Chapter 10
That damn hurt look of betrayal Shana gave him over her shoulder would haunt him all night—give him nightmares. But he was right, damn it.
“You two will stay here for the night,” Peter broke into his thoughts.
Dane dragged his stare away from the empty doorway where Shana had just walked out, fighting the urge to go after her, and faced Peter and David. He tried unclenching the grip of tension that strangled his gut and settled for unfisting the hands at his sides and rolling his shoulders one time around.
“Man oh man, am I in trouble,” he said at the dour looks of the two men. No use pretending otherwise.
“Yeah. You’re in a world of shit either way,” David said. “But it’s probably the right way to go.”
Joe, who’d been sitting off to the side, flipping through a sheaf of freshly printed papers, put it aside and went to a sideboard, opened a door and pulled a large bottle filled with amber liquid.
“Is that what I think it is?” Dane asked.
“My man Joe doubles as the sanity keeper. If this wasn’t the governor’s mansion we’d call him a barkeeper,” Peter said.
Dane watched Joe pour a generous measure into an old-fashioned glass and deliver it to Dane’s outstretched hand.
David helped himself to a glass and Joe brought a drink for the governor and himself to the circle of men as they sat on two leather couches face-to-face.
Dane lifted his glass to the men and then swallowed a healthy mouthful. The liquor’s satisfying sting was followed by a hot flowing trail down to his gut. The governor spoke next.
“You’re staying here tonight. Cancel whatever room you arranged. You and Shana can have—”
“We’re not together.” Dane felt the words reverberate through him like a Richter nine and willed himself not to flinch at the surprise on the men’s faces. Except Joe. He’d been witness to the fiasco in the car where Dane and Shana had that ridiculous conversation about being the best of partners. Joe knew the score, even if he didn’t know the why.
The surprise was quickly replaced by speculative understanding in Peter and David’s eyes. They were probably silently coming up with likely reasons why, plausible reasons why. There were lots of possibilities.
Hell. Dane didn’t even know what the real reason was. He might as well ask them for the reason rather than ask himself. They were both successfully married men—they probably knew a shitload more about women than he did. Even Joe was likely more of an expert, though he wasn’t married—yet.
Finally Peter said, “No problem. We can arrange separate guest rooms.” That was all any of them said on the subject. Dane drained the rest of the top-shelf bourbon in one fast gulp.
“Anything of interest in that stack of paper, Joe?” Dane slipped his cell phone from his pocket and pressed in the number for the Parker House, then looked at Peter. “Can you have someone pick up our things?” Their luggage was sensitive and he didn’t want the hotel people rummaging through it or packing it up—in case they hadn’t already let their curiosity take advantage. The governor nodded.
Joe said, “This is the response to David’s request for intel based on the tattoo and description of your man—sent to David’s email ten minutes ago. Could be interesting. Depends if Ivany is our guy or not. If he is the guy, he’s got a pedigree.” Joe handed the recently sent papers to him, including a couple of grainy photos. It might be the FBI’s case from here on in, but that didn’t mean he’d lost his professional curiosity.
“I’ll arrange a meeting with the Assistant Special Agent in Charge—Mark Richards—in the morning first thing before you leave,” David said. “You can brief him on what you know—what we all know.” Dane knew that was code for not giving up any big secrets.
“I’ll call Father Donahue in the morning and let him know the case is going hot,” Peter said.
Dane half-listened as he scanned the pages. His heartbeat picked up speed, but not in a good way. “Ivany—aka Spartak Ivnov is our man based on this picture—and has a pedigree, all right—I knew his grandfather.”
“I need to call Sassy right away—do you have a secure line? Forget I asked—of course you do.” Shana stopped short in the hallway as they approached a staircase and realized they were heading away from the public rooms toward the private residence portion of the mansion. “Where are you taking me?”
“To your room—I thought you might want to—”
“We’re staying here?”
“Is that all right? I’ll get you a secure line in your room so you can make your call,” Madeline said and gently took Shana’s elbow and led her up the stairs. It wasn’t the grand staircase that visitors saw from the main entry, but it wasn’t a dark, dingy service stairwell either. It was the kind of stairs you’d find in any good colonial residence with fine woodwork for embellishment.
As soon as Madeline left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the comfort of discreet understanding in her wake, Shana lifted the phone from her purse and dialed. To hell with security. She had to hear Paulette’s baby voice even if it was unintelligible, and know she was safe.
Sassy answered the phone.
“How are you? How is Paulette? Anything unusual?” Shana felt the pounding that had expanded in her chest, tightening it, and tried to take a deep breath.
“Good—no, nothing unusual. Is everything all right?”
Shana closed her eyes and forced calm into her voice, holding her hand over the voice receptor as she let out a massive breath. Her tension remained—and probably would until she was back at Paulette’s side. She determined she’d get back to Martha’s Vineyard first thing in the morning—even if she had to blow her entire budget on a helicopter. She could hear Dane’s voice in her ear saying rash words and felt a comfort in spite of everything. In spite of the fact that she wanted to punch him or at least slap him or—
“Shana?”
“Yes—we’ve found a possible suspect. I’ll be back as soon as I can in the morning.” As she said the words, she wondered if she could get back there tonight. Wondered what Dane would do next, if anything. Was she on her own? They were the best of partners.
She’d give the damn man a chance to explain himself. He would tell her about that baby case that haunted him from his past. He’d do it tonight. At least she hoped he would. She would insist. Her insistence might or might not have any effect whatsoever on what Dane did or did not do.
“I’ll call you in the morning when we’re on our way—you sure you’ve seen no one or nothing unusual?
“Nada. Captain Lynch has been by and had his police car out front for a good part of the day. That might have helped, even if someone was trying to spy on us.”
“It’s not—” Shana was going to try and explain that it wasn’t about spying, but more like surveillance and kidnapping, but she didn’t bother.
“Is Cap there?”
“Yes—you want to talk to him?”
“No.” She would call Cap from the secure line next and fill him in. And beg him to spend the night at the beach shack and stay until she and Dane returned. He could use Dane’s room. Sassy was in her room with the baby.
She wished to God she was there with that poor, innocent, little girl. No way was any Russian baby seller getting a hold of Paulette. Ever. Not while she was breathing.
Four seconds after Shana slipped her phone back into her small bag, Madeline returned with a big clunky phone with two cords dangling. Shana hadn’t expected the woman to bring the secure line herself.
“I apologize for the old-fashioned style, but secure is secure. My husband tells me it’s important. I haven’t found a cure for his paranoia yet. In fact, I think it may be contagious.”
Shana laughed while she watched Madeline hook the phone up and plug it in as though she’d done it a million times before. Naturally. This woman had a very interesting life. A big reason for that was because of her husband—even though she was an impressive and accomplished woman a
ll on her own. The thoughts lifted Shana’s spirits. Maybe Shana could reach for the moon herself.
Madeline left the room and she dialed up Cap.
“If it isn’t Shana the mother hen,” Cap said. Shana could hear the smile in his voice and smiled herself as she stood in the middle of the guest room, not bothering to sit.
“How is she?”
“Ridiculous question. As Sassy told you, Paulette is fine. Sleeping like a baby. I always wanted to say that—and mean it.”
“Humor me. There’s a twist to Paulette’s circumstances. We might know who the mother is and there might be a connection to some Russian mob—”
“Baby selling?” Cap cut her off with an edge in his voice she hadn’t heard in a while.
“How did you know?”
“I keep up with all the law enforcement alerts and case reports. It’s my business. How else do you think I stay sane during the long lonely winters here?”
“Can you stay the night?”
“I already am. Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes—sorry. I’m all keyed up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dane.”
“Jesus—”
“No—I mean he is refusing to take this case any further—he really does have a problem with cases involving babies. He’s willing to turn it over to the FBI tomorrow.”
“Shit. That does not sound like the Dane Blaise I know. The FBI will sit on their mark for eons until they build a case—they could take years to close it.”
“I know. Dane knows. Paulette will be in danger until the case is busted. The thing is—it’s officially the correct thing to do and so the governor’s and David Young’s hands are tied. Dane was their out—and mine—to try and get something done quickly. Now he’s giving up before our one week is up and—”
“What the hell is the problem?”
“I was hoping you would know.”
“Has to be something bad. Any chance you can keep the case open yourself?”
“No. The decision is already made. We’re supposed to deliver Paulette—and all the intel we have on this—tomorrow. To the FBI. Then… well I don’t even want to think what will happen to that sweet baby then—some foster care family—probably in some secret location.”
“Not ideal. But then, her situation is not ideal no matter what—given the fact that Father Donahue is her father.” Shana heard the unspoken words: and a slave to the Russian mob is her mother.
Shana forced herself to process the situation. Something her own father told her once came to mind. You can’t save them all. You can’t even protect your own kids all their lives let alone all the innocent kids in the world. He’d worked on only that one child murder case—that she knew of. But he was a man and he didn’t have that stabbing pain in the uterus area the way she did this very moment. It was anxiety, but it was the kind of anxiety she’d never known before. She wondered again what Dane had experienced, what kind of horror made him back down so quickly on this.
“I’m going to talk to Dane and find out what has him so tied in knots.”
“Sure—for all the goddamned good it’ll do—”
“It’ll do me good to know. I need to know.” I need to keep respecting him. She didn’t say those last words out loud, but Cap could read between the lines as well as anyone—probably better than most men she knew. So he would know.
He stayed silent a beat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, “one way or another.” They signed off.
After pacing around her room for a while rehearsing ways to broach the subject of his past nightmare case involving a baby, Shana got tired of waiting for Dane to show up. The damn man had better be planning to show up. She was sure he would. It was late, but she wasn’t tired, only tired of pacing around the lovely area rug decorating her large lovely guest room. The others must be up too.
“Hell if I’m staying cooped up in this room by myself,” she spoke out loud. Checking her watch and frowning at the time, she ventured out and downstairs, back to the study in spite of the hour. She’d track Dane down wherever he was. She couldn’t stand to let this go unresolved between them for another minute.
When she got there, she was surprised to find the study empty but she heard some voices. They were coming from the hall leading to the kitchen and she wasn’t above tracking them down even if this was the governor’s mansion.
She arrived at the kitchen door to find Peter, Madeline, and Joe lined up at the massive island and having a drink of something.
“I’ll have one—of whatever it is,” Shana said and walked in and sat at the counter. Joe got up and nodded and played the role of bartender again. The guy was good at it.
“You know anything about this?” The governor himself, one of Dane’s oldest and best friends and one of the people Dane admired most in the world, was asking her—as if she might really know something he didn’t about the legend of Dane Blaise.
She stood, frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights, and stared at him. Joe handed her a drink. It was a cup of coffee. The smell wafted up and restarted her brain.
“I don’t. Know anything about it.” Shana took a gulp of the hot coffee.
“It had to be a pretty awful mission of some sort involving the loss of a baby, or maybe more than one,” Madeline said.
“It wasn’t exactly a mission. It was a personal vendetta. Against me.”
Shana whipped around to see if Dane’s face matched the desolation of his voice. Her heart leapt with a pain so acute she was ashamed she’d worried about her wrenching uterus pain. Her heart must be breaking. The poets were not being fanciful or using their imagination when they spoke of heartbreak. The pain she felt was real and she stumbled forward to him, careless that heart failure could be lethal.
Dane’s eyes held hers and everything else disappeared—she wondered if this was another symptom of heart failure—fading eyesight, loss of any sense of her surroundings. She didn’t care. She needed to touch him, to console the stark desolation, the horrible pain she saw in his eyes and felt along with him like a scalding chainsaw splitting her chest.
“Dane.” She reached him. He’d only been three steps away, but she felt like she’d dragged herself across hell to get to him. She wrapped him in her arms and he wrapped her, stronger and warmer and bigger and she melted against him, consoling her as always. It was Dane who held up and made things all right. Still, even in his wounded state.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry, Shana,” he whispered into her hair, caressing her.
She reveled and absorbed him and his pain. The tightness in her chest eased and the searing across her heart faded until she thought she must have been crazy thinking she’d had a heart attack.
She felt him shift and heard his friend speak. “You don’t have to tell us,” Madeline said. Shana saw her put a restraining hand on Peter who, like her, wanted nothing more than to hear all about it—to solve the problem, to take it away and relieve the burden. But Madeline Grace was right and her husband the governor heeded her.
Dane let her go from his hold, but Shana couldn’t disengage herself—not all the way. She kept one arm wrapped around one of his arms as he moved into the kitchen and joined his friends.
“It’s about time I dealt with it. It’s been years. I don’t think about it much, but the scar is deep and permanent and its effects seem to control me in a counterproductive way.” Dane stopped and looked at Shana and pulled her in by the shoulders.
“I should be able to help my partner with this case—I thought I could. Maybe. But—”
“No, you don’t need to worry. I’ll—”
“You’ll do what? You’ll interfere with the FBI and kill your career? You’ll keep Paulette and do what?”
She knew it was the pain talking, but she felt her chin go up all the same. She barely kept her mouth in check thanks to a look from Madeline. Dane was wounded. Deeply.
“If it’ll help you to share the stor
y,” Madeline said, “you know we’ll listen—without judgment. Without expectations.”
“You’ve already done your part in this case, Dane,” Peter said.
Dane shook his head and Shana’s gut butterflied, hoping there’d be a chance still, to redeem their mission, to not let Paulette down, to not let her go to the Department of Social Services or somewhere into the cold failing system of so-called care for lost children.
“I’ll tell you about it,” Dane said. “But I’ll need some of that coffee first.”
Chapter 11
He’d had too many shots of bourbon—fancy or not—and it had its effects and Dane needed better control of himself—even if it was imaginary control.
Joe was a half a step ahead of him with the mug of hot black coffee. Dane took the big white mug with the governor’s seal and wrestled his arm free from Shana’s grip to take a sip. Her touch was comforting and even as he loosened his arm he felt her close in and lean against his side, keeping contact with him as if they were a pair of magnets.
Letting the hot liquid trail down his throat and singe his gut with vigor and renewed hope, he put his cup down on the counter and looked up at his friends, looked at Shana. He leaned his head in and breathed in her scent for peace of mind and then he spoke.
“About ten years ago, I was in love with a girl—a baby girl named Delilah. She was my lover’s daughter.” He paused when he felt Shana’s flinch against him and caressed her back, without looking at her.
“We lived together and I played dad to Delilah, feeding her, rocking her, making her laugh, comforting her tears and…” He stopped. His heartbeat was too fast so he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to picture Delilah sleeping in his arms. He felt Shana touch his arm, a touch of concern, tentative and light. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. He felt it turn into a real smile when she smiled back—that way she had like sunshine and beauty.
Beachcomber Baby (Beachcomber Investigations Book 3) Page 10
