Page 35 of Beachcomber Enemy

“Hard to imagine how, but I guess I did.”

Dane twisted the lock, then the knob, and carefully pulled the door open. He pulled his hand from the jagged hole and winced only slightly when an edge caught his thumb. A shallow slice. Not worth another thought. He led them inside and disabled the alarm.

“Nice digs,” Joe said.

Dane resisted the urge to snort. The kitchen was a slick, state-of-the-art room and the only one in his otherwise old-fashioned house worthy of a state police captain in his opinion.

“Follow me. Cap said there were clothes in the back room.” They moved into the back to a corner room and though he’d kept his voice even, his heart rate picked up.

Because, of course, there were no clothes. There was a nice closet with a lock on it and there were supposed to be some plastic ties he could use. That’s what Cap had promised and Dane hoped he was true to his word because he knew the man was on the fence about Dane’s plan.

Shana followed him and Joe trailed behind. He was to block the exit. Dane had the hard part. Without hurting her, he had to subdue Shana, tie her hands and lock her in the closet.

The exact thing she would never expect him to do. She didn’t think he would go that low.

But he would. Because there was no way in hell, no way while he had a breath, that he would let her face down that bastard nut case. Especially not since he knew the way she wanted the showdown to go. She wanted to slice the bastard dead. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but knifing was a messy thing. Too much could go wrong.

Dane’s plan was to shoot the mother f—cker.

But first, he had to take down Shana.

“The clothes are in the closet.” He stepped aside and let her open the door as he slipped the plastic ties from behind the pillow. Then, without taking a breath, without thinking another thought, as she stood looking in the open door, he grabbed her two arms and wrapped them in the ties before she knew what happened.

“What the hell, Dane?” Her shocked eyes met his and, in that instant, she saw what he was about. Her expression changed from shock to furious hatred.

Though he’d been quick, Shana was no slouch and she whirled, kicking out. He barely ducked out of the way or she would have caught his balls and destroyed him. Instead he threw his weight into her, pushing her into the closet, and slammed the door shut. As he turned the lock, pulse racing, head pounding, he heard her muffled swearing and cursing. He was okay with that. He deserved that.

But when she stopped the yelling, when he heard the muffled sob, he felt his heart split open, the pain of the chasm making him dizzy.

“Let’s go,” Joe said. His voice was grim but firm. Dane steeled himself. This was no time to second-guess his decision to lock her away, no time to pay attention to the roiling pit in his gut, the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been torn from him at the sound of her sobs. No time for any of that.

Dane had no sunglasses and no leather jacket. They were in the van. Only a shaved head and some fading tattoos to disguise himself. Joe walked fast back through the house, but Dane stopped.

“Hold on. I need something.” Something propelled him to go into Cap’s closet and pull a blazer from its hanger and toke a ball cap from its hook. As he slipped them on, Joe walked past him out the back door. Dane followed and was about to step through the door when he heard the sound. A loud wood-shattering crash.

Shana.

Chapter 12

Everything in him went cold and still. And then he moved, rushing forward as he heard her boots on the floorboards in the hallway. Joe called to him from the van but he didn’t bother to answer. He should have.

He should have told Joe to cover the front door because Dane realized with sickening dread that’s where Shana was headed as he reached the empty hallway. He rushed to the living room and saw her at the front door, yanking it open with bloody hands.

She looked up with venom in her flashing eyes. They seemed to reach out and sting him with accusation. And he felt it. The momentous shame of what he’d done to her, to the love of his life, fell on him then like a giant anvil of guilt and regret. He froze, feeling like lead had taken over his bones.

“You forgot to disarm me, you no good idiot,” she spat. Then she was out the door and running, still dressed in her motorcycle gang outfit and moving fast.

“Goddamn it to hell.” She’d cut her plastic ties and kicked the door open. And he should have known better than to lock her up in the first place. Maybe in some deep recess of his consciousness he had known better, maybe that’s why he’d done such a piss-poor job of it.

He took off after her, not thinking of anything else now but protecting her from Whitey Nash and begging for her forgiveness. As he ran across the yard, tracking her about a hundred yards ahead of him, his mind spun into gear. He knew where she was headed and he knew a shortcut. He could catch her.

Joe screeched to a halt in front of him.

“She got away so quickly?”

“Knife.” He was panting, more from fear than exertion. “Go back up Ronnie. I’ll catch her before she gets to the church.”

Joe saluted, but his eyes looked more sad than serious, more sympathetic than determined. Then he took off. And so did Dane.