Page 6 of Beachcomber Danger

“Don’t count on it.”

Dane had no intention of leaving his home with two Secret Service agents free to roam about. He had too many secrets. Not to mention he wanted a stake in this one. He knew they’d been told to enlist his help and the only way to gain any control was to play hard to get.

Andrews came back inside carrying two duffels and a black bag that looked like an oversize doctor’s bag. Dane recognized it as a tech kit. It was probably filled with all kinds of electronic goodies.

“We were told you had an extra bedroom.”

Dane stone-faced them and Shana threw her hands on her hips.

“Why the hell do you need to stay here?”

“We don’t want to cast any suspicion. We’re going to use you as—”

Dane put up a hand. “Stop right there.” The Governor had said to cooperate, but he hadn’t said how and Dane was fairly certain he’d allow him to use discretion. Dane always considered the term “use you” to be a flaming red flag in any plan he didn’t concoct himself.

“You don’t tell us to stop. Who the hell do you think you are?” Goodley took a step forward, which brought him closer to Shana. She didn’t back away, but instead drew herself up to tower over the man who was merely average height. In her heels, Shana was six foot two. Eye-to-eye with Dane. He liked it, but not too many men had the same appreciation for female power as he did. Probably because they had trouble controlling it. But hell, that was half the fun.

“I thought you knew who I was. I’m the guy you’re counting on to do you a favor. The guy with a certain background. And equipment.”

“We don’t technically need your permission.”

“That’s not what the Governor told me.”

“Calm down, Thaddeus,” Agent Andrews put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. They were playing the same good cop, bad cop game.

“No, let him get it out of his system,” Dane said. “He has a chip. I get it. He doesn’t like me because I’m a mercenary.”

Shana shot him a look, and her scowl deepened when she aimed it back at Thaddeus.

“How un-American of Thaddeus to be disdainful of capital enterprise,” she spoke in her full Aussie accent.

“Are you even a citizen?”

“Yes, I’m a citizen of Australia. Why? You plan to have me deported?” She took a step closer.

“That’s enough. This bullshit is getting us nowhere,” Andrews said. “We need to comb the island and set up shop ahead of the full contingent of agents. The President will not be told he needs to postpone his trip here because the Secret Service didn’t do its job.” Andrews eyed Dane and took a breath. “I’ll take that shot of tequila.”

Inside his head, Dane raised his brows. This guy was going above and beyond the usual good-cop role.

“Coming right up.” Dane turned and opened the freezer door to retrieve the second bottle of Patron Silver. Shana broke her yard-dog stance to retrieve some glasses from the cabinet, brushing past the two agents close enough for their pupils to dilate with pleasure.

He put the bottle on the counter of the kitchen peninsula. He wasn’t offering anyone a seat or to come inside and sit at his dining room table. This was the negotiation for entry.

As soon as Dane filled the six-ounce juice glasses that Shana had plunked down on the counter, Andrews picked one up, gave them a salute with it, then downed it.

Dane refilled it and waited for him to speak—once the man’s eyes stopped watering. There was something important afoot and this guy was concerned. His partner was edgy, one hand on his glass and eyeing Andrews. Dane stood for a few beats, watching Andrews’s eyes clear and intensify before he spoke.

“Time to read us in, Andrews.”

The man nodded.

“There’s been a verifiable threat that an attempt will be made on the President’s life while he’s on the island.”

“Who?”

He shook his head. “An ISIS cell was activated. Someone Homeland Security was watching.”

“Is the cell here now?”