Page 1 of Beachcomber Danger

Chapter 1

They were blessedly alone at this ungodly hour of the morning. Dane ran behind Shana along State Beach, mostly for the view of her backside. He could have caught her and passed her if he’d wanted to.

Sweat trickled down his temples and he bent lifted his arm and bent his head to wipe the sweat off on his sleeve. When he did, he caught a glimpse of a moving car out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his head only slightly to see two men in a gray sedan creeping along the road about fifty yards behind, tracking them.

Picking up his pace, he caught up to Shana. Ever the competitor, she speeded up to try and stay ahead of him. Before she got too far, he managed to snag her T-shirt, almost tearing it from her shoulder.

She slowed and swung around, pulling the shirt back on while she scowled at him. She was about to protest but he quieted her with a look and hauled her in close.

He didn’t want it to be obvious to the men in the car that he’d made them. He had no idea who they were or what they were up to, but it was scalded into his DNA by now to be cagey. Never play it straight.

He put an arm around Shana’s sweaty body, enjoyed the effects of running with the heat and humidity of the day rising, and nuzzled her ear while he whispered.

“Two men in dark glasses and suits are following us in a nondescript sedan. What does that tell you?”

“Are you in trouble with the feds?” It was both good and bad that she stopped squirming in his arms.

“No.” He thought for a moment, running his mind in reverse back to the last time he’d had a run-in with a federal law enforcement agency. The ATF. One of their agents had been bad and they hadn’t been thrilled that Dane had been the one to discover this fact. But the man had killed their client’s husband and Dane and Shana had nailed him with a recorded confession and a gun aimed squarely at him with intent to kill.

No one was happy about that mess. As a reward for uncovering the ATF agent’s drug ring, Dane had been threatened with imprisonment for his so-called interference that they’d insisted labeling as obstruction of justice. But that fiasco had ended a while back with a truce.

“Then what’s it about?” Her scowl changed over to something more loving. No worry, not yet.

“I’m hoping it has nothing to do with the President’s upcoming vacation on Martha’s Vineyard, but I’m not that optimistic.”

She stood stock-still now and looked at him.

“Do you think they want us to—”

“No. I think they think we’re suspicious characters and they’re keeping an eye on us.”

She slapped his arm and took off at a sprint before he could stop her. Damn.

Now he’d have to catch up. And he’d have to acknowledge that she was probably right. The feds, likely secret service, wanted something from him—from them. He needed to remember he wasn’t in this alone. And never would be again.

Dane could probably thank his old pal the Governor for turning the feds onto Beachcomber Investigations.

Some pal.

He dug his right foot into the sand, ignored the tweak in his knee, and ran after his partner—or rather his newly minted fiancée.

*****

By the time he caught up, Shana was already in the shower. He heard the spray of water through the locked door. Damn. He rattled the knob one more time and heard her laugh. She hadn’t even broken stride going through the back door and straight to the shower. He wondered if she’d bothered to take her clothes off.

Another man might have been discouraged or wounded by this behavior, but Dane smiled. He knew his wife-to-be very well. Partly because they were a lot alike, and partly because knowing people well was his strong suit—and he’d made an extra-special effort with Shana.

He’d had to. She’d been the toughest puzzle he’d ever met. In hindsight, he knew he could attribute that to the cloud of miserable desire that had always got in his way. Not anymore.

She was his. He wouldn’t let her escape now. He had hold of her and the one thing that had gotten in his way all this time—his own damned world-weary misery—was gone. The gaping hole in his soul was on the mend.

Shana had made it clear she didn’t want to get sidetracked today, wanted to make some calls, drum up some new business. He smiled thinking about her avaricious streak as he walked into their bedroom. He stripped his shirt off, kicked off his sneakers.

He went out back. Behind his beach shack—their beach shack—he jogged across the lawn that ended with the harbor and hopped onto the narrow wood pier that jutted out thirty feet. After a quick glance into the gleaming morning ocean, he jumped off the end of the dock into the life-renewing saltwater. It was the second-best thing, albeit by a very wide margin, to taking a shower with Shana.

When he went back inside, dripping wet, he was met by Shana, fully dressed.