Page 5 of Beachcomber Enemy

“Don’t suppose you have any dry clothes.”

“All we have here are USCG uniforms and, as fond as I am of you two, I can’t let you wear them.” He clicked a few keys and said to Shana, “It’s all yours.”

Then he came around the table in the middle of the room to meet Dane. “I’ll get you some towels for now. I can get you dry clothes later.”

“What makes you think we’re staying until later?”

Vendi stopped with his hand on the door. “Look, I get that you’re pissed. Your home was just blown to smithereens and some nasty fella is after you and he may have found you, but—”

“Shit, Vendi. We can’t stay here in case that nasty fella is nearby and you know it.”

“I can’t believe whoever is after us can track a throwaway phone,” Shana said. “But it can’t be Whitey Nash. He doesn’t have the skills. And he’s in prison, I’m sure of it. They gave him twenty years. Minimum.”

Dane looked at her and wondered about that. But he needed to concentrate on their immediate problems and speculating about her nemesis wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Figuring out whatever the hell had scared Shana to the point of fainting would have to wait for another time.

She clicked through some keys. “Shit. I can’t get the information I need without calling the prison.” She turned and looked at Vendi.

“Call if you want.” He stood by while she picked up the receiver from the console.

Dane didn’t bother asking if it was a secure line. He held back, knowing it would piss Vendi off even more. Instead, he concentrated on standing his ground from half a room away, watching Shana handle the call, watching to see exactly how scared she was of this guy Whitey Nash. Wondering why the hell he had no idea who Whitey was, or that he’d even existed, until now.

She gave a false name then asked her question as if she were a journalist. She slowly returned the receiver to its cradle on the console.

One look at her face as she turned told him the answer.

She said, “He’s out.”

“We’ll need to leave the island.” Dane looked at Vendi.

Vendi nodded.

“We can’t leave by water.”

“Shit, Blaise, you’re killing me. We’re on a frigging island.”

“You have a plane. I can fly it.”

“My plane? You want me to give you my frigging plane? I just got it—”

“I can pay you for it. Double what it cost you,” Dane didn’t want to argue. He had a shitload of money sitting around waiting for an occasion such as this. A f—cking emergency.

“Where the hell are you getting a hundred thousand clams?” Shana said.

Vendi laughed. “Offshore bank account would be my guess.”

Shana scowled at Dane and he almost smiled. He’d told her he had money stashed away but she’d never believed him. Until now. Maybe.

“Let me get you the towels,” Vendi paused a beat and added, “and the uniforms. Then I’ll see about the plane.” With a shake of his head, he left the room and ran back up the stairs in a hurry.

“That guy is crazy to trust me,” Dane said.

“He probably doesn’t.” Shana said. “But he trusts me.”

He looked at her soggy hair and tugged on it, then pulled her into his arms, suddenly cold and needing her warmth, even when she herself was wet and cold. He whispered in her ear, “Touché.”

Chapter 3

“I owe you,” Dane said. Not something he ever said lightly. Vendi nodded, but he didn’t smile as he turned over his flight log and keys to Dane. They stood on the tarmac outside the hangar where Vendi kept his small plane. A two-seater. Not that it mattered. There was only him and Shana.