Page 25 of Beachcomber Danger

“At gunpoint.”

“I thought this was a free country.”

“Except when the President’s visiting town and there’s a viable threat against him, then all bets are off. Civil rights get caught up in the national security net.”

“What do you make of our assignment to observe the crowd at the airport when Air Force One lands?”

“It’s a setup of some kind. They don’t need us for observation.”

“Maybe they need us for a distraction?”

“I’d buy that. But for who and how?”

She picked up her drink and took a long sip.

“We need Acer to come through for us with something. Fast.” Dane didn’t look toward the back hall and stairway, but he surreptitiously watched everyone who went that way to go to the restrooms.

“How about if we divide and conquer?” She dangled the glass between two fingers, holding the stem. She was drinking a martini, slightly dangerous for her. They’d ordered dinner but it hadn’t arrived. They could leave now and not come back, but he knew they should stay to keep up the charade. Plus, they needed to eat.

“Have another roll.” He moved the basket in front of her. He didn’t want to separate from her, not even for a half hour.

“I could take a drive down the street to the pie shop and go in, pretend I’m picking up some things for Sassy while you go down stairs. If we both go out the back, you can sneak in through the bulkhead—”

“Stop. No way.”

“They’ll follow me and leave you alone.”

“There’s no guarantee of that. You recognize the pair who followed us to the Gables’ in here?”

“Sure.” She lifted her drink in the direction of a table at three o’clock.

He nodded. “That’s them.” He lifted his own drink to his mouth, but only took a deep drag of the scent of the Glenlivet 18-year Speyside single malt. He’d talked Tom into stocking it for him. The Lucky Parrot proprietor had grumbled and called him nasty inventive names, but he stowed a bottle with a Dane-only sticker on it under the unused old-fashioned cash register. Jones had never done away with the relic for aesthetics though the staff used computerized gadgets these days for taking orders and taking payments.

“Shana, there’s no advantage to us splitting up. I mean—” He stopped then because he didn’t know what he meant. He shook his muddled head.

“I know what you mean.” She shrugged.

He couldn’t believe he’d lost his cool, couldn’t believe he’d uttered a flustered word, had a moment of awkwardness. That never happened. Not even when he’d been an adolescent. When everyone around him had been awkward, he’d been cool and collected. Distant. He’d been distant from his emotions. It had been easy to be cool then.

Now he enjoyed an excruciatingly close relationship with his emotions. They were front and center and interfering on a regular basis with his cool. With his ability to function. Whenever he was with Shana, whenever it was about Shana. It was always about Shana now. Damn.

He closed his eyes for a couple of blinks and collected himself, gave himself a stern warning. This was no time to act like a lovesick adolescent. He tightened every muscle in his body against the intrusion of emotions.

“We need to go downstairs now—before our dinner gets here—and sell it as a private assignation. We can’t wait until after dinner because if we don’t show up at the Jeep directly after leaving they’ll come looking for us.”

She agreed without trepidation or even irritation, “They’ll be waiting since they’re following us.” She looked at him with a loving smile. He steeled against it. Besides, he knew it was part of the act. The slight tilt of her head told him she got it.

“I like the idea of an assignation,” she murmured, holding him with a dreamy look. She stood, clutching her purse with one hand. “I’ll meet you there.” She winked and trailed her other hand seductively along his jaw.

Anyone who was watching would understand why he’d abandon his dinner and follow her from the room.