Page 34 of Beachcomber Enemy

“Where are Ronnie and Joe?” she asked.

“Out foraging breakfast.” He looked her up and down, his expression softening, likely getting ideas that because they’d slept together, no matter how innocently, that meant she’d forgiven him. It was easy to aim a cold blank stare and disabuse him of the notion.

“You look like shit,” she said without feeling, knowing dispassion would unnerve him most. Strangely, it unnerved her too, as the unmistakable passionate anger rose in her. Beating it back down, she reminded herself that they had a mission this morning and there was no room for distraction. Too bad Dane, even with a biker bald head and tattoos—maybe even because of the sexy new persona—was a damn big distraction.

“You look like red-hot excitement.” He sounded like he meant it, like he wanted to take her and ignite her until they both incinerated. She shivered.

He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, no sunglasses and no leather jacket, and yet he looked dangerous, strong with overpowering virility. But that thought was probably just her own personal hell, the same hypersensitive physical reaction she’d had to him since day one.

She snorted, then gave him the finger as she went to the table to get a cup of his coffee, avoiding direct contact as she did.

Dane did no more than raise a brow, which was far more noticeable now with his head shaved. She was saved from dealing with the turmoil of loving and hating him right now as Ronnie and Joe bounded down the steps from the direct entrance though the bulkhead.

“It’s crazy out there,” Ronnie said. He ripped off his baseball cap and handed out donuts from the bag he carried.

Joe put a box of donuts on the table without enthusiasm. “Lines everywhere. Cops everywhere. Limos. I think I even spotted some feds,” he said to Dane.

“They all came to celebrate my demise.” He turned to Shana. “Or to grieve your loss.”

“Are we going to be able to get through or will we need to walk?” she asked Joe.

“We’ll take the van, but it’ll help if you know some back roads to Cap’s house.”

“We better leave now,” Dane said. “Joe, you drive. Shana, you’re with us.” He looked at Ronnie and she put a hand on his arm before he spoke.

“Ronnie, you go to Sassy’s and keep your eyes on the situation and keep in communication.”

“Don’t worry about me. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I know. But I don’t want anything to happen to you either. I don’t want anything to happen period. Not until we have Nash and we can get back to you. We’re assuming Eli will be with her, but even if he’s not, she’s likely still going to be wired or booby-trapped somehow and you need to wait for Joe—”

“I get it. I’ll do what needs to be done.” It was the hardest she’d ever heard him talk. He almost sounded like Dane. She hoped for Ronnie’s sake he never reached that level of stone-cold cynicism.

“We all set?” Dane came up behind her, touching her with his body, harnessing her as if he were a horse wrangler. She withheld her instinct to lash out, to rebel against him. She’d need to save that for when it counted, because she didn’t trust him to be easy about this.

“Let’s roll,” Joe said. “First stop: wardrobe. Cap’s house.”

* * *

“He’s not home. Do you have a key?” Joe said as he pulled the van into the driveway of Cap’s boring little house that reminded Dane of the kind of place someone’s maiden aunt would live. He knew from experience it didn’t get much better inside. Even if Cap was no maiden aunt, the place sure looked like and old lady had decorated it for him.

There were no lace doilies, to be fair, but it was tidy. Too tidy for Dane’s taste.

“Do you think the neighbors will be suspicious when a couple of bikers pull up in a van and break into Cap’s house?” Shana asked. She got out of the car and Dane didn’t answer, just took her arm and half dragged her to the back door. Joe followed on his heels fast and they went inside the screened-in porch where they’d be relatively unnoticed.

“Don’t suppose he keeps a key under the mat,” Joe said.

“No.” Dane pulled the sleeve of the leather jacket over his fist and punched a hole in one of the glass panes in the back door.

“Jesus, did you have to do that? Don’t you have any burglary tools you could have used?” Shana said.

Dane stopped to look at her while his hand reached inside the hole in the glass to feel for the lock on the door handle.

“I’d say my burglar tools are now a melted mass of metal somewhere in the pile of rubble that used to be my house—our house.” It was cruel to remind her. It was too easy to forget they were homeless when all their focus had been on running for their lives and staying hidden long enough to catch up with Nash.

“I—”

“Forgot?”