Beachcomber Bride
Beachcomber Investigations Book 12
By Stephanie Queen
Sample Chapters
Prologue
Yesterday. Dane strummed the final chord.
The song had it wrong. Love was never an easy game to play.
He rested the guitar on his lap and looked up at Shana George across the small space of the trailer that had been their temporary home for weeks, and would be for weeks more. He knew she was thinking the exact same thing about the game of love.
“I never knew,” she said. “You play beautifully.”
Her words wrapped him in dizzy warmth and then sent him hurtling back too many years. His mother had said the same words, to the same effect. He tossed his guitar aside. He shouldn’t be so careless with the only thing he had left from his father. From his entire past. It had been in the back of the Jeep when the bomb had exploded the beach shack.
He stood. If he jostled his mind with quick angry motions the past would be banished. His head was already too crowded with confusion, dismay, and something stranger. Bliss popped in by way of his soul like an unbidden ghost on unpredictable occasions.
Shana came to him, bent carefully and wrapped her arms around him like the blissful ghost’s messenger, Christmas Future. If he could put aside his mind, shut it down and only feel, he would be okay. She gave him plenty to feel.
“Another line to add to the legend of Dane Blaise,” she said. She was in a mood to give him shit, albeit lighthearted shit. But then, when wasn’t she? She knew his thoughts on his so-called legendary status.
The legend was a rumor spread by someone with a sick sense of humor. He was no more of a legend than any man—or woman—with a gun and a need to right wrongs, to protect the innocent. And who happened to have steel balls the size and smell of Chicago. He did have that going for him.
Problem was the only truly legendary thing about him was his penchant for attracting danger—the kind that could get a person killed. And it had. He was more of a danger to the women in his life than to himself. He’d lost his mother—killed by his childhood enemy grown bad and crazy with a grudge. His old enemy, Dag, had also killed the little girl of a part-time lover. His lover didn’t lose her life. She’d only lost her baby and her mind.
Then there’d been Elena. His great love from a decade ago. She got herself killed working undercover—on his watch.
So, yeah. He was a legendary f—ck-up when it came to women he loved.
He glanced at Shana. She’d barely recovered from her wounds at the hands of her old enemy. Dane hadn’t been able to protect her from harm. He was poison. He was a walking time bomb likely to destroy anyone near him.
But Shana was the love of his life and he would do anything, good or evil, to protect her. He would sell his soul to the devil—hell, he’d become the devil—if it meant protecting her from harm.
That attitude and determination were what had gotten him into the trouble he was in now. Shana was still on the fence about going through with their upcoming nuptials. He was an utter loser in the game of love.
And facing possible jail time for murder in the second degree.
Chapter 1
Shana was a few steps behind him in front of the courthouse when his phone rang. Thank God she isn’t in earshot. Not because Dane was happy that she was slow and still recovering from her knife wound, but because he didn’t want her to hear this particular phone call. It was from the governor’s private line.
Tapping it on, before he said a thing, the governor’s wife, Madeline Grace, spoke with uncharacteristic urgency, bordering on panic.
“Dane, there’s been a threat against Peter and . . . I’m afraid this is a legitimate one.”
“Tell me about it.” He used his operations mode voice. The minute he heard the words legitimate threat, his adrenaline kicked in along with his years of training to control it, use it. His senses had a sharp edge to them now. Listening to Madeline he heard everything, including the background noise. She was in a car in the city, but she wasn’t driving. Her two children weren’t with her.
“A note was left on my car’s windshield at my office at the university with photos of Peter at home, as if taken by a drone through a window. I’m calling you now because Peter is en route to the island for an interview with your attorney—for your trial—and he has Joe with him, but I’m worried.”
“Who’s driving you?”
“David Young.” The chief of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program in Boston and good friend of the family. He wondered which role David was playing now, whether he was protecting her in his official capacity or there for moral support, to keep her calm. Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d called Dane.
He was hardly in a position to help. With his trial pending, he was on a short leash. His attorney, wild-haired Nora Kimble who looked exactly like she acted, had managed to get him a reasonable bail amount and Peter had posted it. He had to wear an ankle bracelet and he had a curfew, but he wasn’t in jail. It wasn’t in his DNA to do anything else but agree to help.
There was no way he would say no to Madeline Grace. There was no way he wouldn’t have Peter’s back if he was being threatened. They’d been through too much together, starting when Peter had been the leader of their special ops team back in the day—too many days ago to count now, but that didn’t matter. If he lived to ninety years old, he’d drop everything and lay his life on the line to come to Peter’s aid.
“What did the note say?”
“It was short and to the point,” she said, relief in her voice. “Large font Times New Roman on plain white 20-pound bond paper. It said, ‘Peter drops out of the Senate race or we drop him.’”
Shit.
The next call he made would be to Acer. Walking fast to stay ahead of Shana and Sassy Stevens, who refused to leave her, he slipped around the side of the courthouse and along a path. Shana would notice and he’d have to come up with a plausible explanation when she inevitably questioned him about it. He might even need to tell her the truth. Madeline would be on the island soon. He knew without being told that that was where she was headed now. He found a private space among some bushes and stopped.
“Who’s behind it? A political rival?”
“I doubt it. I’m assuming it’s an extremist nut who doesn’t like Peter’s politics.”
“Then it’s an extreme nut with means and motive to go to the kind of trouble of taking photos with a drone, taking a big chance.”
“You think there’s a personal grudge?”
“More than likely. Make me a list. Get with his Lt. Governor, Rick Racer, and come up with anyone who thinks he’s done them wrong—real or imagined.”
“I’m on my way to Martha’s Vineyard now, but I’ll call Rick and get on it right away. Could be a long list.”
“I know. But we have Acer to help narrow things down with some cyber research.”
“Thank you, Dane. I feel better talking to you.”
“For no reason at all. It’s a special talent I have, giving false impressions.”
She laughed. “Not exactly. I think your legendary status is well deserved.”
“Don’t tell your husband that.”
She laughed again. It had a nervous edge, but he’d take it. She was as cool and solid as they came and it disturbed him to hear her shaken.
“Mad, where are the kids?”
“Safe.” She whispered, “With my parents in the Berkshires.”
“You’ll need to have your parents take a vacation. Somewhere they’ve never been. Don’t they have an RV?”
“Yes. Great idea. I’ll call them right now.”
“Use someone else’s phone to make the call and don’t discuss the destination.”
She paused. He’d spooked her.
“Doesn’t hurt to be extra cautious. Until we narrow down who your nut is.”
Hearing her shaky breath, he cursed himself for being so heavy-handed. He should have had that conversation with David Young. Dane would have to call him later. They said their goodbyes with a promise to connect on the island.
Dane hoped to hell whoever was making threats didn’t have the capability or wherewithal to listen into Madeline’s conversations. If they did have that capability, that would be bad. Very bad.
Slipping his phone into his pocket he trotted back to the courthouse door to face Shana with some sort of explanation.
