Page 3 of Beachcomber Danger

Chapter 2

“What do you want?” Shana didn’t know what else to say. Dane had warmed her, dissolved her plan to visit Cap—in spite of the outrageousness of his objections—with his warm breath and knowingly tantalizing mouth. But she was quick to recover and stepped back.

She saw the disappointment flicker in Dane’s eyes before his face transformed. His game face never failed to impress her. The quickness of the change in his demeanor stunned her, though she should be used to it.

And standing in the kitchen of the beach shack, still dripping and caught in that vulnerable position about to seduce her, Dane still managed to take control as he turned to face the two men in suits who’d been following them. They were standing in the doorway.

“You may as well come inside,” he said.

*****

“Sorry to . . . interrupt, Mr. Blaise.” The slightly older of the two spoke as he opened the squeaky screen door and stepped inside.

He had gray temples and a tan to go with his dark suit and sunglasses. Dane would bet the shades were prescription. The man’s chippy partner followed. They both wore deep lines of concern between their brows, the kind that probably didn’t disappear even when they slept.

“I assume you fellas aren’t here for a cup of coffee.”

Shana scowled, yet remained blindingly gorgeous. The two men eventually dragged their eyes from her to answer him.

Taking a rectangular leather object from his pocket, which Dane knew was not a wallet, the partner in charge flipped it open and let it hang for more than enough time for Dane to confirm that he was Secret Service. Agent Liam Andrews to be exact. No big surprise. Dane wished he’d made a bet with Shana.

Andrews bent his head in the direction of his sidekick. “This is my partner, Agent Thaddeus Goodley.”

“So?” Shana said.

“How about a tequila, Agent Andrews?” Dane said.

He didn’t mind playing good-guy – bad-guy with the usual roles reversed. It was entertaining to watch Shana be the badass for a change. Although he wasn’t sure the two men would buy it. They would discover their mistake in due time. They would likely make the same mistake made by 99% of the men Dane had seen encounter her. The power of underestimation was enormous as well as entertaining.

“We want to set up a base here in your home for the duration of the President’s visit on the island.”

“I guess that’s a no on the tequila.”

Agent junior spoke up then. “We’re not playing games, Mr. Blaise.” He emphasized the title as if not being a federal agent made Dane inferior. At least he knew what type he was working with.

“Budget problems?”

Andrews answered. “We have information that you know the island and you have a certain background. And may have equipment available—”

“No.” Shana folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. Her navy pumps were spread two feet apart and her spine was straight and rigid.

“You don’t—” Agent Andrews started a sentence Dane predicted would end with a pissing contest so he cut the man off.

“I’m going to make a phone call. You two can wait a minute.”

“Who are you calling?”

Dane heard the trace of trepidation in Andrews’s voice.

“An old Army friend. The Governor of Massachusetts.”

The agents’ faces remained stony. They had good training at the Secret Service. He left Shana with the two bricks. They stood in a triangle in the small kitchen watching each other.

Dane took his time. He walked to the end of the hall to his bedroom and changed into dry clothes first—a white linen shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers. Then he went through the door off the short hall into the living room that doubled as his office to use the special secure phone—what he liked to call his Bat Phone.

This was probably part of the equipment that Andrews was referring to. As he dialed up the Governor, Peter John Douglas, Dane hoped to hell Peter hadn’t sent these men to take over the beach shack. But how else would Andrews know about his equipment?

He knew he’d need to cooperate with the agents to some degree. This was the President’s safety at stake after all, but he had no intention of giving up control.