“Neither do I,” Dane said. “We’re having Acer look into Whitaker’s prison pals.”
“I’ll see what I can do from my end. I have a contact in another federal agency I can call about the cars and about Peck very surreptitiously—see if he knows anything behind the scenes about him.”
“How about if we have David call in Oscar—aka Antonio Rizoni—to investigate the secret bank account?”
The governor laughed and said, “You’re thinking outside the box—I like that about you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“None of this behind-the-scenes investigating will help us nail Whitaker or Peck legally.”
“Maybe not,” Dane said, “But it will go a long way to helping us stopping Peck or at least cramping his style—and stopping the sniper.” Dane had a burning need to stop Peck. It was fast becoming personal.
“Always keeping your eye on the prize. Any progress with finding the sniper?”
“Sure. Our plan worked. He’s in the spider’s web now. Spotted in several places around the island. We have feelers out, but it’s dangerous with the feds involved—and not in a good way.”
Peter asked to talk to Acer and so Dane turned off the speaker and handed it over.
Cap said, “I’m off to keep an eye on Shana.”
Dane nodded. His gut twisted. He had nothing left to say on the subject.
“I’ll keep her safe. Update me on intel.”
“Stay in constant contact mode,” Dane said.
“Okay boss. I wouldn’t have figured to do that if you didn’t tell me,” Acer said.
Cap shook his head as he went out the door with a glance at Acer before touching the doorknob.
Dane would need to change the doorknob—maybe the entire door—after this mission was over or he’d forever associate leaving or entering his home with being tasered. He watched Cap walk out the door and wished to hell he could go with him.
But he owed Acer and he would not forgive himself if anything happened to the man. The threat against his old unit buddy was the more serious one. For now.
Chapter 9
Banging her fist on the steering wheel was not an effective way to stop her hand from shaking, Shana discovered. She stepped on the gas. It was not that she was in such a hurry to meet Peck since she would be early as planned. It was more about running away from Dane. Damned Dane. Maybe that’s what she’d start calling him—to his face—from now on.
She scoffed at herself and pulled up along the curb out front of the Lucky Parrot. It was a short drive. Lucky for her. Less chance for her to injure herself or others in a car crash because she was in the running for the Most Frustrated Woman in the World award.
Promising herself that slamming her car door would be her last uncool act of emotional outrage, she took a breath of the heavily salted cool air, slung her slim bag over her shoulder and strutted to the front door. She was in character now. The weight of her gun in her bag comforted her and her focus on the assignment spread across her consciousness, blotting everything else out. She felt good.
The complete confidence faltered only for a breath when she saw Glen Peck chatting up the waitress in the mostly empty dining room of Dane’s favorite establishment. She stopped. And waited for him to notice her—or to acknowledge that he noticed her—because she was damn sure he knew she’d walked in. He was trained and he was a survivor, and he wasn’t stupid. She would not make the mistake of underestimating him. Or his snake level.
FBI man laughed at the waitress. Shana couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. Then he turned his head and faked a look of pleased surprise. That she was sure was an act. He straightened up and headed her way with a spark in his eyes—not an act.
This could be a long night. Dane’s words played in her head. No holds barred. Clamping down on the immediate surge of defiance, she gave Peck a cool assessing smile. On the inside, she contemplated working him up and taking him down. On the outside, she was certain he’d take the look for approval, maybe with an invitation. Too bad for him the invitation was not to a personal party with her, but to his takedown at her hands.
When he reached her and opted for a warm friendly hug instead of a punch in the mouth or a handshake, it confirmed that this was not going to be anything like a business meeting. He had no intentions of playing fair anymore than she did. She knew he was out for intel same as she was.
But Shana was counting on one difference in her favor. She did not feel even the smallest bit of attraction to this man and, on the other hand, he most definitely was attracted to her. In spite of their last encounter. It was the key weakness she would exploit as many women before her had, in an endless succession of successes.
“You dressed—as promised. And you’ve exceeded my expectations.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He laughed and gestured for her to take a seat in a booth at the window.
“I figure we should sit here to make it easier on whoever is watching you.”
She laughed and slid in.
“You don’t think I’m a big enough girl to take care of myself?”
“Touché. We know you’ve demonstrated that you can take care of yourself fairly well. No. I think your friends—and I use that term liberally—made it very clear that they don’t like me. I don’t think they trust me for some reason and I find that puzzling since I’m a fellow law-enforcement type. I’m one of the good guys.”
“You trying to convince me?”
“You wouldn’t be here—dressed like that—if you didn’t think so. Or if you weren’t at least going to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
She couldn’t tell if he was smugly confident or posturing or on a fishing expedition. She mentally shrugged. Outwardly, she leaned in, across the table and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me.”
“Maybe your friends shouldn’t trust you.”
“Getting right to business.” She didn’t move back or blink.
“I like to get that out of the way so we can enjoy ourselves.” He paused. She waited him out without even so much as a quirk of her brow.
He leaned in on his elbows, bringing him within crowding distance so that she could feel and smell the heat of his body. It was a test for sure, but she concentrated on keeping the telltale flare of her nostrils under control. She had Dane to thank for that lesson.
“I want you to keep me updated on whatever it is that your friends are doing, whatever they find out about the sniper that took a shot at Aceman or whoever is behind the sniper.”
“Oh, that’s all.”
“No, that’s not all. I also want you to make sure they don’t make a move. That’s my territory and I—the FBI owns this case and will make any and all moves to apprehend any suspects.”
“You don’t need little old me for that. You have people—hordes of people, probably—to handle that. Surely you don’t think a couple of guys in a beach shack could get anywhere or do anything without your people knowing?”
“That’s why I want you. I don’t want them to know I know.”
“Oh, they’ll know.”
“So you’re not ready to come back into the fold of legitimate law enforcement—”
“But I am. Shana George, Investigator for the Metropolitan Police on special assignment with the Scotland Yard Exchange Program out of Boston, at your service.”
He smiled and sat back. He had that blank stare, but she knew he was not discouraged. He was the kind of guy that liked a challenge—especially female—and the kind of guy who figured there was not a female alive he couldn’t win over with his charm and good looks. Shana admitted that he had them both. Too bad for him she knew too much about him. He had one too many of the wrong kind of chinks in his armor. She thought of Dane’s chinks—but only for a moment. Long enough to feel a boost about her excellent choice of friends.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Peck said. “You provide me intel on their progress
, comings and goings, and I keep you out of trouble.”
“There is no trouble.”
“Oh, there’s going to be a whole world of trouble for Dane Blaise. And possibly for Captain Lynch and Acer, as you call him. I can guarantee it.”
The façade of cool didn’t slip, but he had too much confidence. Her heartbeat blipped in acceleration.
“Trouble is as trouble does.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He smirked. He figured he was calling her out on a lame remark. And truth be told, it was lame—or would have been if she didn’t have some notion that he was the one in trouble.
“You’re so hot to make trouble, Mr. FBI Man, that I can’t help wondering about you.”
“What about me?” He leaned toward her again in full flirtation mode.
“Maybe you’re the trouble.” That’s as much as she would give him. “But I’m listening.”
“You know as well as I do that Dane operates outside the lines. You don’t want to be associated with a Rambo-type loose cannon like him. You’re too young and promising.” He paused and let his eyes roam, let them get glassy and unguarded. “And gorgeous.”
“You forgot smart.”
“You sell yourself short. I’d call you brilliant.”
Shana fought hard not to roll her eyes.
“Okay, say I agree—for the sake of argument—to keep you in the loop on whatever Dane is up to. What do you plan to do?”
“I go in for the kill when the sniper shows up to take a shot. I catch the bad guy, grab the credit, and discredit Dane Blaise the notorious mad man, all in one fell swoop.” His smile was confident, but she said nothing. He added, “And I share credit with you.”
“I see.”
“You are not an afterthought. In fact, I’ll be lucky if you don’t completely distract me. But I promise I will share whatever rewards I reap.”
Now she was getting somewhere.
“Sounds promising.”
“Agreed?”
“Sure.”
“First test. What are they doing right now? Besides watching us.” He watched her closely.
“Running plates. Checking in with the governor on Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker.” She didn’t mention her own activities and hoped he’d say something about the plates or about her trip to Boston, but he didn’t. He nodded. That was it.
“The governor is involved in the day-to-day operation,” he said.
She didn’t need to confirm this. It was something he should know or would know if he were in day-to-day routine communication with his Special Agent in Charge, Owen Evans.
“I know that’s not news to you, but it’s all I’ve got. For the moment.”
“Acer got anything on the sniper?”
“A possible. Unconfirmed.” She lied. He smiled. He wasn’t quite as good as Dane, but he was good.
“No hedging, Shana.” He reached out and took her hand and squeezed a touch too tightly. She squeezed back more than a touch tightly and twisted her hand from his grip.
“I thought you wanted to remain on friendly terms?”
“That’s up to you. You play me, you get what you get.”
“Same goes for you, Mr. Peck. Especially if you want me to dob in on my mate.” She stared him down.
He shook his head, sighed and pushed back from the table to study her.
“Okay. I’m trusting you,” Peck said. “What’s the name of the possible sniper?”
“Wallace White.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. It’s Acer and Dane’s intel. I’ve been out doing other things.” She didn’t add that he probably knew that because she wasn’t sure. She wanted to confirm that he was not the one behind the nondescript car with the non-issued plate.
“What was your assignment?”
“I had a chat with Mrs. Whitaker.”
It could get her in trouble, but this was no time to play coy.
He lifted his brow. “And what did she have to say?”
“You should know. You were the agent on the original case involving her husband and her father’s company and Acer. You already knew all about it.”
“And what do you know?”
“I suspect that Whitaker hid the money and now he doesn’t want to share it. He already got Harry the Hacker and now he’s after Acer in case Acer knows something.” This was all true.
“I agree. So who hired the sniper? Whitaker for greed or his wife for revenge?”
“I don’t know about that—”
“You spoke with Mrs. Whitaker. But she’s not as dumb as she acts.” He smiled like a smart professor imparting wisdom on his less wise student. Meanwhile, it was Shana’s professional opinion that Mrs. Whitaker was not dumb, but she was pathetic. There was no way Fiona Whitaker was the mastermind here. And there was every possibility that she was looking at the mastermind right now.
The waitress finally arrived with drinks—two glasses of champagne. She’d have preferred tequila or whiskey, but she took the requisite sip.
“It occurs to me I don’t know a thing about you—is there a Mrs. Peck I should know about?”
“I wouldn’t be here with you if there was, would I?”
“A girl can’t be too careful.”
“I don’t have any special someone in my life right now—except you.” He took a long sip. “You know I’ve had my eye on you for a while. Last I saw you had no interest in me. What changed your mind today?”
“It’s like you said. I was bloody fed up.”
He nodded. “Surfer boy’s attitude finally got to you.”
“If by attitude you mean lack of relationship skills, then you’re spot on.”
He smiled wide. Right on cue. The waitress came back and refilled their drinks, or his drink since she’d barely forced a sip, then took their orders.
“I’m glad we got business out of the way. Now I can get to know you better. I love your accent and your charming Australian colloquialisms, by the way.”
“And I admire your confidence,” she said. She hated it. He was bloody up himself.
He grinned like a schoolboy.
“Let’s toast—give me an authentic Australian toast.” He held up his champagne.
She clinked her glass to his and said, “Bob’s yer uncle.” Then she slugged down the drink to get it over with.
He laughed and she wasn’t sure if he pretended to be charmed by her descent into excessive Australian slang or if he was fair dinkum for the moment. The waitress brought their meal but she had no appetite.
“How about if we take an early mark?”
He gave her a quizzical look, his smile reaching his eyes.
“Leave early,” she said. Maybe he was into her because his face lit up like a gun flash.
“I would love to if you’ll let me buy you a nightcap back at my room.” He waited and for once didn’t look a hundred percent sure. Either he was channeling Don Juan or he had a sweet spot for her for real. She wouldn’t assume it was real—not just yet. But if so, that gave her a huge advantage. And that excited her. She let it show on her face.
“I’d love to as long as you’re serving something stronger than champagne.”
“Whatever you want. How about Chivas?”
She raised a brow, but before she answered, her phone rang. It was check-in time with Cap. She slipped her phone out giving Peck an apologetic smile and answered the call.
“Shana here.”
“All’s well? I see you’ve been sitting in the window to make my job easy.”
“I can definitely have coffee with you in the morning. It’ll be fun.” She heard Cap suck in a breath.
“Don’t stay over. Your curfew is eleven p.m. and after that I’m coming to get you,” Cap said in a tight, no-nonsense voice.
She laughed. “We’ll see. Until then.” She ended the call and looked at Peck. He looked back at her and his smile was most definitely genuine now and slightly wolfish. Not nearly as wolfish as Dane’s, but i
t made her shiver with anticipation.
“Don’t tell me that wasn’t your shadow checking in.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
“He got the message loud and clear that you’re spending the night with me.”
“Apparently you got the message too.” She felt the tension ratchet up as all the muscles in her gut tightened. Dane had said to go for broke. She tasted a bubble of bile.
There was no way in bloody hell she would go all the way. But she would have to play this as close as possible and not get herself in trouble. One way or another. With either Mr. FBI or Dane. Or Cap, for that matter.
She would think of something.
They left the restaurant and, thank the Lord, Cap stayed back. He had the advantage of knowing where Peck was staying.
Dane paced around like a worried grandmother, but no matter how many clucks at his pathetic behavior Acer shot at him, he didn’t care. Shana was out there with the person he knew was the mastermind behind the hidden money and the sniper. Peck might even be behind the surveillance cars, although Dane couldn’t make himself believe that much. The guy didn’t wield enough juice for that.
He passed the kitchen window and paused, glancing at the winking lights in the harbor. He hoped to hell the sniper didn’t have a boat. But then he wouldn’t strike at night. Not if he wanted a money shot. It was too high risk.
The muffled jangle of his phone sounded in his pocket and he stopped dead, then slipped it out. It was Cap’s number flashing.
“Report.”
“I spoke with Shana. She’s fine. But in spite of my advice, she’s planning to go back to his room.” Cap stopped speaking. There was no sign that he was driving. No engine noise or breeze or rustling of movement.
“Follow. Anything else?” Dane said. His voice sounded strangely calm above the wild clanging of alarm bells pounding in his chest.
“What the hell? You okay with this?”
“I’m the one that told her to go for broke.” Damn him. Damn her.
“She said she was staying the night.”
“Bloody hell.” He used her words. Acer looked at him.
Beachcomber Investigations Page 11
