The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series Read online

  Captain Lynch came around the car and took her arm to escort her up the short flower-lined walk to the glass door. She laughed but went along.

  “You know I’m not really an heiress.”

  “You look like one. Makes it easier to play my part as the solicitous state trooper.”

  He made her feel better instantly. Or maybe it was the cool air and familiar surroundings of the police station that enveloped her as they walked inside. He took her down a hall and to the office labeled Captain Lynch at the right corner back of the building.

  “Here’s the corner office. Nice view of the flower garden next door.” He pointed to the window and then to a chair.

  She sat. And wondered how long they’d have to wait. It had been a long trip.

  “I don’t suppose you have a bowl of spaghetti in your top drawer?” She slung her right leg over her left knee and leaned back in her chair while the easygoing captain laughed.

  “Tell me about Dane Blaise.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why should I trust him? The usual details.”

  “More like the unusual. I told you he’s an urban legend. Except the stories I heard are true.”

  “How do you know they’re true? And what stories?”

  “I know they’re true because the governor told me.”

  “So tell me.”

  He looked at his watch, then said, “Okay. This is my favorite. He was with a team and they were in a situation in a foreign country—undisclosed location. They had chased down a guy in a car with a high-value hostage who was unconscious at the time. They had reason to believe the hostage needed medical attention. The team trapped the car between them on three sides and a building with nowhere to go, but the target had a gun on the hostage. There was a standoff and the team leader was negotiating while they tried to line up a sniper. Unfortunately, the locals got involved and put the kibosh on the sniper. The standoff went on for a while—some say close to an hour. Until Dane had had enough. He snuck out of the line, away from his team and back around the perimeter behind the car. No one saw him. They were all busy jawing and keeping an eye on each other. He went to the ground and crawled under the car—still no one noticed. They shouted and negotiated until they told the perp they’d cooperate and the local police ordered everyone to drop their weapons.

  “That’s when Dane popped up from under the car to stand in front of the driver’s door. He grabbed the guy by the neck and yanked him and his weapon through the car window and out of the vehicle.” The captain paused and shook his head, staring at some mental picture of the scene in amazement. Shana wished she hadn’t shuddered with gooseflesh popping. He turned back to her and she closed her mouth, holding her breath with anticipation at the rest of the story and trying her best mental messaging to urge him on.

  “Then Dane punched the perp once in the face. Popped his nose wide open and it was gushing blood. The guy went down in a heap to the ground. By then Dane’s team stormed the vehicle. He was lucky no one shot him. Then—this is the legendary part—his team leader yelled at him, ‘What the hell were you doing? You could have got killed. That bleeping crazy move was never in any protocol.’ And Dane said, ‘It’s lunchtime—you were taking too long. I’d have starved by the time you all wrapped this up.’”

  She listened and strained to keep her eyes from widening, to keep a modicum of the cool disdain she’d been working on. But the telltale quickening in her chest was all about excitement. He must have heard it or seen it or sensed it. She licked her lips, stalling for a beat, then said in her best scoffing voice, “That story has to have been embellished.”

  Captain Lynch shook his head and gave her a sympathetic you-don’t-fool-me look. “That’s what I thought. The first time I heard it. But since then I heard it from the gov and two others from the team who all saw it go down the same way—especially the wise-ass comment at the end. So now I tend to believe every last word of it is true. That man is one tough son of a bitch.”

  “Who was the team leader?” she had to know.

  “The gen—governor. We used to refer to him as the general, but only in the field and only amongst ourselves. The name stuck. All of us from his team still use it whenever he calls on us.”

  “You served with him too? Did Governor Douglas recruit everyone on this assignment from his team?”

  “Yep. We’re all the governor’s men. Except you. In a way though—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be happy to get back to London and the Yard.”

  “We’ll see. Maybe the beachcomber will change your mind.”

  “Beachcomber?”

  “Dane Blaise.”

  “He’s not going to change my mind. Why would he even bother?” She tried to go for rhetorical, but she hadn’t been fooling Captain Nice and in spite of his niceness, she had to give him some of her stingily held respect.

  “Trust me. You have his respect.”

  “I don’t trust you either.” She snapped. His Captain Nice status was still up in the air. She studied him as she considered this. She could handle him. But Dane…

  The captain’s cell phone sounded and he jumped to answer it.

  “Captain Lynch here.”

  She watched his face go serious. He had to be telling the truth about Dane, but so far she didn’t get why this mission would warrant a superhero and having her shipped from London to handle it. Why couldn’t Captain Lynch and his troopers handle it? Her superiors at the Yard wouldn’t have sent her here to waste her time. She had no doubt. None at all. But there was no shaking her unease and the sense that she was being set up somehow.

  He finished listening, said a curt good-bye and hung up. She waited for him to tell her about it. There was something big about this she didn’t know yet. He leaned forward with his elbows on his clutter-free desk and looked at her, his brow furrowed.

  “That was Dane. He’s had trouble losing the con so he’s on foot and coming in the back door.”

  “Okay.”

  The door to the office opened. Dane walked in and pulled up the empty chair to sit next to her. She smelled the strong scent of tropical sun lotion. Shana had a sudden wistful longing for home and the beach in Sidney. She gave him a smile and a nod. He nodded back without smiling. Instead he pulled his hand from his pocket and handed her a key. Then he went back in his pocket, took her hand before she could retrieve it and held his own over her palm. Opening his fingers, he dropped a small pink rose into her hand with the keys. “A beach rose. They grow wild near my house. Welcome to Martha’s Vineyard. That’s the key to the Whittier house where you’ll be staying.”

  Before she could respond, he turned away. A thank you stuck in her throat and the pulse pounded there in pent-up excitement. She had no idea what to make of the gesture. She stared at his streaky sun-bleached hair, windblown and longish. If the Marlboro Man was a beachcomber instead of a cowboy, this guy could be the model. Then again, maybe she could picture him in a cowboy hat on a horse. Too bad he was a good ten years past her age limit for eligible men. Or maybe that was an unprofessional thought. But the moment passed and her chance to flirt went by.

  “Peter call yet?” he asked Cap.

  “No. I’ll call him now.” Captain Lynch picked up the phone and scanned his computer screen for the number until Dane rattled it off for him, then turned his attention to Shana. She braced herself and felt a flutter of excitement. A few minutes ago she couldn’t wait to put this guy back on his heels and now she didn’t know what to think. She wished she wasn’t impressed with him.

  “I had to lose the tail—not easy to do on the island.”

  “How’d you do it?” Captain Lynch asked with the phone still on his ear.

  “I parked my car at the grocery store and left by the back door and jogged here. I have the advantage of knowing the island like my own balls.” He winked at her. “What’s your story?” He waited. Not even blinking.

  She refused to flinch. What kind of man could go
from gracious to crass in so short a space of time? One thing she knew was that she would not respond to his baiting. She would tough him out. She’d done it before with crasser men than him back in Sidney.

  “I’m a beach bunny who knows how to shoot straight. What’s your story?”

  “You leave the shootin’ to me, bunny. Stick to playing heiress surfer.”

  “You forgot to tell me your story.”

  “No story. I’ve been around the block. If the world could be called a block. Shot and caught my share of bad guys. I owe the governor so here I am.”

  The captain cleared his throat.

  “I’m putting the governor on speaker phone—you ready?”

  She nodded, struggling to keep her cool. The deep end of the pool with no life jacket.

  “Governor Peter John Douglas here. Sorry we don’t have a screen for our conference call.”

  “Then I’d have to see your big head. Bad enough I have to take orders from you again,” Dane said.

  “How the hell are you, Demon?” The governor laughed.

  “Did he just call you Demon?” Shana decided not to be shy.

  “That’s Dane the Demon. You’ll find out you couldn’t have a better man covering your back, Detective George.”

  “Listen to the general. He should know.”

  “Did you just call him general?”

  “We go way back.” Dane drawled. She got the message. She wasn’t part of the boys’ club. Too bad for them.

  “For business, the mission is to find the missing young lady, Susan Whittier, and track down the person or persons who kidnapped her, including the leader of the group and whoever is working behind the scenes. I hope to God she’s alive. This isn’t a kidnapping according to the FBI. Not yet, anyway. One of the last things she did before disappearing was sign up for this surfing competition. There’s been no ransom and the most likely suspect is hanging around so nothing is as we’d expect. Something more than the usual is going on with this than Interpol indicated in their alert to us. You made contact?”

  “At the airport. Went well.”

  “Until I showed up in the cruiser and almost blew Shana’s cover—”

  “I think we’re okay. We’ll know soon enough. I’ll do some fake surveillance tonight to reinforce my role as con staking out his mark,” Dane said.

  “Fake surveillance?” Shana said.

  Dane turned to her. “All you have is parrot questions. You sure you’re up to this assignment?”

  “She’ll be fine.” The governor interrupted. “Shana is perfect for this assignment. I’ve been told she’s cool under pressure and fits the part. And she’s a champion surfer from Australia. What do you think, Captain?”

  “I agree. She’s definitely cool.”

  “Shana, you’ll sign up for the competition and see what you can find out from inside. Dane says there’s something not right about it.”

  “I’m in as a judge,” Dane said. “I have the forms. I’ll need to file them at the American Invitational Surfing Competition offices.”

  “Detective Chauncey Miller will be arriving tomorrow to work with you. He’ll pose as Shana’s gay friend and stay at the Whittier house with her. You’ll all work together. Dane, Shana, you can rely on Chauncey.”

  “I know. Got the word on him. Any other leads?”

  “How about some background? I didn’t get a full briefing yet,” Shana said. “How do we know this man at the airport is our guy?”

  There was a brief pause where Captain Lynch raised his brows at her, Dane smirked and the governor cleared his throat. Then he spoke.

  “Very well, Detective George. I’ll catch you up. Susan Whittier’s parents are friends of mine. They called when they couldn’t reach their daughter, and when they checked their Vineyard beach house, everywhere else they could think of and with all her friends, decided she was missing. I had Captain Lynch do an under-the-radar investigation. Other than routine contact with her usual friends and typical activities on the island—which ceased as of last Sunday—the police have found nothing. I also asked the Whittiers to check their daughter’s bank account and asked them about their last contact with her. She was an attentive daughter and they had a loving, respectful relationship. When she last called them she mentioned meeting a charming French man and that she’d planned to enter the surfing competition. They also found that she’d withdrawn ten thousand-dollars in cash from her bank account around the same time.

  “But what was very puzzling was that there was a ten-thousand-dollar cash deposit made at an ATM on the island—two days after she was missing. Checked all the hospitals and usual ways off the island and turned up nothing—but that doesn’t mean she didn’t leave. There are plenty of private planes and boats she could have left on, but no one knows about any plans and no one saw her leave. After hearing about the French man and the ten-thousand dollars, I had Interpol do some checking about known cons that may be in the area.”

  Dane spoke. “Turns out Frenchie is a known con—or likely is. There’s a record of him arriving in Boston a month ago and we tracked him to Martha’s Vineyard. Captain Lynch found him parading around using the name Jean Luc Ruse.”

  “What does this all have to do with the American Invitational Surfing Competition?” Shana asked.

  “Susan entered it, according to friends and her parents,” Dane said. “So it’s unlikely she up and left the island. And I know something about surfing competitions. I looked into this one. No affiliations. All novices as far as I can tell. Feels snakey.” Dane’s stare remained even.

  “Dane will look into it as a judge. You work it as a contestant, Shana. You’ll also pose as a potential mark—another wealthy young heiress—and Dane is playing the role of a con with an interest in you. How is that working so far?”

  “Jean Luc is already sniffing around and I already let him know Shana’s my turf. She’s made a big impression in less than”—Dane lifted his wrist to look at his watch—“two hours.”

  Shana’s gut fluttered at the compliment. The man spun her head. She could not figure him at all. Was he an arrogant jerk or a kind gentleman? She’d play it safe and not give him the benefit of the doubt. Her career could depend on it. Maybe her life.

  The governor spoke again. “We’ll be working the case following the money trail up here and will keep you posted. Call in daily with updates. Over and out.”

  The phone buzzed until Captain Lynch punched it off.

  “So is there an old boys’ club manual I’m missing here or what?” Shana lifted her chin and leaned back further in her chair, aware that her dress rode up her thigh.

  Dane flicked a glance at her legs but didn’t bother responding.

  “Don’t worry, Shana. These guys are very, very good at—” Captain Nice began.

  “I’m not worried. But I don’t think we’re going to need the old soldier skill set for this one—”

  “I agree. You act the beach bunny. I play up to you. You show interest. Shouldn’t be too hard. We get Frenchie interested.” Dane eyed her.

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Could be anything. He has a few aliases.” Dane seemed to give her a straight answer for a change.

  “He’s staying at a place on the outskirts of Vineyard Haven known as the Sand Castle.”

  She pushed herself forward in her chair and stood.

  “I think it’s time I went home. I’m starved and I’m beat and I’m pretty sure I’ll have the night free to rest up without worrying about Jean Luc.”

  “Wrong.” Dane stood and picked up a folder from the captain’s desk and shoved it at her. “This is your background. Study it. Including the covers and backgrounds for Chauncey—your friend. Don’t want Mr. Ruse catching you in lies and suspecting a setup.”

  He turned for the door.

  “What are you going to do?” Captain Lynch stood.

  “I’m changing out of this getup and doing my surveillance of Shana the beach bunny. I’ll check out t
he neighbors while I’m at it. Then after I get Jean Luc Ruse’s attention—because I know he’ll be there too—I’ll check out his place. Text me the address.”

  “I can have my men—”

  “Keep your men away from him. Last thing we need is Jean Luc sniffing state cops on him.”

  Shana agreed, but she didn’t say so. Dane opened the door and stepped aside to let her through.

  She didn’t show her surprise. She didn’t say thank you. She barely nodded.

  They stepped into the hall and he followed her close enough for her to smell his tropical scent and feel his heat. Or maybe that was her heating up all on her own. He didn’t tower over her, but she was surprised to feel his height intimidating. They got to the glass front door and she determined to open it for herself. They pushed through at the same time into the still blazing sunlight at 6:00 p.m. He laughed at her.

  “Don’t try so hard, girlie. I’m not going to bite you. You do what you need to do and we’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Save it. And pack that chip on your shoulder away somewhere. No place here for attitude. You need to be charming and you need to be convincing. So far, I’m thinking you’ll need to give an Oscar-level performance to turn it around.”

  “I could say the same about you. But then you’d tell me I should know better how good you are. In fact I believe you’re quite seasoned with experience.”

  “Guess we’ll have to rely on you making up in spunk what you lack in girlie charm.”

  “And stop calling me girlie. Don’t use that word again.” She felt herself heating up with frustrated anger and strode off to the car where a police officer waited to chauffeur her. At least this car was unmarked and less obvious than the usual Ford sedan. She clutched her fat folder of intel and hoped she’d stay awake long enough to read it.