Beachcomber Santa
Beachcomber Investigations Series Novella 2.5
By Stephanie Queen
Sample Chapter
Chapter 1
Dane was lucky more than smart. Lucky more than charming. Shana might have left the island and him for good. He had no idea why she hadn’t put her bags on a ferry, taken off from Martha’s Vineyard and never looked back. Instead, she had moved a few blocks away. It felt like she was on the dark side of the moon.
A shudder rippled through him. The beach shack felt too still without her. He eyed his liquor cabinet—the freezer—where he had a bottle of tequila stashed. The bottle was the one she bought when he’d asked her to pick it up. A little over three weeks ago. He hadn’t seen her since.
Leaving the tequila, he stepped out his back door. It was mid-afternoon. He hesitated about whether to turn left toward the harbor and the cleansing sea air, or to turn right and head to the street towards Mrs. Jones’s place where Shana rented efficiency for the off-season.
The ocean breeze came up from his left. It was cold. He had no jacket on. That made up his mind. Today his mind was weak. He turned away from his usual solace of the harbor and sea air, and headed to Shana’s place dressed only in his t-shirt and jeans. He didn’t even care if she accused him of being macho.
Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He had a reputation to keep up. The legend. Maybe it was all he had. That was a depressing enough thought to shove aside. He bent his mind on coming up with a plausible excuse why he needed to see her. As he passed his neighbor’s yard decorated with a life-sized plastic replica of Rudolph, he decided the upcoming holiday season was the perfect reason. Friends were entitled to stop in on friends at Christmas time, weren’t they?
He shook his head and kicked a stray rock a good fifty feet in disgust. She’d never buy it. He didn’t have a Christmas tree, no stocking. Not a single light. He hadn’t bought anyone a Christmas gift in years. Not even his mother. His mother had been happy with the money he sent all year long, regular calls and an occasional visit on Mother’s Day.
Too bad he didn’t have a business excuse to see Shana. They were still partners in Beachcomber Investigations—as far as he knew. But they hadn’t had a case since they saved his friend Acer’s butt from a sniper last month. This was a sore spot with Shana. She needed the work and the money. He had talked her into giving up her career with the Scotland Yard to be his partner in the private investigation business. No wonder he was on her shit list.
He neared Shana’s unit. It was tacked onto the side of Mrs. Jones’s house. Fear flashed through him, searing his chest and leaving his heart pounding. He thought about turning around—something he’d never done before. What the hell was he afraid of?
He was not one to back down from a challenge. He never turned around. Shana had him in goddamn knots. He stopped and knew the only thing worse than turning around was to knock on her door and have her look at him like he was a pathetic fool. Or to have her turn him away.
But then his phone rang and changed everything.
