The Beachcombers: Prequel - Beachcomber Investigations Series Read online

  Dane stood there next to Emma, arms folded. Emma glowed.

  Shana’s eyes locked on Dane’s and in spite of her first instinct to hide under the nearest sofa, she remained rooted. Pulling back her shoulders to emphasize her already erect posture, she struck a seductive pose, feeling like she may as well be sticking her tongue out at him.

  “Well, don’t just stare. What do you think?” She left off the “big boy” she said inside her head. He looked out of his usual character in his formfitting silk knit shirt with his tanned muscles bulging under the short sleeves. His dark pants fit snugly across his hips and upper thighs. The clothes looked more expensive than the store-full she had just tried on, combined. She was impressed, but then she noticed the watch on his wrist and almost gasped. Where did this guy come from? Who was he really?

  “If you buy that dress—Miss?”

  “Shana. Call me Shana.”

  “I promise to take you to a place that deserves you and your stunning dress.”

  “Tempting. But I don’t even know your name.”

  “Dane.”

  “Dane. What’s a man like you doing in a boutique like this?”

  “Oh, Mr. Dane shops here all the time,” Emma said, like they were best buds.

  That stopped Shana from her planned pithy response.

  “I came in to buy a gift,” he said in that low, rumbling, confident drawl he had.

  She saw the teasing glint in lieu of a smirk.

  “A gift? Lucky lady.”

  “You misunderstand. The gift is for my sister. She just had a baby and deserves something special for herself.”

  Too perfect. Captain Nice had to be feeding him these lines.

  “Mr. Dane has several sisters and he treats them very well,” Emma put in.

  That threw Shana off, but only for a moment. She distinctly remembered from the brief background she’d been given the small factoid that he had no siblings. While she thought the words, I’ll bet she said out loud, “Lucky sisters.”

  “You didn’t answer my invitation.”

  “I don’t know you well enough, Mr. Dane. My daddy warned me about strange men like you.” It was cliché, but apt. If he thought it strange that they were putting on this performance for an audience of one boutique clerk, he didn’t let on and he didn’t slip from his role.

  “Then accompany me for coffee at Cafe Moxie a couple of doors down and we’ll get to know each other.” He held out a hand.

  Shana glanced at Emma as if to implore her advice and the woman obligingly nodded her head with a reassuring smile.

  “I’ll make my purchase while you finish in the dressing room,” he said as if it were decided. She wished she could turn him down flat as if this were a real come-on. He needed to be brought down a peg.

  And she needed to get a grip. She sauntered back to the dressing room in character while she wondered what happened to the cool calm professional she’d been back in Sidney. That woman had been lost somewhere between London and Vineyard Haven. Too much, too quick, on too little sleep. She changed into cream-colored woven silk pants with a matching low scoop neck top—one of her purchases—and took the rest of her purchases with her.

  She needed to get the real Shana back—fast. A good strong cup of coffee would help. Wishing the coffee might come with a shot of whiskey, she walked back toward the front of the shop as if she were walking the plank.

  Dane waited only two minutes tops until Shana emerged from the boutique with two bags. Emma, who had never seemed happier, waved at them from behind her shop window. The clerk had never been nosier behind her smiling eyes. Perfect.

  Shana’s quickness impressed and surprised him. She was more efficient than petulant, a point in her favor. A grudging point.

  He held out his arm and said from behind his smile, “Play nice. We’re being watched.” Then in a louder voice he said, “Please let me store your purchases in my car while we have coffee.” He pointed to the elegant Jaguar convertible at the curb outside Cafe Moxie next door and enjoyed watching her try to keep her dismay from showing.

  “We’ll put the bags in the trunk.” He took them from her and tossed them inside the empty space. The only things he kept in his car were hidden under the carpeting in a locked compartment—a cache of assorted weapons for the occasional assorted assignments. He doubted he’d need any today. But tomorrow was another day.

  They walked inside the coffee shop and took a table in the center of the small shop. He pulled out her chair and she sat, still silent. He liked that, but it wasn’t necessarily good for their act. He leaned close to her while he stood behind her and whispered, “Time for the main show—loosen up and flirt if you’re able.”

  He took his seat facing sideways from the entry as she laughed. It sounded genuine. He leaned back in his chair to see what she had. She gave him a look that said she was game. He took a deep bracing breath then.

  Shana rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, flirting with him with her hooded cat-green eyes and a show of glistening cleavage. Did she slather oil on her damn breasts?

  “Where did you get the damn car? A Jaguar? Overnight? Last night you were driving a rusting heap.” She smiled.

  “I always keep a spare for traveling off island. In storage at a friend’s home.” He gave her an assessing look and hoped they could get past the chip that seemed cemented to her shoulder. “Got some new intel. Our man Jean Luc is definitely involved in more ways than one.”

  “Go on.”

  He glanced around, moving his head only a fraction and keeping a smile in place. “He’s the director of the American Invitational Surfing Competition.”

  “Shit.” She looked surprised.

  “Keep your head in the game, girlie, and paste that fake smile back on your face. We’re flirting. As for Jean Luc, we play dumb.” He gave her a wicked grin, but she didn’t say the words he knew ran through her mind.

  Her fake smile turned real and she slid into her role. He admired that she didn’t rise to his bait. It was fun baiting her all the same. A challenge.

  “How is it that I never heard of you before, Dane? We’ve traveled in the same social circles.”

  She circled one ruby-tipped index finger close to his face so that he wanted to take it with his teeth and suck it into his mouth until she gasped. He remained silent, though his blood hummed with anticipation. Damn the girl.

  She continued, “Or if not the same circles, closely related circles.”

  He knew she was not talking only to his cover persona, but to him. The jump deep in his chest surprised him. She was clever. And it was obvious she was piqued by him and—the only ‘circle’ they had in common—his law enforcement background. He’d bet his Swiss bank account that vicious nice-guy captain told her stories about him.

  “Oh, but I think you have heard about me. You may not have realized it was me at the time—” He broke off there when a glance into the shop’s mirror—their sole concession to security—revealed their man entering the door. Damn girl had to take the seat facing the door. A flicker of her eyes told him she spotted the man and she laughed in that peculiar come-hither throaty earthy way she had that hit a nerve in him. He wished he could temporarily paralyze that nerve because it made his job damned uncomfortable. He felt the tightening and tilting in his loins and the heat of pleasure begin to surge mixed with anger and not a small amount of fear.

  From behind them, their man said, “I see you found the island’s treasure—best coffee this side of the water.”

  Her smile was just right—interested yet wary. He wondered how real that was.

  “It is good. Do I know you, sir? You look familiar…” Shana gave the man a pouty puzzled look that increased Dane’s discomfort all the more.

  “No, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, but I see you’ve met my friend here, Dane Blaise.” He pointed to Dane and then put a hand out to Shana. “I’m Jean Luc Ruse.” She lifted her hand and barely touched his.

  “Oh,
then you both travel in the same social circles? And I was just saying to Dane it’s funny we never met before.”

  “It’s a big world out there. I have to admit I myself don’t usually get to Martha’s Vineyard.” Jean Luc crinkled the lines around his eyes in a smile. “I’m more a South of France traveler. But Dane stays around these parts all the time. It is funny that you two never met before.”

  She didn’t bat an eyelash at his familiarity with Dane’s background and he certainly didn’t since they’d left it out there in plain sight for him to find—with some embellishments and changes to his real background of course. But his regularity on the island couldn’t be duplicated or faked and that gave him the ace in credibility.

  “Sit down, Jean Luc, since it’s clear you’re not going away,” Dane said.

  Jean Luc laughed and Shana gave Dane a tut-tut.

  “That’s no way to talk to an old friend,” Shana said. Jean Luc pulled a chair close to Shana.

  “You mean old rival,” Dane said. He watched the French man lounge into his seat and lean into Shana. He smiled at Shana and then flicked a glance at Dane.

  “You’re right. And we well may be current rivals as well.”

  They ordered and were served their coffee while Shana laughed her excruciating laugh at Ruse’s inanities. As far as Dane could tell, the man was either unaffected or had superior self-control. Neither of those possibilities was good. They both spelled consummate professional and confirmed his reputation and danger level.

  Maybe it also said something about Dane’s professionalism—or sudden lack thereof. When Jean Luc picked up his steaming cup of black coffee and turned to him, he should have seen it coming. But he didn’t.

  The man coughed and poured half the cup of the scalding liquid in Dane’s lap.

  “Damn.” Dane jumped from his chair and clenched his fists, tamping down on the urge to pound the man and realizing quickly as he fought the stars in his vision and the burning sensation in his crotch—not the good kind—the extremely painful kind—to think ahead about playing this out.

  Shana looked startled and pushed back from the table, about to rise with too much concern on her face.

  “Jesus—”

  “I’m so sorry, Dane.” Jean Luc looked concerned too. For real. Maybe he sensed that Dane wanted to hurt him real bad right now. The man called the waitress for ice and she came rushing over.

  “I’ll be fine. Excuse me. I’ll take care of this in the men’s room. He took the pitcher of ice water from the waitress’s hand and walked to the back of the shop in the most normal gait he could manage, the immediate sting subsiding. He hoped there was no damage or Jean Luc Ruse’s days were limited.

  The compulsion to pop Jean Luc in his too-pretty jaw grabbed hold of her instincts and squeezed so that she couldn’t speak—didn’t dare speak. Shana gripped the table and tried not to sound wild with anger. She wasn’t sure if her anger was with Jean Luc Ruse or with herself for the strangely strong reaction to Dane’s pain and the prospect of damage to his goods. She felt like something had been sucked from her depths as she contemplated the scalding stain on Dane’s deeply and mysteriously compelling crotch.

  Jean Luc had no such problem speaking. He droned on nonstop about how sorry he was and how he hoped his friend would forgive him and he hoped she would forgive him. She wanted to scream. So she did scream.

  “Stop.” She sat back down in her chair from which she had jumped. The chair held up under the force of her ire.

  “I didn’t realize you were this serious—this taken with our Dane. I … I thought you had just met.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “My mistake.” He darted a worried look in the direction of the men’s room and then sat down with the grace of a ballet dancer.

  “I must make it up to you—to both of you. Please be my guests at dinner tonight at the best restaurant on the island, the Blue Water Grill in Oak Bluffs.”

  “That would be perfect. You’ll have to let me take my good friend Chauncey along too—he’ll be arriving soon to keep me company. Strictly platonic.” She arched a brow at him.

  Jean Luc smiled that too-polished smile he had and asked, “So what do you think of my old friend Dane, the original beachcomber?”

  “Beachcomber? I never heard of a beachcomber who drives a Jag.”

  “A high-end beachcomber. I’ll give you that. But he has more driftwood and sand in his soul than Jaguars and boutiques.”

  “Hmmm,” was all Shana said. She resorted to leaning forward to gauge his response to her overdone cleavage.

  He didn’t respond the way Dane had—even if Dane pretended not to.

  This man was cold as ice. It took all she had to smile at him. She took a hefty gulp of her hot coffee to warm her back up.

  “Maybe I’m a beachcomber at heart too,” she said.

  “I think maybe you are. I bet you would look spectacular on a beach.” He gazed at the scoop of her neckline and smiled. “You would most definitely look spectacular in a bikini. But it’s more about a freewheeling attitude, isn’t it? A joie de vivre. A willingness to take life by the horns and take chances.”

  “Like taking a chance on you?” She raised a brow at him. She needed to be more charming. This damn assignment was hard.

  “I was thinking more like how you’re taking a chance on Dane. I think you’ll find I’m not as much a risk. But maybe you are looking for the risk?”

  “No, I’m looking for fun.” She reached out and traced the ring on his hand, played with his fingers. “What kind of fun do you have for me?”

  “Ah, there’s my lady. I can show you all the most elegant, rarefied fun—the most fun money can buy.”

  “Does that include walks along State Beach and surfing at Gay Head?”

  “It would be a distinct pleasure to walk with you, but my surfing days are behind me—I’d love to watch you. I might even give you pointers.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “A competitive spirit?”

  “Problem with that?”

  “Au contraire. You intrigue me all the more. Is that why you’re vacationing here on the Vineyard? I should think there are far better spots for surfing—like back in Australia where you came from.” He gave her another of his sly smiles.

  “Impressive. You know the difference between a British and Aussie accent.” She nodded at him in approval. She really was impressed at his intelligence and ratcheted up her caution. “Can’t stay in one spot all the time—you know what they say about rolling stones and moss. Besides, I came here to surf in the competition, of course. And visit my friend. Haven’t met up with her yet.” She looked around the shop and her eyes settled on the clock. She didn’t have much time to try him out on the subject of their missing heiress. She and Dane had to get to the airport soon to pick up Chauncey Miller. Jean Luc said nothing for several seconds and she thought he wouldn’t bite until he finally spoke.

  “Who’s your friend? Maybe I know her.”

  He said the line as if she’d scripted it for him and that worried her.

  “Susan Whittier. Her family has a home on the island. She’s in the surfing competition too, although she doesn’t have a chance. Have you been on the island long?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of your friend, met her once I think, but I can’t say I’ve seen her about. At least not lately. She must be keeping to herself. Where is her home?”

  “Her family home is in Vineyard Haven. I’m staying there now. Alone. Except for Chauncey when he gets here. Where are you staying?”

  He paused a beat again as if making up his mind. She didn’t take her eyes off him.

  “In a very lovely home a little way inland, but up on a bluff high enough to have spectacular ocean views. It’s called the Sand Castle. Maybe you’ve heard of it. You’ll have to bring your friend Susan along to our dinner if she shows up.”

  “Like I said, I haven’t seen her and she hasn’t responded to my texts. Her pa
rents are worried—I practically had to talk them out of calling the police this morning, but I’m sure I’ll catch up with her.” She smiled.

  He kept that same smile on his face, but it was as if it froze in place when she mentioned the police.

  Shana smelled him before she saw Dane’s shadow hovering over her. Taking a deep breath of whatever it was about him she had become addicted to, she turned. He placed one strong, tanned hand on her shoulder. That was his first real touch and she felt the vibration run through to her center. Closing her eyes against the onslaught of pure lust, she knew she was cooked.

  “Save your flirtations for another day, Jean Luc. The lady and I are due at the airport.” He lifted his wrist and made a show of checking his famously expensive watch.

  “You are feeling all right then, my friend? I will of course replace your—”

  “No need.” Dane cut the man off and squeezed Shana’s shoulder. He gave it a small jostle to signal time for their departure.

  She stood and Jean Luc stood a millisecond later.

  “Your number? Don’t forget your promise to allow me to make amends by taking you to dinner.”

  She rattled off the Whittiers’ house number and, with Dane’s hand sliding from her shoulder to her arm and wrapping itself around her, stinging her with his body heat, he moved her out the door.

  He wasted no time letting her in the car, jumping in and driving off. She looked backwards to see Jean Luc emerging from the coffee shop and looking after them with a wave.

  “You left him with the bill.” She smiled.

  “Keeping expenses down. I’m sure we have a budget and these pants weren’t cheap.”

  “No one told me about a budget.”

  “I’m sure there is one. I think David Young is in charge—technically—of the budget.”

  “Ah. The David Young.”

  “So you’ve heard of him and you haven’t heard of me?”