The fact that Floyd sounded reasonable instead of flip could mean this was real trouble. Or it could mean Dane was being played. But to what end?
“Where are you?” Dane held his breath and let go of Shana, who had decided to listen instead of talk. She apparently also decided not to hurt or maim Dane in any way for his heavy-handedness. At least not at the moment. He’d have to keep one eye open all night.
The man on the other end laughed in a course rumble. Dane extracted himself from Shana, who’d been leaning close to listen, and turned aside to finish the conversation.
“You know the protocol. When and where do we meet?”
“All business. You haven’t changed, Dane. I like that about you. I can always count on you to be there and do the right thing.”
Dane said nothing and waited. He heard a sigh and some rustling like Floyd was changing position, like he was cramped in a car somewhere.
“Okay, have it your way. We can catch up in person. Meet me at the Black Cigar Shop in Edgartown at one a.m. The front door will be open.”
“Where was Oscar working?”
“When we meet.” The line went dead. Dane knew better than to dial him back up. He felt the chill of foreboding. The only reason that Floyd couldn’t have shared more information about Oscar over the phone would be if Oscar were truly in danger and Floyd truly believed he needed to follow the Trouble Protocol. Floyd wasn’t ordinarily a stickler for rules.
If Floyd wanted to meet in Edgartown, that meant he was already in the neighborhood. Then Oscar must be in country—but that made no sense. Dane had a bad feeling about this—aside from the fact that it was a panic level trouble call.
“What?” Shana said. Her hands perched on her hips, her chest heaved.
“No word. We meet tonight.”
“That man is such a—”
“Never mind, Shana. I’ll find out Oscar’s status tonight and I’ll let you know when I know.”
She snorted. “I’ll know when you know because I’ll be there with you tonight.”
He stopped mid-motion, with the gun drawer half opened. He’d planned to retrieve, clean and fully load his Glock. He looked up at her and gave her a shake of his head.
“Yes I am,” she said. He couldn’t help smiling at her wronged-kid-sister pose, when she was the furthest thing from that in his mind, in his soul.
“You’ll stay here. Cover home base. Floyd doesn’t know about you. You’re my ace in the hole. Work with me on this.”
She narrowed her gaze, apparently trying to decipher his angle, but found there was none. Because there wasn’t.
“All right. Have it your way. This once. I don’t trust Floyd either. But don’t leave the island without me.”
She was good. She knew the likelihood that he’d be leaving as well as he did. He nodded, grabbed his Glock from the drawer, and proceeded with his task.
“We’ll have the strategic advantage if Floyd—and whoever has Oscar—remains blind to your existence.”
“You think we’ll need an advantage over Floyd? He should be on our side on this.” Her words held a tremor of hesitance.
He nodded. “I thought you said you didn’t trust Floyd?” He watched her now. Maybe she’d been too green back when she worked with Floyd and Oscar. “Would you trust him one hundred percent?”
“He has to be trustworthy on this—he would never betray Oscar.”
Dane paused a beat and spoke in his most clipped, professional voice. She needed to hear it. “This could be one of those situations where Floyd has to make a difficult choice and I’m not betting my life on him being noble.”
“Okay. But tell me why you distrust him—aside from your gut instinct. Something must have happened.” She was back to the full hands-on-hips, Wonder Woman stance. As if he needed to be reminded of her power over him. He never forgot it. Not for a millisecond. But it was best she didn’t know she owned him. He answered with his game face on.
“I only worked with Floyd once. And someone got killed.” Dane decided not to mention who it was that had died. It had been an ATF drug bust in Colombia. It had been a long time ago.
“What happened?” She moved closer. Sometimes she was very smart—too smart. He wondered if she really knew how much her heat and the feel of her soft skin against him persuaded him, moved his mountainous will from its course.
He stayed silent. She waited. Then she wrapped an arm over his shoulder and raked her fingers through the fine hair at the back of his neck. He gritted his teeth against the tingling sensations. His blood pumped hard and his heart beat loud. In his mind he told himself to push her away. His hands fisted in protest.
She whispered, “Tell me. I have a feeling it’s something bad. You need—”
“I need to prepare.” The words sounded hoarse as if he was pushing them from his rusty throat with a ram. He moved away from the kitchen counter where he’d been leaning, away from her, struggling against her steadfast magnetic hold.
She puffed out a breath. “I’m going to assume the worst, you know. I’m going to assume whoever died meant something to you—or maybe meant something to Floyd.” She paused. He met her eyes. He knew his face was blank. He knew it wouldn’t matter.
He walked toward the door, toward his solace, his escape. Before he stepped outside to breathe he said, “Floyd’s mistress died.”
He pulled the door closed behind him and walked out back across his grass as it sloped to the harbor wall and his pier. He walked out to the end of the pier. The urge to jump in and swim as far as he could made him laugh at himself.
Maria had been collateral damage in the ATF drug bust he and Floyd had been working on. Oscar had been working on the periphery. Neither Oscar nor Floyd had been there the night of the raid. The night Maria died. Floyd should have warned her to disappear and told her when and where to hide. Dane never knew why he hadn’t, but he’d heard rumblings from a couple of ATF agents that Floyd had blamed Dane for not telling her. He hadn’t seen Floyd again since then. Never went back to Columbia. He’d never had a reason to think much about it since. People say things when they’re grieving. Hell. Dane had said things. He’d written off Floyd’s attitude to grief and hadn’t bothered to speculate further on it since.
But it was time to speculate now. It took Dane no more than a few seconds to run it all through his mind and conclude that Floyd’s blaming him for not warning Maria was too weak a cause for a grudge, too old and distant. Why would it matter now, years later? Something else was going on with Floyd. Of that, Dane was certain. And that is what Dane needed to be wary about.
After a few minutes, Dane felt Shana approach him. He turned and watched her walk across the grass, closing the distance between them. He stepped off the pier toward her. No sense taking a chance on her pushing him in.
“So bottom line is you don’t trust Floyd,” she said.
“Natch.” Dane smiled. It was an automatic reflex that he usually controlled and metered out stingily for his safety and hers. “I don’t trust the guy. And I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
“I never liked him.”
Dane snorted. “Like him? He makes sure no one likes him. I don’t know what Maria—his mistress—ever saw in him. Maybe he was different with her—or so she said.”
They walked back inside.
Shana remained quiet. He hated that. She didn’t argue. She opened the gun drawer and withdrew her Century Arms CZ 82.
“I’m going with you.”
“This is only a meeting—with me. I thought we agreed that we’d keep your existence here a secret? If they don’t know you’re with me—”
“It’s not as if Floyd doesn’t know me. He would be fine with—”
“I don’t want him to know you’re my partner, or that you’re anywhere in the vicinity.” He stared her down, took a breath and softened his voice. “This meeting is intel gathering only. I’ll let you know every detail when I get back.” He didn’t say that he didn’t trust Floyd with Shana.
He knew Floyd was, at his best, working both sides. At his worst, he could be working against them. Like a sharp pebble in the recesses of his boot, there was the thought that Oscar could be bait. For what he wasn’t sure. For Dane? Or even worse, bait for Shana.
“Fine.” She looked him in the eyes. “Have it your way. But for the record, I don’t like it. I’m your partner. And this is big trouble.”
He reaching out a hand, tugged at a lock of her hair.
“I’ll be back. I won’t leave the country without you.”
Batting his hand away, she scowled and that gave him the inner sigh of relief he needed more than any of her words of agreement had.
“Shouldn’t we call David?” she asked.
Dane shook his head. Shana was still loyal to her old boss, still had one foot in the Scotland Yard Exchange Program. Official law enforcement was a tough habit to break for her it seemed.
Without looking at her he said, “Not in the protocol. Not yet.” He wanted to wait until he knew the status before he had that conversation. He felt her stare, knew she was reading his mind. Lucky for her she knew better than to push it. Oscar was one of David Young’s oldest friends in the world. The other was Dan O’Keefe, Chief of Police of the City of Boston. Dane knew their story and knew that in spite of the fact that Oscar skirted the line between the two sides of the law, he’d saved David’s and O’Keefe’s lives when they were young. He’d bailed them out of a tough spot more than once since. Dane knew they’d move heaven and earth to be in on any rescue operation. He’d do the same. He was doing it now.
He’d call them as soon as he found out whether there would be a rescue operation—or whether it was something worse.
Chapter 3
Dane dressed in black, not to give in to the I-Spy stereotype, but because he truly didn’t want to be seen tonight. He planned to be in the vicinity of The Black Cigar shop ahead of time and do some reconnaissance. His distrust of Floyd Parker was far deeper than he’d let on to Shana. He’d only had that one association—more like a run-in—with the man. Oscar had run interference for Dane. Oscar was good. He knew what was what, but maybe Oscar’s confidence in his own ability to handle Floyd had exceeded Floyd’s trustworthiness in the end.
Or maybe not. Maybe Floyd truly had reached out to Dane for help to rescue Oscar from whatever trouble he was in. He slipped the Glock into the waistband of his black jeans and pulled the black T-shirt over it. A part of him wanted to call the governor—Peter John Douglas—to get some intel at least on Oscar’s last known whereabouts. If anyone would know it would be Peter—Dane’s old special ops leader. Peter had more contacts than Dane did but Dane hadn’t wanted to set off the alarms yet. He’d settled for some surreptitious and general inquiries via his loose network of ex-special-ops types. He’d gotten nothing.
“You sure you don’t want me to back you up—from a distance?” Shana said as she stood in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, sipping an iced coffee as if she meant to stay up all night. He eyed her and realized she was dressed the same as he was.
“Don’t even think about it. I want Floyd to think he can trust me. No monkey business. I don’t have any reason to believe this is anything more than a meeting to communicate sensitive intel.”
She eyed him and took a drag on the straw planted in her cup.
“I promise I’ll come back,” he said. “I won’t leave town without notice.” He moved in on her and wrapped his arms around her. She kept the cup between them. He took it from her hands and put it down on the counter beside her and pressed his body into hers. He meant business—the intimate kind of business, the kind that meant a promise of something more. Even if he had no business making any promises.
His body thought otherwise. Dane didn’t usually let his body rule him—except where Shana was concerned, and even then only on the rare occasion. Her eyes glittered back at him with a glaze of arousal. He was almost surprised she didn’t push him away or punch him in the gut—or worse.
It was as serious as he’d thought.
“I’m not going to the guillotine, but I thought I’d seal my promise with a kiss.”
“Like the song says,” she said.
He didn’t wait for her to say more, or to say yes or no. He leaned in and kissed her like he meant it, like maybe he was worried he wouldn’t be back tonight. She kissed him back. The cool coffee taste of her mouth and lushness of her lips sent spirals of desire through him. He let the desire run through him for a few beats, then he nipped her bottom lip, not quite drawing blood, but enough to taste her, enough to remember her all night, and pulled back.
“You sure you’re coming back?” she said.
He laughed. “You’re not rid of me that easy. Hold down the fort and I’ll be in touch within…” He looked at his watch. “Two hours. Three a.m. You can call me—or Cap if I don’t answer.”
She nodded without smiling. He felt her energy vibrating as he stepped away from her. He hoped to hell she didn’t plan to pull any fast ones, but he’d have to watch out for it—watch out for her.
As always.
He stepped outside into the light breeze of a perfect May night and headed to his appointment with Floyd.
The Black Cigar Shop wasn’t far and Shana knew she couldn’t give Dane too much of a head start before she scrambled to tail him. Of course she’d strained to hear the name of the meeting spot and figured it out. She’d called Cap to back them up at Dane’s beach shack—just in case someone dropped in or called or… whatever. She had no idea what to expect and her anticipation had her more jumpy than the excess of coffee she’d gulped down.
Shana wasn’t any surer they could trust Floyd—and whoever else was working with him. Even if they didn’t want Floyd to know she was Dane’s partner, she was still his partner and there was no way she was letting him go in alone. If Dane distrusted Floyd, that only confirmed her thoughts and feelings on the man. They would never know she was there.
She banged out the back door, not bothering to lock it since Cap would be there later. She’d called their friend—officially Captain Colin Lynch, head of the state police outpost on Martha’s Vineyard. She told him there was trouble and she needed him to ‘hold down the fort’ as Dane had put it. Now Shana jumped on her Kawasaki 1000, aka rice rocket, and took off for Edgartown. She knew exactly where she’d park her bike and then circle around on foot. Pulling into downtown Edgartown, she swerved neatly into the side street and parked the bike.
There were a few people about. It was 11:30. Plenty of time to look around before the appointed hour. Shana didn’t kid herself, though. She knew Floyd would be there early and scoping the area. He wouldn’t be looking for her, but she had enough tradecraft sense to have her hair up and to have replaced her helmet with a ball cap. Her jean jacket covered her shoulder holster and a black polo. She wore skinny jeans and boots to look like every other twenty-something woman out at night.
Dane was the one she’d need to watch out for most of all. She’d need to find him first, before she stepped onto the main street. Damn. Shana had her phone out and made a good show of reading a text as she surveyed her surroundings, looking up occasionally for a fuller view. After two futile minutes of nothing in spite of several changes of angle and location, she saw nothing. Not his car and not even a shadow of Dane himself.
She moved out from the narrow side street, keeping the cell in her hand and pretending to play with it, then walked in the general direction of the meeting spot.
Dane knew Shana would follow him—or try to. So he waited a few blocks away from the beach shack until she took off on her new excuse for a motorcycle and followed her from a good distance since he knew where she was headed. He parked a block behind her bike and kept out of sight while she did her due diligence—looking for him.
Naturally, she didn’t spot him. Lucky for him, she wasn’t paranoid enough to turn off the navigation tracker built into her phone. She should have been. Dane tracked her close enough to move into sight of
her once she started moving. He followed.
Dane watched as she strolled along looking like she was texting someone on her phone—but he saw her glancing at the storefronts and down an alley before she stepped off the curb and to the next block. He stayed back far enough so that she wouldn’t catch his reflection from any windows or from her phone—which he knew she could use as a mirror. Unless she turned her head fully around, she wouldn’t see him. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t chance that and so far he’d been right. She walked another half a block at a leisurely pace.
Thirty yards from his destination she looked up and turned her head toward a doorway. She seemed to see someone or something that stopped her. Dane’s heart drummed and he speeded up his pace as he kept his eye on her. She was saying something. He was too far to hear. Then the worst possible thing happened. She stepped forward, toward whatever storefront was holding the mystery person who had her attention. Shana walked cautiously forward into the doorway as if someone had invited her. Dane couldn’t see what shop it was, but he knew it was not The Black Cigar Shop where he and Floyd were designated to meet. And he didn’t like it.
There was no doubt in his mind who that mystery person was inviting Shana forward. It had to be Floyd Parker. Dane moved from walking fast to a sprint. She’d disappeared from view so he didn’t bother calling her name. Floyd had her. He knew Shana. He’d been waiting for her all along. Dane grabbed his phone from his pocket and pressed her number on speed dial. No answer. Goddamn.
Dane wasn’t foolish enough to run right in behind her blindly. He stopped short three feet away and pulled out his Glock. Then he tapped one more number into the phone, leaving an emergency code for Cap. It wasn’t an official code, but Cap would know there was Trouble when he saw the code message: Surf’s up. Once he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Dane listened for a beat and, hearing nothing, he cautiously turned into the dark corner of the doorway where he was certain she’d gone. There he was confronted with a gunmetal gray steel door. No windows. He tried the handle. It was open. Of course. Holding his gun low and ready, he took a deep breath, yanked the door open and plunged in.
Beachcomber Trouble Page 2
