Beachcomber Trouble
Beachcomber Investigations Book 4
By Stephanie Queen
Sample Chapters
Chapter 1
Shana shouldn’t have opened that e-mail. It had been marked private, though the subject line said “Beachcomber Investigations”. It wasn’t until after she’d read it that it became obvious the message was meant for Dane.
It was also obvious to Shana that whoever sent it had not known she was Dane’s partner. She paced around the kitchen until she heard Dane’s Jeep lurch into the driveway. Dane must have found out something was up. She went to the door as if there were no other choice, as if there was an irrevocable command sequence controlling her. She pushed the screen door open and wondered how Dane knew her old friend, wondered what kind of trouble he was in.
Because it definitely meant trouble when a message came from the CIA. More precisely, it meant big trouble when a message came that was the exact standard operating procedure for emergencies, according to the CIA handbook.
*****
Staying in shape was getting to be an ordeal—or so Dane’s right knee periodically reminded him. He looked ahead down the pristine length of State Beach, thought briefly about Jaws, and kept running. He had one and a half miles to go. Then he’d run the two miles back. It was May. Warm weather. No tourists yet clogging up the beach.
The mobile phone in the pocket of his cargo shorts vibrated against his right thigh. He didn’t stop running, but slowed enough to slip it out as it stopped buzzing and went to voice mail. He glanced at the caller ID.
That made him stop short in the sand.
It hadn’t been Shana as he’d expected, but he recognized the number. A cold freeze went through him—the kind that slowed his heartbeat to calm him, the kind that demanded he slow the alarmed thoughts bursting in his head.
The message was from Oscar.
Or someone using Oscar’s phone. Oscar had been an old friend from his mercenary days. The only person outside his special ops team who’d saved his skin and who he absolutely trusted. He owed Oscar. And he’d been truly fond of the man.
Dane clamped down on his surging adrenaline. Whoever called him on this line, Oscar or not, would know it was a call to action.
After one quick glance down the beach at the expanse of waiting miles, he turned around and sprinted back to his Jeep. There was no way to keep his mind quiet on the quick drive back from Oak Bluffs to his beach shack in Vineyard Haven, so he prepared himself for the worst and made a plan.
If the call was from Oscar, then Oscar was in trouble. Dane might need to leave the island. Immediately.
If the call wasn’t from Oscar, then the trouble was worse. Because that meant someone had compromised Oscar and had contacted Dane in Oscar’s place, using his phone. Dane would need to leave the island either way. Without Shana. The twist of pain along his shoulder blade signaled tension at the prospect. He would find out soon enough. He swerved the Jeep into the crushed shell drive, shoved the gearstick into park, and jumped out.
Before he finished sprinting to the back steps of his small house, Shana appeared on the threshold. She pushed the screen door open. The look on her face spoke volumes. It said she knew.
Chapter 2
“What is it?” Dane said. The adrenaline-induced thrumming of his pulse blipped to the next level. He took a breath and stopped on the top step less than a foot from Shana’s warmth. Either the extra breath of salty air off the harbor or his years of training and experience calmed him. It could have been Shana’s warmth.
He was afraid it was her. Afraid because, as well as she could calm him with her presence, she could rile him up with her iciness—or her absence.
She didn’t answer him, but stepped aside and retreated into the kitchen where she proceeded to pace in a tight circle around the small space of the linoleum-floored room.
Dane took another breath.
“I got a call,” he said.
She stopped her pacing and whipped around to face him.
“You also got an e-mail.” She stepped up close and lifted her chin, not to look at him, but in her usual defiant way—the way she did when she figured she’d hit a snag with him. His pulse went back to blipping a hair too fast for good health.
She stood with her breasts heaving a little too close to his chest for him to not feel the discomfort of holding off the distraction. She paused long enough for him to get that oh, no feeling welling up in his gut.
“Tell me about it.” He kept his face blank as a spike in acid assaulted his gut.
“I’ll show you.” She went to the dining table, where they kept the computer, and turned the monitor to face him.
They both stood and looked at the curt e-mail. It was meant for Dane’s eyes only. There was no indication that whoever sent it was sending it to Shana or to both of them, although there was a reference to Beachcomber Investigations in the subject line. It was from Oscar’s emergency code e-mail address. Dane knew that didn’t necessarily mean that Oscar had sent it. But someone who knew that Dane had started Beachcomber Investigations less than a year ago had sent the email. And that someone also knew their emergency system. The message was clearly written per their Trouble Protocol. It said:
It’s hot here. I could cook on the ground, but I’m using a pan. Nic is home now.
Dane said, “It’s a call to action. Standard Operating Procedure.” His mind ran through the possibilities, which seemed infinite. If the reference to the hot weather wasn’t enough, the word pan followed by Nic and then now was not good. In fact, it was the worst kind of trouble code of all. Immediate panic.
“SOP for the CIA, you mean. You were in the CIA?” Shana asked.
He ended the train wreck of possibilities running through his head and looked at her. He had not considered the possibility that Shana George had worked with—or maybe for—the CIA.
He said, “I’ve worked with the CIA. Sometimes against them. But never for them. Not unusual in my previous line of business.” He eyed her. He didn’t ask her for the explanation of how she knew it was CIA SOP, but he saw her come to the realization that she ought to tell him.
“I worked with them—with the CIA. Once.”
He stood straight from his bent posture leaning over the computer and kept his eyes on her. She also stood. He didn’t nod. He didn’t prompt. He, most of all, did not let her off the hook.
“It was back in Sydney. I was on the team assigned to run down a gun-smuggling operation. We ran into the CIA and ended up joining forces. I helped them and they helped us. After the operation was successful they were the ones who recommended me to Scotland Yard. I mentioned I had ambitions. I’d like to cooperate with them now if we can help.”
“Oh, I’m helping all right. This is a call to action that I can’t refuse. It’s from an old friend. Oscar.”
“Oscar is in trouble?” Shana went from serious and businesslike to clearly alarmed. Her spine went rigid, her shoulders popped back, and her eyes widened. She looked like a warrior princess who’d just found out her best friend had been wronged.
“What the hell? Now you’re telling me you knew Oscar? He was your CIA connection in Sydney?” Dane shook his head as the pieces fell into place about how Shana had come into his life. David Young had been the common denominator. And apparently, so was Oscar.
“Yes, I worked with him—”
“No wonder David hired you to work with him at Scotland yard. Did you know he and Oscar were childhood friends?”
Her eyes narrowed and her hands went to her hips. He watched the boulder-size chip settle on her left shoulder as her posture changed.
“No, I didn’t. What of it? I deserved the job—”
Dane waved her defensiveness aside. “Never mind, Shana. The problem is that Oscar is presumably in trouble and I’ve been called to action. He evidently doesn’t know that you’re with me, but he does know about Beachcomber Investigations.”
“You’re right.” Her lush mouth flattened as far as such a mouth could and Dane allowed himself a beat to watch her breasts heave in distress, watched her wrangle to control her emotions.
“If you know the protocol, then you know I need to make a call over the secure line. Whatever is needed, I’ll need to do.”
She nodded. He thought again about the near certainty that he’d have to leave the island. Without her.
“I understand the Trouble Protocol. The call to action,” she said. She took a deep breath and followed him.
