaking the pained look on his face, nor the glance he made back toward the club where Ned presumably kept watch. And he probably knew she knew Ned had been watching them.

  “That is true. I can’t argue that. You have my absolute word, Shana.” He gave her an intense look and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  Chauncey Miller came out the front door and headed exactly in her direction at a quick pace.

  Before he reached her he said, “Time to leave, Shana. Dane asked me to take you home. Sorry, Jean Luc. We have to go.” Chauncey tilted his head over his shoulder toward the door at the same moment Ned and his two thugs emerged, also headed in their direction.

  Jean Luc nodded. “As you say. I’ll call you, Shana. We will have a date. You and I.” Jean Luc squeezed her arm and then headed toward Ned, cutting him off before the man reached Shana and Chauncey. Chauncey grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the street and down the next block until they disappeared around the corner.

  “Hey. I’m not dressed for running through the streets in case you haven’t noticed. What’s going on?”

  “Not sure—Dane said for me to get you out of there and to not let Ned get near you. I think they had words.”

  “How are we getting back to the house?”

  “Down another block here …I think. He said he’d pick us up. Damn, but these bloody streets with all these coffee, ice cream and sweet shops look the same to me.”

  Before she could express her doubt, a car pulled up. It was Dane, but he wasn’t driving the Jag.

  “Get in,” he grunted impatiently through the open window. She opened the front door to the faded blue Buick before Chauncey could do it for her and Chauncey got in the back. The car coughed up smoke and, with an unstable roar of the engine, they sped off. In the passing streetlights, she got a closer look at him and his bloody mouth and bruised knuckles.

  “What the hell happened to you, Mr. Urban Legend?”

  Dane afforded one glance at her, but he kept his attention on the road and the rearview.

  “The notorious Ned and two goons from out of town happened. Now we need to lose them and meet up with Captain…Lynch.” He almost referred to the man as Captain Nice, but he’d promised himself to stick to professional behavior. Licking the salty sweat off his upper lip, he figured it was about time and tried not to remember his horrible misjudgment on the dance floor—role or no role. He had no business kissing her that way. He’d kissed her for real. He kissed her like he meant it and felt it. In spades. Damn. He was turning into a needy woman.

  “Looks like they gave you some trouble,” she commented, nodding toward his hands on the steering wheel and then returning her wary stare to his face.

  He flicked a glance in the rear
view mirror and noticed the blood and his swollen lips. Damn.

  “We had words.”

  “Bad odds, looks like,” Chauncey said. “I bloody well hope this is a case of ‘you should see the other guy’ or I’ll get reamed for not doing my job having your back.” The man smiled. They knew full well his priority was to have Shana’s back.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? It was a minor scrape. They only wanted to deliver a warning. Don’t worry—it’ll get much worse. They suggested I take the next ferry to a remote location.”

  “Not to hell? They are very generous thugs,” Shana said. Dane noticed her slight smile and looking relieved as the lights from the street played across her features.

  He turned to her fully as he pulled up to a red light. “I hope you weren’t so readable all night dancing with Jean Luc, girlie.”

  After the slip of irritation, she gave him her cool heiress look. “I did amazingly well with Jean Luc. He’s not in on whatever happened to Susan Whittier.”

  “Did he admit to something?”

  “No.”

  “Then what drew you to the conclusion that good old Jean Luc is such a swell, innocent guy?” Dane spied Chauncey’s amused look in the rearview. That gave him a clue that he needed to dial it down with Shana. He had no idea what happened to his own cool.

  “Mostly a gut feeling, but when Chauncey came to collect me, he helped run interference with Ned. Ned is no friend of Jean Luc’s—rather he’s friends with the brother, according to what he said. I believe him.”

  “It’s true,” Chauncey piped up. “Ruse helped us out. But that doesn’t mean he’s not working with Ned.”

  “True, but it does mean that we can pit them against each other. Gives us some leverage to turn Jean Luc and go after Ned—if Ned is the one behind it. I’m still not convinced that Jean Luc isn’t the brains of the operation.”

  “Whatever the operation is. We still don’t know for certain.” Shana looked out the window.

  “Getting cold feet, girlie?”

  She spun her head back around and glared. “What makes you say that? And stop calling me girlie.” Her voice was low and cold and he watched her nostrils flare.

  Mother of everything holy, he wished he could jump in the cold ocean because his body heated and leapt to attention—the kind that could get a man in deep trouble. Girl trouble. Like his body was in junior high, except he wasn’t, and the stakes they played with were life and death—maybe the missing Susan Whittier’s life—definitely their own.

  He concentrated on his driving as he approached her beach house and pulled into the driveway.

  “You have much experience working undercover?”

  “Plenty. I’ll be just fine. I’ll see you at the surf tomorrow.” She shoved open her door to get out, but he grabbed the strap of her purse and stopped her short.

  “We rendezvous in one hour on the beach two hundred yards east of that rock.” He pointed to the giant boulder marking the sandy edge of her beach property beyond the lawn. “Wear black. Bring a recorder. Don’t let anyone know you’re out of the house. Leave the place lit and the TV sound on loud. Got it?” He moved his hand to grip her elbow and give it a squeeze for emphasis.

  “I’ll be there. Now let go of me or you’ll get a taste of my qualifying skill sets.” She yanked herself away, shot out of the car and slammed the door with one kick of her spike-heeled foot.

  Chauncey laughed. “Man, you are beat. What has you so wound up? And don’t tell me it was your encounter with Ned.”

  “Whatever. I’m not so sure she’s ready for this, is all. She’s greener than a freshly minted twenty and too cocky.” And too expressive and gorgeous and seething with sensuality. Or maybe that was his impression.

  “I think she’s doing rather well. Besides, you have me for insurance there, eh?”

  “One other thing—they want me to quit judging the surfing competition.”

  Chapter 12

  “Bloody hell. That confirms it,” Chauncey said.

  “It does. The con is a crooked surfing competition. Doesn’t seem like high enough stakes. Gotta be more to it.”

  “Although, didn’t I read on a poster somewhere that there was two million dollars in prize money?”

  “Yes. You did. I bet they tried to recruit Susan Whittier to be their rigged winner and she said no.”

  “They wouldn’t be pleased, but would they kidnap her? Or worse?” Chauncey frowned.

  “Probably not.”

  “And where does Jean Luc fit into all this? And for that matter, where does Ned fit into this? Where did he come from and who does he work for?”

  “We know he doesn’t work for Jean Luc. In fact, it looks like it’s the other way around. We need Jean Luc to turn,” Dane said with finality.

  “Not sure how we’re going to get him to do that,” Chauncey mused.

  “Shana will be the one to do the heavy lifting there. Thus my worry.”

  “You suppose they want to recruit Shana to be their ringer?”

  He smiled at Chauncey. “Exactly. It’s what I’d do. Hell, she could very well win legitimately.”

  “Except they’ll never give her the prize money. Doesn’t sound very interesting to your average up and coming surfer.”

  “No. They’re looking for a surfer with an edge or a past with some skeletons. I’ll need to let the governor know ASAP to work something into her history.”

  “What? Like maybe a drug rap?”

  “Too overdone. Think creatively. She was involved in a cheating scam at her university or something.”

  Chauncey looked skeptical. Dane shrugged. The thought struck him that maybe she had some skeleton in her past for real. Something gave her that less than wholesome edge. She might look like a beach bunny, but she’d not for one millisecond acted like one. He’d bet his infamous left nut that Jean Luc noticed the same thing.

  Captain Nice approached on foot with no car in sight from the drive that lead to the stretch of beach they occupied. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt like a tall lanky version of James Dean with a Dudley Do-Right chin. Bet he took a lot of crap for that resemblance. Maybe the rebel without a cause look was his way of dealing. Dane gave a mental shrug. This was his first time working with Cap although he’d been part of the governor’s unit—one of his men. Cap was younger and had joined the unit after Dane had been sent home to Walter Reed for convalescence from the first of several side effects of the career. He’d be keeping an open mind until he had Captain Nice all nicely figured out.

  The bane of his existence—at least among the people he was working with—deigned to walk from her house just now and headed back their way. She was dressed in black and had her thick blond hair sleeked back in a low ponytail behind her neck. As if that could tame her look. If a panther could be considered tame, she had it licked.

  He motioned to Chauncey to move behind a rock from their open spot. They could see for miles, but telescopes could see further. They met Captain Nice and Shana on the ocean side of a tank-sized boulder and he sank to the sand as if they were getting ready to roast marshmallows by the campfire instead of having an ops meeting.

  He nodded at Cap, ignored Shana and said, “What do you have for us?”

  Captain Nice smiled. “I got shit. Ned is notorious muscle, but that doesn’t say much since we knew that. The only other interesting thing about his background is that he’s Brazilian. He goes by Ned Jones, but his real name is Ned Ximenes.”

  “Tell me everything and I’ll decide what’s interesting.”

  “He’s done work for a couple of semi-legit guys with lots of money and businesses worldwide.”

  “These guys Brazilian?”

  “Hard to tell. They have interests everywhere. Including Brazil. Bank accounts in all the usual places. And Brazil.”

  Dane grunted and knew the men were absolutely Brazilian. “They have names?”

  “Tavares. Aldo and Bento. They’re brothers.”

  “I’ll have th
e governor run their names through Interpol,” Chauncey said and took his cell phone from his pocket and tapped out a message.

  “One other thing. About Ned,” Captain Lynch said. He bounced a glance off Shana and paused. A cold freeze spread through Dane’s gut until he had to suppress a shudder.

  “What?” he prompted in a raspy whisper, wishing he didn’t have to hear it and aware that Shanna stood close with a puzzled frown on her face. He felt the warmth of her body and wished he could wrap himself around it.

  “Seems Ned has a penchant.” Cap paused again, then ground out the words. “For hurting women.”

  The stone dead silence that followed sped up his heart rate, but Dane took a deep breath and forced the question from his lips.

  “How?” They needed to know. Shana, who stood stiller than a glassy lake in the early morning, needed to know.

  “He cuts them. He’s been known to mutilate women.”

  “How is it he’s still walking around?” Dane itched to hunt the man down now.

  “Seems people—witnesses to be exact—find his reputation intimidating. Threatening. Plus he’s had representation. That’s one of his links to the Brazilians. They share the same attorney. Coincidentally.”

  “That’s more than shit. Good work,” Dane said and exhaled. Then he swung around to face Shana. She looked like an angry mother bear ready to explode and hunt down a threat. If he’d been ready to tear Ned’s right arm off, she looked ready to slice off his balls.

  Facing Shana’s intense green eyes, he said, “Does this change anything? You up to seducing Jean Luc and fighting off Ned and maybe even his thugs if need be?”

  “Yes.”

  He noticed her bravado was gone. Her voice was sure, but the chippiness was missing. Thank the lord. He nodded at her. He didn’t bother mentioning that they’d all have her back. Didn’t need to be said. He could tell she wanted to hear it, but she needed to learn to trust him. He was fighting like mad to trust her.

  He was fighting like mad not to bed her.

  Chapter 13