Page 31 of Beachcomber Enemy

She didn’t say until now. But he heard it loud and clear.

F—ck.

Cap didn’t think he was doing a good enough job protecting Shana. Or maybe it was his own conscience talking. Probably both.

In spite of the side-long glances from a few of the other customers. They finished their coffee in silence and managed to escape the coffee shop without being identified or spoken to aside from the young man behind the counter who’d served them.

It was noon by the time they arrived back at the alley behind the Lucky Parrot. Twelve hours until their excursion to check on Sassy’s basement to hopefully find her there alive and well. Exhaustion from the tension coiled relentlessly inside him. Dane was grateful for the time they would all have to rest and restore themselves. Even more grateful that Shana would be with him.

* * *

If it wasn’t for Ronnie’s pleading eyes, Shana might not have relented. But she knew he was right. Knew they were all right. She shouldn’t go with them to Sassy’s house. They didn’t know what they’d find and had to assume it was a trap meant for her.

“No more than forty-five minutes or I’m coming after you,” she said. “That gives you fifteen to get there, fifteen back and fifteen to pick up a conversation. That’s it.”

“You talk like you’re in charge of—”

She cut him off. “It’s my ass he’s after, I know him, so yes, you better believe this is my show.”

Joe raised a brow. He never said much and she wasn’t sure if she liked that about him or not. Ronnie nodded, but she was focused on Dane’s hard stare.

“We’ll be back in forty-five.” His voice was mild, but she wasn’t fooled. He didn’t like it that she’d threatened to come after him. He was trying so hard to keep her under wraps.

“But don’t expect me to salute you.” He threw the line over his shoulder as he stepped up the cement stairs to the bulkhead doors that led to the back alley. He was dressed all in black and looked like a cat burglar. A very buff cat burglar, full of sinewy muscle and dauntless attitude. Joe and Ronnie followed, all carrying small packs on their backs with the tools of their spy trade.

* * *

Sassy’s house sat in the middle of a small grassy yard which was surrounded by a row of low hedges. Good enough cover for midnight in the quiet neighborhood. Joe sat to his left and Ronnie to his right. They were all hunched in between the bushes. It was thirty yards to the basement window and a bulkhead at the back of the house. Thirty-five yards to another window on the side of the house in a shallow well.

Lifting his hand, he raised three fingers, then two, then one. Then he tossed some rocks into the yard to check for sensors.

“No pressure sensors. Guess Nash is a low-tech kind of guy. Look for trip wires.” He gave Ronnie a look.

“Low tech unless you count the explosion at the beach shack,” Ronnie reminded him.

“I’m going in. Watch my back,” he said to Joe. “Cover the bulkhead, kid”

He got close to the window and looked into the basement. Sassy was there, tied with her hands in front of her and her mouth taped. She lie on a filthy mattress. There was blood on her forehead. It was fresh. The good news was that meant she was alive. The bad news was that she was probably unconscious. That would make an extraction doubly difficult. Then he noticed a wire attached to the binding around her hands. Shit. That would make an extraction nearly impossible without some planning.

The two men were laughing and appeared to be drinking. He wanted to go in and take her now, but he was well aware of Whitey’s MO. The booby trap and the bomb. He moved low and slow to look in a different window with a different angle to find where that wire led. That was when he spotted what he did not want to see. A bomb-pack all wired up to the cable that ran to Sassy’s binding. With the control at Whitey’s right hand.

Shit. F—ck. Damn.

Dane made his way back to the periphery to report his findings, but there was no way he would tell Ronnie that she was unconscious. Breaking his rule not to lie to the kid, he only told them that she was bound and hooked up to a bomb. That was bad enough.

“The good news is that she’s alive,” he said.

* * *

“One more night and it’s over,” Dane said to the kid as they jogged back to the Lucky Parrot one more time in the dark. Before they arrived, Dane recognized Cap’s street car parked a block away. So he wasn’t surprised when they climbed down the bulkhead steps into the basement to find Cap there. But tension had seized him and he had to work at relaxing himself. Breathing deep and controlled, he scanned the room. Cap stood at the table with three pizza boxes, a case of beer and a bottle of Patron Silver.

“A sight for sore eyes,” Dane said in a normal voice. “Not you—the pizza.”

“You’re welcome you SOB. What’s Sassy’s status?” Cap smiled, but it looked tentative. Dane darted a glance at Shana. Her expression spoke volumes of blank pages.

“She’s alive. They have her tied up with a wire to an explosive.”

“God dammit,” Shana said, her expression jumping to life with anger. “No way to get her out or get Whitey?”