Page 16 of Beachcomber Enemy

“You saying I should send Shana into a trap set by a crazy homicidal maniac who’s bent on revenge and who already exploded the beach shack to demonstrate his intentions?” Dane let his challenge sit for a full two ticks of the clock before continuing. He noticed Joe’s slightly raised brow, otherwise the man was cool personified. Peter wore a worried scowl, a face he wore more and more often when Dane saw him these days. They didn’t get together for fun much.

It was clear that Cap wasn’t going to respond to Dane’s baiting, though he could have argued that Shana might never forgive him. Dane acknowledged that possibility was real, and that it was a close second to seeing her get killed.

Dane said, “I’ll have Joe with me. Leave a car for me at the airport. Before midnight. That’ll be a big help. Tomorrow you’ll be busy acting mournful and putting on a convincing show for everyone that Shana and I are dead. It’s key to luring Nash to the funeral.” Dane held back from saying to the damn f—cker’s end. Instead he handed the phone to Peter for him to make the arrangements with Cap. It was time he took his leave.

“Let’s meet here in this office at one a.m.,” he said to Joe. “We’ll go out the back.”

“I better get ready then.”

Joe left Peter’s office with him. They walked through a semipublic hallway in the main part of the residence then through some doors to the wing holding private quarters.

“You heading to the guest suite?” Joe asked. Dane nodded.

“Not sure what will await me there, but I intend to give my best shot at sleeping.” Although sleep at a time like this might be overrated. Since he didn’t know what state his relationship with Shana would be in after tomorrow, making love might be a far better idea. In spite of everything, he smiled in anticipation.

Joe gave him a sideways glance. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can read your mind. Not a difficult thing to do with that leer on your face.” Joe grinned, then mock-saluted. “Hope it goes down well for you. See you at 0-100 hours.”

Joe peeled off and headed up a stairway leading to staff quarters.

Dane stopped at the doorway to the room they always stayed in when they visited overnight. He thought of knocking, then didn’t. F—ck it. It was his room. Turning the knob, he shoved the door open and stepped inside.

Shana lay on the bed, wearing only panties and a skimpy top, head propped on a pillow against the headboard. A tablet was on her lap, and she was tapping at the imaginary keyboard. He hated those things. She didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge him as he walked toward the bed. He had his work cut out for him, but suddenly he was up for it. Literally.

With her golden hair splayed over the pillow and her long legs bare and bent invitingly, he felt highly motivated to make amends. Right away. Guilt shot through him over his plan to leave without her later that night.

F—ck the guilt. Now was the time to live in the moment.

Unbuttoning the stifling uniform jacket, he approached her.

“I see you ditched your uniform. Did I tell you how delicious you looked all buttoned up—”

“Shut up, Dane.” Her eyes flashed at him before returning to the keyboard. Knowing her, he remained undaunted and took off his pants, then the rest of his clothes. Sliding onto the bed beside her, he looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing.

She didn’t pause to look at him, or to say anything to him, but he knew she was aware that he was naked, was aware of his intent. He felt her tension.

And smelled her desire.

It was always there, that spark between them, the impossible-to-quench desire, the obsession to become a part of each other, to worship each others’ bodies, to communicate their depthless passion and emotions. At least it was that way for him. He wasn’t just randy. As much as he was passionate and loved women and sex as much as and maybe more than the next guy, he’d never, ever, not even with Elena, been obsessed this way with a woman. Never had to have someone for his own, possess them wholly, eternally, like he wanted with Shana.

He’d always thought Elena, long dead, had been the love of his life, until he met Shana.

Now as he let the heady scent of her and her sex seduce him, envelop him, he forced his eyes to focus on the screen of the tablet as she scrolled down a document. It was about Whitey Nash. Looked like his medical record dated immediately before his discharge from prison. The bottom line on the medical document explained why they’d let him out. Explained his boldness. Made Dane’s blood freeze, or start to. But he pushed back. He wouldn’t let Whitey ruin this night with Shana.

If anything, the information about Whitey’s state of health cemented the rightness of his plan. Dane bent his head to whisper in Shana’s ear, reaching over her with one arm and stroking the top edge of her tank top, over the rise of her breasts and along the cleavage.

“How long does Whitey have to live?”

She shuddered. Tried to suppress it. Gratified that she was unable to, he nibbled her ear, waiting for her answer.

“He has three months according to the prison medical staff. They waited before letting him out. Presumably to let him spend his last days with his so-called loved ones.”

“He has a family?”

She finally turned to him. “A sister. He went there. At least for a night. Then they lost track of him.”