Page 14 of Beachcomber Enemy

“If it’s any consolation,” Joe said, “She’ll have a helluva time getting back to the island without assistance. No car, no money, no helo ride.”

“No money?” Dane asked.

“You bring any with you?”

“Vendi gave me some cash before we left.”

“Does Shana have any of it?”

Dane shook his head. Somehow the thought of leaving her helpless was not comforting. He knew she would see it as a challenge to overcome rather than allow herself to be defeated. It would merely raise the bar on the level of difficulty, not make it impossible for her to get to Martha’s Vineyard.

“No, but damn. She’ll just borrow money from Madeline or any number of people she knows.”

Peter shrugged, “Neither Mad or I will help her leave. I’ll counsel her to stay and be as convincing as I can, but . . .”

“It’ll buy some time. That’s it.” Dane looked at the floor, grim awareness of the situation weighing on him. “Make the funeral for first thing in the morning day after tomorrow. Thirty-six hours from now.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Then see if you and Madeline can somehow keep her here long enough to give me thirty-six hours alone on the island without her.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if she would still want to marry him when this was all over. But at least she’d be alive.

“Hell, give her a bum car that breaks down on the way,” he continued, “then take your time getting to her, use your imagination—anything—”

Peter raised his hands in the air, “I get it. We’ll do our best. But Shana’s smart and resourceful. You know I can’t guarantee she won’t get there. And Dane,” he made a face, “she’s going to be mad as hell. At all of us.”

Dane smiled. “I’m used to it.”

“Shit,” Joe said. “Any way I can plead innocent?” He gave a wry smile.

Dane felt uneasy, but it was better than the almost paralyzing anxiety he’d felt earlier at the thought of Shana throwing herself directly into Whitey’s arms so she could get him. He wasn’t sure she even realized that was exactly what Whitey wanted her to do, why he’d almost certainly taken Sassy. To entice Shana into his trap.

“Rest. You’ve been up all night. Catch a few hours’ sleep while I set things up, arrange the funeral, Cap’s press conference, the rest of it.” Peter waved his hand.

“Speak of the devil,” Dane said as he glanced at his vibrating phone then tapped the screen, putting the call on speakerphone. “Cap.”

“I checked Sassy’s house without going inside. No answer. I’m assuming there was no one in there because I found a note on the door.” He paused and Dane could feel the tension. When he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. “It’s addressed to Shana.”

Chapter 6

“Shit,” Dane said, but he thought a hell of a lot worse expletives as he let out a breath. “Read it to me.”

Cap shuffled a paper. “It says that Sassy wants Shana to meet her at the pie shop in the morning, 8 a.m. An obvious trap.”

“Damn. Don’t call Shana. Don’t let her know about this.”

The silence on the other end of the line was telling. This was getting very complicated.

Dane’s mind spun through the web of implications, of people involved, before spitting out his conclusion.

“Ronnie. We need to get hold of him. If he knows about the explosion he might try to return to the island.”

“I’ll call him,” Cap said.

“You can’t. He’s at West Point. He wouldn’t have his cell with him. We’ll need to track him down through official channels there.”

“I can do that,” Peter said, moving toward the phone on his desk. He lifted the receiver, then told whomever picked up on the other end to get him in touch with the undergrad dean at West Point. “What year is he?” he asked Dane.

“First year. A fish.”