Beachcomber Investigations

by Stephanie Queen

  “Everyone out of the kitchen while I’m cooking. We’re all having scrambled eggs and bacon. No special orders. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll make the toast,” the kid volunteered with a big grin.

  She nodded okay. She could use him as a shield between her and Dane until she got her bearings back and erected her impenetrable wall of … of something to protect her. So far she’d found no armor that worked. Now his gaze in her direction was indifferent. No approval of her cooking. No admiration of the clothes she put on or the makeup she wore or the special attention to her hair. What a fool she was.

  Shana cracked the first egg like it was made of granite and the satisfying crunch and mess of yolk, spilled and ruined, satisfied her a tiny bit. The kid looked at her. She silenced him with a mean scowl. He took a step back, grabbed the bag of bread and moved to the peninsula with the toaster.

  Dane sat with Acer hunched together at the dining room table, sipping coffee and plotting the steps to hunt down Sebastian Whitaker.

  Dane said, “We’ll need to find the sniper—finding him first is a priority and I don’t think Whitaker will have a clue where he is.”

  Acer nodded and said, “I’m ninety-eight percent certain the sniper is Wallace White—the one whose profile I found yesterday and we have a last known.”

  “He’s on the move now,” Dane said. “He’s probably here since we’ll assume he knows everyone in the unit, including me, and my whereabouts. Hell, if he found you, he’d have no trouble finding me. I’ve never hidden my whereabouts even if I haven’t advertised it.”

  “No, you’ve created a fortress instead. On an island. Effective in some ways—like a spider web.” Acer smiled.

  Shana splattered her eggs in the pan and didn’t care about the mess. She felt like she’d been taken back in time to the 1950s and all that was missing were the string of pearls around her neck, Lassie and Timmy. She looked at the kid toasting his toast. Or maybe the only thing missing was the dog and the pearls. She wished she had a dog right now. She’d sic her on Dane.

  But she wasn’t from back then and she wasn’t going to be relegated to the sidelines in the kitchen—even if she had been the one to relegate herself—while the men folk talked shop.

  She said loud enough to interrupt whatever they were going to say next and in an autocratic tone, “I think we should split up. I’ll talk to Fiona Whitaker—”

  “No,” both Dane and Acer said at once.

  She turned from the stovetop, spatula in one hand and the other on her hip, and stepped toward the dining room threshold, skirting around the kitchen peninsula that separated the two rooms. She kept her face scowl free and calm, and let icy resentment freeze her next words.

  “You two are forgetting. I’m on the books. I don’t take my orders from you.” She pinged her stare from one set of eyes to the other. Dane looked impassive with a hint of wariness. Acer looked taken aback and was possibly reassessing his position on her role.

  She focused on Dane and stared him down. This was no easy feat since the man was a master at staring like no one she’d ever met. Of course. Thus the legend. Not that the legend was about staring, but one couldn’t become legendary without being a master of just about everything there was. Not in this business where the minute you encountered someone better than you at something, you risked losing—your life.

  Dane also happened to be a master at disarming an opponent. Physically or verbally or mentally. He got to work right now on her.

  “I understand your point. We can talk to David about it. See what he thinks. Although he did put me in charge of the details of the operation.”

  “That was before—” She waved her hand in all directions, realizing she encompassed the direction of the bedroom and feeling like everything in her mind would now be marked as Before and After she—they—broke the rule.

  “I know. But I have a good reason for wanting to stick together on this.” He paused. Shana was at attention. Every molecule of her came to life like she’d been plugged into a magical energy source. She was lit-up and vibrating and pulsing everywhere. She hated herself at that moment.

  “Well?” She firmed up her scowl, even if he wasn’t fooled by it. Maybe she’d impress Acer and the kid at least.

  “I want to,” he said.

  She licked her lips and was treated to a moment of raw emotion from Dane the emotionless. He was so full of passion and so passionless at the same time. But this was an unguarded moment. She knew it was purposeful and calculated, but that didn’t take away from the genuineness.

  Thus, she found herself in this unholy predicament of staying with the wrong guy for all the wrong reasons in a purgatory of denial and temptation.

  “Why?”

  “You know why. We’re good together—we’re partners. There are too many unknowns once we go off island. Cap can keep an eye on Acer.”

  “That’s crazy. The sniper could be down the street waiting to pounce.”

  “He can’t pounce unless we give him a shot. You do realize I have bullet-resistant glass-clad polycarbonate in the windows?”

  “The windows won’t stop a high-powered Heckler & Koch.”

  “Won’t have to,” Acer spoke up. “We’ve already discussed it. I’ll set up shop in the basement and monitor the perimeter from there and keep the communications open. This guy—if he’s the one—isn’t sophisticated enough to cut off communications. Not the kind I have set up. So we’re good.”

  “We’ll be taking a look around the area before we leave the island. The kid can ask around about the guy. We’ll give him a picture. He can keep his eyes peeled and maybe find out where Wally’s staying.”

  “Cool, man.” The kid’s voice cracked. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a jack-in-the-box clown bouncing on a spring.

  “Great—you’ll get him killed.”

  “No—he’s only going to ask people he knows and can absolutely trust. And the cover is going to be that the guy is his hero.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of planning behind my back.” She was impressed and petulant and did not like being left out.

  Dane smiled at her. “You wanted to cook.”

  She threw the spatula at him, then she realized based on the acrid smell in the air that she might have needed that spatula because the bacon and eggs were done. She hurried back to the stove and tossed the bacon and eggs into a bowl in one heap.

  Shana ordered the kid to bring plates and utensils and marched back to the dining room with the bowl of food. She figured it would be a long time before anyone let her cook again.

  The four of them were seated at the table, serving themselves food with about the amount of enthusiasm Shana had expected—none. It was seven a.m. and Shana wondered when Cap would get there to save them all from the tension, the testiness and the overcooked food. A moment later, a knock sounded at the back door followed by a friendly shout of hello. Cap walked in.

  He looked good and she jumped from her chair as if she were in a hurry to stop the grin from fading from his face as he read the room. He was in full dress uniform plus a sling, and he approached with caution, taking his Statie hat from his head.

  “Dressed for the occasion?” Dane said.

  She met him before he got past the threshold and gave him a genuine hug of affection and desperation as if he was, once again, her life raft in the sea of Dane fueled tumult.

  “Smells like bacon. Well done. Shana, you cooked?” Cap said with a smile in his voice. She chuckled into his chest and he gave her a one-armed hug, holding his sling out of the way.

  He must have felt her reluctance to let go as if she were a big baby. She was being a big baby. He whispered, “It’s okay,” into her hair and she pushed herself away. That was all the consolation she would allow herself. She needed to toughen up. If Dane wasn’t good for anything else, he would be good to make her tougher than she already was. Like the most wily alligator in the swamp.

  Cap didn’t make any
more of it. He was more intent on Dane and Acer. She separated herself and got him a plate and fork.

  “Who do we have here?” Cap asked, nodding in the direction of the kid.

  Dane explained while Cap exchanged an old comrade-in-arms hug with Acer and took a seat. She gave Cap his plate and fork and a cup of coffee. That was the last domestic chore she would do for the day. She sat and forced herself to eat the overcooked bacon and eggs.

  The bacon was okay.

  “Acer has the sniper pegged as Wallace White based on his service record and the description he got at a nearby hotel.”

  “We need to confirm that he’s connected to the shooting of Harry the Hacker,” Acer said. “You can get that file through official channels.”

  “Harry the Hacker?”

  “Real name is Harold Small.”

  Cap nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll expedite it.”

  “What do you want me to work on while you’re out, boss?” Acer asked Dane. Shana bristled.

  “Dane can stay—”

  “Where’s he going?” Cap asked.

  “He has this notion that we both need to talk to Whitaker’s wife. He was going to have you stay here with Acer.” Shana waited to see whose side Cap would take in this one. It wouldn’t be easy for the poor man. He looked around the table at all of them.

  Then he resumed eating without comment.

  “We need to find the sniper before the sniper finds us,” Dane said. “Shana and I are going to take a look around the area before we leave the island.”

  Cap said, “I’ll get the full file on the sniper shooting of the hacker, Harold Small, since he’s definitely connected.”

  “Acer—you call Fred Bryant. And turn the perimeter electricity back on.”

  Ronnie Ryan jumped in his chair. Cap looked at him.

  “A stringer?” Cap said.

  “That’s what I say,” Shana said.

  “I’m cool with it,” Ronnie said. “I know what I’m in for—especially since this morning when—”

  “No need to go into that,” Dane cut him off.

  Cap laughed. “Don’t tell me you had the electric fence turned on and the kid—”

  “That’s it—how did you know?” the kid said.

  “Can we not keep any secrets here? Discretion. Important part of the job.” Dane gave the kid a warning look.

  “Pick on someone your own size,” Shana said to Dane and stood, jutted her chin and put her hands on the hips of her skin-tight jeans, pushing her chest out in the unusually low-cut tank top. She’d dressed for him. She may as well taunt him. Least she could do.

  He raised his brows at her.

  Acer put down his fork and went still.

  Cap looked between her and Dane, and then he continued eating. He was used to the battle between her and Dane. He sometimes referred to it as the battle between good and evil, generously assigning her to the side of good.

  She determined to deserve the label today.

  She pushed Dane off the computer and sent a copy of the photo of the sniper suspect, Wallace White, to their printer, retrieved it and gave it to the kid.

  “Get on your way and don’t ask anyone you don’t know and trust. Do not be obvious.” She handed him a cell and said, “Call in every hour on the hour. Got that?”

  “Yes ma’am. But—”

  “Those are the terms,” Dane said in a hard voice. She didn’t undercut his harshness this time. She didn’t want to have to worry about the kid.

  “Set your phone alarm to remind you. Tell your boss you’re calling your mother to remind her about her medicine,” she said.

  “Good one.” He gave her an admiring look. She wished she deserved it.

  She was determined to deserve it. No more Shana the girl mooning over Dane the boy. That was history. Had to be.

  Dane and Cap shoved from the table and the kid scrambled to his feet. Acer stayed put behind his computer.

  Dane gripped the steering wheel of his Jeep with unnecessary ferocity as he drove through the streets of Vineyard Haven. In between scanning the neighborhoods for odd vehicles, rentals and any unusual pedestrians, he took stock of Shana. She did her own scanning and a play-by-play to accompany it.

  “Two runners. I recognize the guy. Pretty regular, but slow. He must have picked up the chick somewhere. New York plate on the second car in the drive on the left…”

  “Stop it. You’re driving me crazy. The New York car is okay. People vacation here from New York off and on. Mostly after the end of the season like now. They own the house. I know them.”

  “Is there anyone you don’t know?”

  “Plenty. Plenty of transients and still some vacationers.”

  “What category are you in?”

  “I’m a regular islander now. I’m a local.”

  She huffed.

  He said, “Same as you.”

  She snapped her head around to eye him.

  “If I’m a local then the standard for local is pretty iffy.” She looked back out the window. He slowed and turned into the supermarket parking lot. He figured he’d talk with Jim the deli man. Jim didn’t know it, but he was Dane’s local informer. Kept him updated on all the local intel. Although some might call it gossip.

  “Wait here and watch for—anything suspicious.” He quirked one brow.

  She opened her door and hopped out. He knew she would.

  “I’m coming inside. I hate sitting in the car waiting for you. You take forever.”

  “What if something suspicious happens?”

  She ignored him and walked through the automatic door into the grocer’s.

  Dane headed straight to the deli and she followed a pace or two behind as if she weren’t with him. Standard. But it irked him all the same. He stopped himself from slowing down and reeling her in, bringing her to his side.

  It was midweek and early enough in the day, so there was no line at the deli counter. And no Jim. Dane pressed a finger on the old-fashioned bell on the glass counter.

  Jim came out grumbling. “I’ll be right with you.” When he saw it was Dane his face exploded into a grin and his grumbling stopped.

  “Well if it isn’t my good customer and friend the damn secretive bastard Dane Blaise. Hell of a thing to read in the paper about the surfing and you rounding up a gang of damn kidnapping druggies from South America.” He held his big tough hand over the counter to shake Dane’s and Dane obliged.

  “Jim the deli man, how the hell are you?”

  “A hell of a lot safer now that I know you’re on the job.” He gave Dane a Popeye grin. The man might as well have a big fat anchor tattoo on his substantial forearm. He could play the cartoon sailorman’s double. “You got anymore secrets I shouldn’t know about?”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you in any danger.” Dane meant it. The man nodded. Dane said, “Don’t let all the hype fool you. I’m not on any secret missions. I came in for my usual baloney.”

  Jim laughed and Dane noticed Shana stifle a smile as she perused the pita bread. Lucky thing he was blessed with uncanny peripheral vision. He didn’t think Shana realized how much he could see. And he wasn’t about to let her in on it.

  “A pound of baloney coming up.”

  “Make it half. I feel lucky there’s no crowd at the counter.”

  “Nah. Week day.”

  “Seems to me more tourists around than usual for midweek this time of year. You notice that?”

  “Nah. Not too bad. Been waiting for the end of tourist season.”

  Dane grunted. “I know what you mean. I noticed this one crazy-looking guy. Didn’t look healthy. Not like your typical tourist.”

  “Looked suspicious?” Jim asked.

  Dane shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone looks suspicious to me. But this guy stood out. He was extra tall and skinny though-near seven feet I’d say, if he stood straight. He was missing a couple teeth…” Dane didn’t have to ask Jim if he’d seen the guy. He jumped in.

  “Hey, I
think I’ve seen him.”

  “Really? Recently?”

  “Yesterday—at the ferry landing when I was over at the Black Dog getting coffee.”

  “Coming or going?”

  Jim shrugged. “Could have been either. He was carrying a bag I noticed because it was an odd kind for luggage.”

  Dane kept his face neutral, but there was a zip of adrenaline. The sniper rifle case would surely count as an odd bag for luggage.

  Dane took his baloney.

  “Should I watch out for the guy?”

  Dane paused a beat about what to tell Jim, but before he could tell him anything, Shana stepped up to the counter and said, “Enough baloney, Dane.”

  Jim looked at her and then recognition dawned and his eyes widened.

  “You’re the surfer girl—the one—”

  “Shana George. I work with Dane. We’d appreciate it very much if you’d call if you see this man again anywhere on the island.” She handed him her card. “And stay clear of him.”

  Jim nodded, assessing her, and from the looks of it decided she was serious. He flicked a glance at Dane. Dane gave him a nod, then saluted and they left Jim stewing. Dane was certain Jim was a good solid man and he wouldn’t talk about this to anyone. But he was a little worried that Jim could get himself in trouble. He’d have to give the man a call later and warn him to be cautious and not stare or give himself away. And not to mention a word to anyone about their interest in the tall, hunchbacked, skinny guy.

  When they got outside and got into the Jeep, Shana turned to him and looked as serious as a bible.

  “You should stay on the island and keep an eye out for this guy and let me go and interview Fiona Whitaker on my own. I’ll be back by nightfall.” She waited for his response.

  He knew she was right. He had to find the sniper. Wally White was somewhere on the island and it wouldn’t be long before he found Dane’s beach shack. Hell, if Jim knew about Dane and his reputation, then others did and they would talk to each other and to his neighbors and they’d all know where he lived. Shit. This was why he’d never stayed on the island before. Why he’d always kept an anonymous profile and never worked in his own neighborhood. Until last summer.