Beachcomber Baby

by Stephanie Queen

  “What is the real problem, Dane?” She used her super quiet mother’s voice—the one that errant boys everywhere answered to, like her kid brothers always had.

  He gave her a look and shook his head. Then he said, “I don’t like babies. I don’t get involved in cases with babies. Nothing good ever comes of them.”

  “What the hell—”

  “I’m serious, Shana.” He turned and walked out.

  She had a bad feeling that there was a bad case involving a baby in his past. Now she’d have to spend the rest of the afternoon getting him to talk about it. She got up and followed him into the kitchen. He pulled two beers from the fridge and handed her one.

  Then he walked out the backdoor to his small patio overlooking the harbor. It was a mild day.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said without turning around.

  “You don’t have to. You don’t have to be involved in the case. I’ll take it. I’ll handle it myself. No need for both of us to bother with such an easy one.”

  He scoffed. “Never easy. Not ever. Not with babies.”

  “This isn’t a missing baby. The baby is perfectly fine. We’re just looking for a parent or family member. That’s all.”

  “You said we.”

  “Sorry, I meant me. I will find the baby’s mother and all will be well.”

  She really believed that. Sort of. If she didn’t think about it too hard. Until she got the call later that afternoon.

  Chapter 2

  “Beachcomber Investigations. Shana George speaking.” She practiced her newly acquired American accent. It wasn’t perfect, but it was less obvious that she was a foreigner. Dane thought she was crazy for trying to get rid of her accent. He found her Aussie accent charming. Reason enough there to change it.

  “Hello, Ms. George, this is Father Donahue. I believe Governor Douglas told you I’d be calling.”

  “Yes, about a baby.”

  “Her name is Paulette.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Cagey answer for a priest. Not that Shana was any expert, but she had a notion that priests were a breed apart—above the fray in manners and agendas—sexual deviants aside.

  “Would you like to meet,” Shana asked, “or do you want to—”

  “I’d like to arrange for you to pick up the babe—”

  “Pick her up? I thought we—I was supposed to find her parents or relatives.”

  “There’s been a change of plans.”

  Dane’s voice popped into her head. I don’t get involved in cases with babies. Nothing good ever comes of them.

  “Let’s start over, shall we Father Donahue? What exactly is it you are hiring me for?”

  “Protection.”

  Her grip tightened on the phone and nerves churned her stomach, but she kept her voice even and professional.

  “What exactly makes you think the baby needs protecting?”

  “Someone came to the church rectory early this morning and tried to take her—then shot Sister Anne and fled.”

  Ramp up the heart pumping and the uterus screaming.

  “This is a police matter, Father.” Everything in her wanted to jump on the next plane and tear the baby from Donahue’s arms to protect her. And she’d never even laid eyes on Paulette. What if she was adorable? What would Dane do?

  “Not yet. I have six days left. The governor gave his word.”

  “Don’t you think a shooting changes things?” Dane should be proud of her professionalism.

  “Makes it more urgent to find Paulette’s mother—and find out what’s going on—and to protect her. Peter assured me you were the best. I was somewhat reassured that you could take care of her—you’re a woman—and that your partner, Dane Blaise, is tough and experienced in matters of violence.”

  Shana bit her lip. Reminded herself the priest was old school even if he didn’t sound particularly old. But the crack about her partner galled her. Goddamn Dane Blaise. She took a breath.

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Then I’ll have to find someone else. We can’t afford to get the police involved. We need this to be handled discreetly.”

  She didn’t ask. She was afraid to even guess. She’d find out soon enough. Right now the baby needed protecting. She felt her uterus cry out to her in excruciating awareness. The damn priest was right. She was a woman. It was impossible for her to resist a baby in distress.

  “Where are you located? I’ll catch a plane and get there as soon—”

  “No need. I’m at The Black Dog. Down the street from the grocery store on Water Street.”

  “That’s—right here in Vineyard Haven.” She stated the obvious.

  “How soon can you get here? I need to get back to the church before I’m missed.”

  “You came here—weren’t you worried about being followed? Did you notice anyone watching you on the ferry—”

  “I came by helicopter. I took a cab here. Paulette needed some things from the grocery store.”

  “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

  “Then you’ll take the case?”

  “I’ll decide after we’ve had a talk,” she said, and hung up the phone with a satisfying clunk in the old-fashioned cradle.

  Dane appeared again and hovered in the door expectantly.

  “How much did you hear?”

  “All of it. I was listening in from the extension.”

  “You goddamned no good—”

  “Have a little respect for the tough and experienced partner.”

  Shana looked around for something to throw at him.

  “Remember, I’m good with violence,” he said, but then he added, “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  “I thought you didn’t like baby cases?”

  “I’m only driving. This is your case. And if I detect any kind of odor of something foul—you’re off the case too.”

  “You can’t—”

  Dane turned and glared his menacing look—the real one.

  She followed him as he headed for the door.

  He hoped she couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart in the close quarters of the Jeep on the short ride over to The Black Dog.

  “What’s the problem, Dane? Are you changing your mind about the case? About baby cases?” She darted the challenge at him like a well-aimed spear to his gut.

  “It was obvious you were anxious,” he said. “It was also obvious there’s something up with this Father Donahue. He did not tell the governor about the shooting this morning or the governor would have mentioned it to you.”

  “Don’t tell me—it’s also obvious to you that now that there’s violence involved poor little Shana can’t handle it on her own and big bad Dane Blaise needs to come to the rescue.”

  “Well if you already knew the answer, why’d you ask?” He smirked and took a breath of relief, letting her punch him in the shoulder. Enjoyed it in fact, but not in the brother-sister way of the usual shoulder punch. More like the second grade boy-girl romance version of the shoulder punch. The love tap was a time-honored tradition in schoolyards everywhere that somehow miraculously morphed into kissing under the tree and then—

  “I do all the talking.” Shana interrupted his reminiscing. He was good at self-distraction. “It’s still my case. No matter what Father Donahue may think,” she said.

  He pulled up to the curb—still empty since it was mid-week in May and not many vacationers were about. Shana jumped from the car before it stopped, slammed her door and took several of her beautiful long-legged strides before Dane opened his door. He watched her push open the door and go in. Dane had already determined there were no strangers about or he would have stopped her tempestuous show of competition—her race to the new client. Everything was a race or a contest between them.

  Everything except one thing. One time. So far. He sighed, pushed Shana from his mind, and when the baby popped in, he pushed that from his mind too. Instead, he thought of F
ather Donahue. This guy—priestliness aside—was hiding something, possibly flat-out lying to the governor. Dane got out of the car to follow Shana inside the normally tourist-filled coffee shop and let the cool ocean breeze work its magic on his tension. It wasn’t a baby case. It was a shooting at a church.

  He stopped at the glass door with his hand on the brass handle and saw Shana pick up a pink-swathed bundle. He felt the world spin and his muscles go rigid. He concentrated on regaining his equilibrium. He stood like a man made of stone. Because he couldn’t move himself forward. But it felt like his heart had been torn from him, leaving a gaping, writhing hole that caused his blood to run wild and his head to whirl out of control.

  This was a bad idea. He hated baby cases. Because there was nothing on this godforsaken planet worse than failing on a mission to save a baby. He ought to know. And he never, ever, ever wanted a repeat of that again.

  Chapter 3

  He put his mental battle gear on and forced himself forward. He was only playing chauffeur and looking out for Shana—his partner. It was her case, but naturally he had her back. That was how it went. Maybe she thought it worked differently in private business. But it didn’t. Maybe she thought it worked differently for them. He peered ahead inside the glass-fronted establishment.

  Few sights had ever taken his breath away the way the sight of Shana George holding a baby girl did at that moment. He didn’t know which girl’s smile was more heart-wrenching. He aimed his glare at Father Donahue before he found himself freezing up again. The priest sat at the table sipping something—probably coffee. That was his best guess because this place didn’t serve alcohol.

  Dane closed in, pulled out a chair next to Father Donahue. He figured the man was maybe late thirties, no more than early forties and in good shape. Too slick for a priest, in Dane’s opinion. Dane thought about Shana’s directive that she do all the talking and tossed it aside. Besides, Shana was all preoccupied with the little bundle of joy. Dane only glanced at the bundle once, met the baby girl’s eyes, and looked away.

  Father Donahue faced him, smiled, and put a hand out to shake. But when Dane leveled his stare at the priest and leaned in, Father Donahue turned a satisfying shade paler and dropped his hand. The priest’s smile vanished.

  “We know who the father is, Father. Who’s the mother?” Dane’s voice was dead calm, and not very friendly.

  “What do you mean? I don’t know—”

  “If you don’t know then no one does. If you can’t even make a stab at guessing then I’m questioning the church’s whole system of keeping their priests in line. Abstinence-wise. You must’ve really burnt up that confessional Father Donahue.”

  The priest turned red and looked away, turning toward Shana and the baby. His baby. Dane was certain.

  “Spill it. Consider me an honorary confessor.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You are the baby’s father.” Dane spoke loud enough for Shana to hear him this time and she swung around and looked at Dane, then the baby, and then Father Donahue before lowering herself into the third chair at the table with the babe clutched tight in her arms.

  “Please.” Donahue glanced around, to make sure no one else heard. The place wasn’t exactly hopping, lucky for him.

  “Is it true?” Shana gave him a hard look.

  He nodded.

  “Who’s the mother?” she asked. It wasn’t a demand, she didn’t use a menacing voice or a loud voice or an angry voice. But it was that same “mother” voice—the kind of question leveled in the kind of voice by the kind of woman that one did not ignore. Father Donahue answered Dane’s beautiful Shana. The priest had a sweet tooth when it came to women, it was clear.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t really know. I…” His gaze dropped to the floor. “I know how this looks, how it sounds. Please forgive me. I’m a good priest in every other way.”

  “Except with the abstinence,” Dane said.

  He nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m discreet. I don’t tell women that I’m a priest. I don’t have affairs with parishioners or lead innocent women on.”

  “No, you pick up strange women and have sex, is that it, Father?” Dane didn’t care, but he was enough of a bastard that he enjoyed making the man squirm.

  Shana kicked him under the table. And she didn’t bother with being subtle.

  “Looks like one of these women found out who you were.”

  “Yes.”

  “And someone took a shot at the nun who was taking care of the baby?”

  “Yes, I’m sure it has something to do with the mother. Maybe an angry family member.”

  “You think they were attempting a kidnapping?”

  “Yes. They tried to take Paulette—demanded she be handed over.”

  “But that makes no sense since they left her with you in the first place,” Shana said.

  “Maybe the mother left the baby with you for safekeeping. Maybe she did it on the QT out of respect for you and figured you would protect your own child.”

  “I think so—the note said to protect her and I thought it was strange at the time.”

  “How did you know the baby was yours?”

  “I could tell. And the note made mention of something private—something only women I’ve been with would know.”

  “I see. Care to share?”

  Shana kicked him again.

  “Let’s see the note. It could contain clues.”

  “I don’t have it with me.”

  “You didn’t destroy it, did you?”

  “No—not yet. It’s private and incriminating.”

  “Father—don’t you think the baby is already incriminating enough?” Shana arched her brow and cradled the babe like a pro.

  Dane forced himself not to stop and marvel.

  “We need to see the note—find the mother and find out who is trying to get the baby and what’s going on or else the little girl is never going to be safe. It’s not like we can keep her here on the island forever. I doubt even the church has that much money,” Dane said.

  “Money won’t be a problem. You do what you have to do.” Father Donahue took a fat white envelope from his inside pocket and put it on the table and pushed it toward Dane. Dane glanced at Shana, knowing this would piss her off since it was supposed to be her case.

  But the baby in her arms seemed to override everything. Calmed her. She smiled at him. Then pressed her lush lips lightly to the baby’s hair and tightened her arms.

  A few things in him tightened, but he looked away in an effort to stay focused. Possibly a futile effort. But no—he was better than that. A better soldier than to let a woman undo him. Or a baby.

  Dane picked up the envelope and stuffed it into his back pocket without examining it first.

  “Tell me about this shooting.”

  “I don’t have much. The man was dressed in black and he had a smallish gun. That’s all Sister Anne had to say. He was bald. He had dark glasses. He tried to take the baby from her, but she screamed and ran for a door, shielding the baby. He shot at her but by then several people were on their way to her—including me.”

  “Did you see the man? Did you give chase?” Dane knew the answer.

  Father Donahue shook his head.

  “How did he get out?” Dane asked.

  “How did he get in?” Shana asked.

  “We’ll have to talk to Sister Anne ourselves. Looks like a road trip to the church is in order—unless she’s in the hospital.”

  “No. The shot only grazed her. We had a doctor make a house call. We are trying to be discreet.” Father Donahue looked concerned so Shana spoke up.

  “Don’t worry, Father. Discretion is our hallmark. We’ll come up with a cover. Chances are Sister Anne already has it figured out anyway.” She looked down at the baby and Dane could see a clear family resemblance. Even at this young age.

  “If it’s absolutely necessary. But I want you to keep the baby away—keep her safe.”

  Dane
wasn’t so sure the father was thinking of the baby’s safety as much as his own career. It was a high-profile parish he belonged to, according to Dane’s research—the kind where they might notice a priest and promote him to bishop. The kind where lots of prominent and wealthy influential people went—like Madeline Grace, the governor’s wife.

  “Anything else you want to confess—tell us about that might be useful?”

  “There is one thing—the baby’s name.”

  “What about it?”

  “Paulette. It could be a coincidence, but Paul is one of the names I used—with the women.”

  Dane took a deep sigh.

  “Make a list of all the names of the women who you told your name was Paul about twelve months ago. Names of the places where you met them. Email it to me.” Dane handed him a card.

  “How do you know the baby is three months old?” Shana asked.

  “I’m a pro.” He was guessing. But it was an educated guess. He’d been through this exercise once before. Didn’t care to think about it, but he’d learned a thing or two.

  The priest nodded, stood and looked at his watch. “I’ll have it for you tomorrow when you arrive.”

  Then he picked up a large bag and handed it to Shana. She stood and slung it over her shoulder. Damn if she didn’t look like a pro at this baby thing herself. His insides tightened again with all kinds of feelings jumbled in. But the dominant feeling was desire. Damn.

  “Here’s my card with my private cell number.” Father Donahue handed the card to Dane. “Call ahead. We can have someone pick you up at the ferry landing—or the airport. Whichever you prefer. But make your cover plausible and let me know what it is.”

  Dane thought of telling him this was Shana’s case but he figured that would unnerve the man so he put up with the charade.

  They watched the priest walk out the door to a waiting taxi and take off.

  Shana looked at Dane and didn’t know what to think. She kept her face and voice neutral and tried not to squeeze the sleeping baby too close.

  “I thought you weren’t on this case.”

  “I’m not. No need to spoil it for you. Let Father Lothario think what he wants.”