Accidental Shield: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

  A man could fall in love with that shit.

  When a woman’s this beautiful and lost and fragile, a flick of her hair can bring a dude to his knees far swifter than any barking gun.

  Her eyes glow a little brighter. “But Flint, what if—”

  “No,” I tell her. “Don’t you worry about what ifs.” Before she can argue, I ask, “You brought your new phone, didn’t you?”

  She nods and holds it up.

  “Good.” At least one thing’s sure to go right then.

  “Why?”

  “Because as soon as we’re in position, you’ll give Ray a ring again.”

  “Huh? Why would I—”

  “So we can tell if he’s working alone or if he brought someone else with. We need to know who we’re dealing with, how tight he is with Cornaro or even his own security crew.”

  She flinches as it all sinks in, then nods.

  Can’t blame her. I sense her frustration. Her fears.

  It’s a special hell, not knowing the specifics, but just enough to put the fear of everything unholy about her own brother into her head.

  “What does Ray drive? Do you remember?” I ask, pulling into a parking lot.

  The coffee shop is at the end of a long line of outdoor retail shops and street vendors, the typical crowded shopping zone in these parts. I park in the back row, far enough away to see the full seating area plus the lot across the side street, where others might try lurking to watch. I have a hunch.

  “I’m not sure,” she answers, hissing softly as she shakes her head. “God, I just don’t remember his stupid car.”

  “It’s cool,” I assure her, just as a silver Maserati GT convertible whips into the lot next to the coffee place.

  I know it’s him before I even get a solid look at the man in the roaring status symbol. He drives like the spoiled, flashy punk he is. Big surprise.

  Ray Gerard punches his car into a spot in the front row and scans the outdoor seats. A second later, a white van pulls into the lot across the street. It looks like a construction vehicle, but it’s too bland, too nondescript, clearly a disguise. The wi-fi antenna jutting out the top is a dead giveaway.

  I hold my breath. A text message pings my phone saying my team’s in place. Davis Samuels is in charge, a big man with strong wits, eagle eyes, and sharpshooter skills that could shoot a dime off a surfboard from the shore—and I’m hardly exaggerating.

  “Now, Val. Call him.” I open the console and pull out a pen and paper.

  “I don’t know his number,” she says. “I can’t...”

  “Call the office then, like you did before.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, I’m just nervous.” She nods at the convertible. “That’s him?”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. He’ll never see you.” I hold the paper and pen against my leg with one hand, then reach across with my other.

  Her fear eases as my fingers lace with hers, squeezing courage into her.

  “Put the phone on speaker. I’ll write down your script if you get stumped. Otherwise, just ask him whatever comes to mind. You’re safe.”

  “Okay.” She presses the phone icon and waits as the call connects.

  “King Heron Fishing, Mr. Gerard’s office,” a chipper woman says.

  “Hi. This is Valerie again, can you patch me through to Ray?”

  “Oh, hi! Didn’t he answer last time?”

  “Yes, but...I just need to talk to him again, and I don’t have his number. I got a new phone and—”

  “Ohhh, say no more, lady. Been there, done that,” the woman says. “No one remembers numbers any more, but would you believe I still know my home phone from when I was a kid? Here, let me tell you Ray’s, so you won’t have to keep going through my red tape.”

  “That’d be lovely. Thanks,” Val says, casting me a long, gold-eyed look.

  I nod, pulsing her hand again, and jot down the number the receptionist rattles off.

  “I’ll patch you through to him now,” she says. “Hope to see ya around the office soon!”

  “I’m sure you will. Thanks,” Valerie says again as the line goes silent.

  When it starts ringing, her face goes a shade paler. I can practically feel her getting sick.

  “Act normal,” I whisper. “Ask him whatever you want. Now’s the time. He can’t do shit to you, babe, not while I’m here.”

  She nods, then flinches. Her chest isn’t moving. I can tell she’s holding her breath.

  The guy in the convertible holds his phone to his ear when the ringing stops.

  “Gerard here.” His voice drifts over the speaker.

  “Ray,” she says.

  “Val, why the hell do you keep coming through on the office number?” He’s looking around, scanning harder.

  “Because I couldn’t remember your number. They patched me through.”

  “Whatever. Are you here yet?” Before she can answer, he continues. “I’m worried about you. This whole amnesia thing...listen, I’ll take you to the family doctor. I called the clinic. They said to bring you right in, and they’ll find out what’s going on. Where are you, anyway?”

  I try not to snort. The prick sounds concerned.

  Of fucking course he’s trying to sound concerned. All the better to lure her in. Trouble is, he’s such an impatient little mongoose it’s not even coming across that way. I’ve heard bastards in handcuffs put on a better act.

  Beneath the surface, Ray sounds anxious, demanding, uneasy. Apprehensive.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” she says.

  “Bullshit, Val. If you’re not playing around with this amnesia crap, you need to be seen,” Ray tells her.

  “I’ve been seen by someone perfectly capable. There’s nothing he can do. It just takes time,” she answers.

  My eyes flick to the white van. The two guys inside are scanning the area, homing in on a guy near the long line of t-shirt racks at the store next to the coffee shop.

  He’s not a shopper looking for trinkets and printed Hawaii shirts. He’s a man on the hunt if I’ve ever seen one. Almost certainly one of them.

  “What doctor? When?” Ray continues, rapid fire. “Valerie, listen—”

  “I’m telling you, I’ve been checked almost every single day since the accident. I wouldn’t lie,” she answers. Then glancing at me, she asks, “Ray, why was I on the yacht? Why were we on the boat at all?”

  He’s silent as he stretches up in his seat, searching the area harder.

  “I thought you said you had amnesia,” he says, a sharp, unsure edge in his tone. “Are you fucking wired, sis? Are the cops—”

  “Wired? No! I just want answers.”

  Ray drags the phone closer to his mouth, damn near growling into it. “Yeah, answers. Fuck. Then we’re looking for the same thing. Where the hell are you? I came here to help. Not to get busted if this amnesia shit is just some cover story.”

  “It’s real, Ray. I only remember bits and pieces. Of me and you, out on the yacht, and then something happening that caused me to get thrown off the ship. That’s why I’m asking. Please, just tell me.”

  There’s a long pause on his end. He looks out the windows one at a time, not just searching for her, but for undercover agents, no doubt.

  “You weren’t supposed to be there. You know that, Val, or you did before. I tried to make things right,” he snarls. “Now, dammit, enough of this. Where. Are. You?”

  “Who were those other men on the boat, Ray?”

  His face twists, gold eyes a shade brighter than Val’s flashing. He slams his fist against the steering wheel so hard I cringe.

  “Valerie, fuck! Don’t make me ask again.” He throws open his car door and kicks his way out, turning his head in all directions when she doesn’t answer.

  She’s too busy pinching my hand, her face tight, watching my pen move to the notepad. I’m ready to bail her out.

  “Almost there, honey. You’re fine,” I mouth silently. I shift my hand to her knee and squeeze ge
ntly.

  She nods, but she’s still nervous, this soft quiver winding through her body.

  My fingers sense it.

  I give her knee another gentle pat, wishing like hell we weren’t undercover. Her asshole brother hasn’t even looked our way yet, and he’s too keyed up to recognize her in this vehicle behind her disguise even if he does, but hell.

  I’d just love to get a hold of that chicken shit loser and let him know exactly what I think of how he’s treating her.

  “Can you see my car yet?” Ray asks, calming down enough to slam his car door shut. “Come get in so I can take you home!”

  The mock-concern vanishes. He sounds viscerally angry as he stalks toward the coffee shop. “Are you inside?”

  “It was too crowded. No seats inside,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gold eyes shimmer, fear constricting her throat.

  “Then where? Where are you? Don’t you get it? I’m trying to save your stupid ass!”

  My free hand tightens like an angry fist around the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how much more I can take before I rush over and smash his face right into that six-figure ride of his.

  “I don’t care. And I don’t want to go home with you, Ray. Not yet. I-I’m safe right now.”

  “Safe?” He runs a hand through his short dark hair. “You’ll be safer with me, Val, those guys...Jesus. You have to trust me. Please.” That last word falls out of him, weirdly desperate.

  “Not today. I’m sorry. I...I have to go. ” She looks at me, shaking her head.

  I see it in her expression. She’s done.

  And I think we’ve learned everything we can from this little exchange. Davis and my boys are no doubt watching every move the guys who came in the van make.

  Reaching over, I finger-punch the button on her phone to disconnect.

  So maybe we haven’t learned anything new about Ray Gerard being a king-sized fuckwad. He’s in deep with Cornano, yeah, but the interesting part is, he’s also scared. Scared shitless.

  And I don’t think it’s just because Val knows something she shouldn’t that could risk compromising him.

  I give her knee a final pat before placing my hand back on the wheel, then fire off a text to Davis.

  From a distance, Ray continues screaming at the phone, frantically waving one arm. Then he starts tapping away at his screen, clearly texting someone. A moment later, he’s screaming into it again while racing to his convertible.

  “Sorry,” Valerie whispers. “I just couldn’t—”

  “You did beautifully,” I say.

  No need for her to explain anything.

  Ray throws the phone into his car, then wrenches open the door and climbs in. A moment later, his tires squeal as he takes off. The guy near the t-shirt stand jogs over and jumps in a white Ford Edge. The white van leaves, too. Both it and the Edge go in opposite directions. Neither following Ray.

  Shit. Looks like they weren’t part of his backup crew after all.

  I’m sure that call was tapped. I’m glad I made damn sure her phone isn’t traceable. Anyone who tries will just get a revolving pattern of hits on every tower on Oahu.

  I glance back in my rear-view mirror. Bryce isn’t even watching the commotion, too sucked into his game, the corner of his mouth twisted in concentration. He looks up and sees me, finally, yanking out one earbud.

  “Aw, man. I missed it?” he asks.

  “Told you, dude. Boring stuff. We’re almost done here.” I wink, watching his face go sulky as he puts the little speaker back in his ear and looks at his Switch again.

  “Aren’t we leaving?” Val’s pained expression says she doesn’t want to waste another second here.

  I shake my head. “Give it a few. We’re gonna sit tight till I’m sure the coast is clear.”

  “How will you know?” she asks, frowning.

  “I’ll know.” And I will, waiting not-so-patiently for the all-clear from my boys.

  She nods, then wipes at her cheek with one finger. She still has her sunglasses on, but she’s turned away from the light, so I can’t tell if she’s crying.

  Doesn’t take a frigging psychic to sense her sadness, the brave front she put up fraying her apart little by little. The poor girl’s been traumatized enough.

  “You know, if I haven’t said it before,” she says quietly, “I need to now.”

  “Say what?”

  “I just...I appreciate you, Flint. Everything you’re doing. All for nothing in return,” she answers, her voice strained. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Where I’d go, if I’d even be alive...”

  “Hold the praise, Val. I’ll hear it when the job’s over.”

  It’s all I can manage. My phone pings with a text, telling me we’re good to go, so I take us into Honolulu. We’ll stop by this ramen place Bryce loves since I promised the kid something. That’ll also buy us a different route home plus more time for Ray Gerard to scram back under his rock.

  Trouble is, I can’t stop thinking about her last words as we drive in silence.

  I didn’t want a risk in my life like her.

  A smoking hot, screwed up little minx who drives me halfway out of my skull, who puts flames I doused years ago back in my blood, who brings me face-to-face with a darkness I swore I’d always keep away from my son.

  She’s bad luck I never asked for, but it matters so fucking little now, I’m almost laughing.

  A hard knot forms in my gut. I know exactly what would’ve happened if Cash hadn’t found her, if he hadn’t brought her to my house.

  The Cornaro wolves weren’t going to stop combing the beaches. They wanted to devour her.

  It’s a sobering fucking truth, and it drives home how much she’s counting on my brains, my strength, my uniquely deadly skill set.

  Without me, she’d be dead.

  That’s not gonna happen. She’s still the same pretty, wounded dove she was the day she showed up on my doorstep. I’ll be damned if she doesn’t deserve her chance to soar.

  Come hell, come terror, come blood, come the worst case of blue balls in the known universe, I’ll keep Valerie Gerard safe.

  She’s mine until there’s nothing left to save her from.

  9

  Two Against One (Valerie)

  It’s hard to imagine my own brother hates me, but he does.

  Maybe he always has. I can’t remember, and for once it doesn’t bother me.

  Sometimes this amnesia thing is a mercy.

  It takes the killing edge off the whispers on the wind billowing in from the sea. I hear them now, sitting on the lanai not long after we get back to his place, lost in my own thoughts, wishes, and prayers.

  I can’t forget what just happened back there. My own freaking brother hates me, possibly enough to want me dead.

  I saw something Ray didn’t want me to, or I got too deep in his affairs.

  There’s little solace knowing he won’t rest until he’s scrubbed his biggest threat—me.

  Honestly, there’s little solace in anything right now, except Flint Calum.

  I’m truly grateful for all he’s doing. If it wasn’t for him and Cash bringing me here, I’d be dead right now.

  This island isn’t big enough for a proper witness protection fix. Sooner or later, I’d be recognized, especially as the long-lost daughter of a wealthy fishing magnate, with the brother who isn’t shy about flashing his success to the world.

  I can’t believe the police would have a safe house on Oahu that wouldn’t be compromised in record time. I should be down on my knees, thanking my lucky stars.

  Flint knows what he’s doing.

  He believes in me, even when I’m not so sure myself. Any FBI field investigator wouldn’t be so understanding or so caring. They’d see me as a one-way ticket to bust open whatever’s going on inside King Heron.

  Plus, I’ve read enough suspense books to know if Ray climbed in bed with bad people, dark connections run deep. A bribe here or a crossed moral wire
there, and pretty soon you can’t tell where law and order ends and the criminal underworld begins.

  With Flint, I can be honest. He’s not after fame or fresh accolades on his resume.

  It’s not just that he’s vowed to protect me, he knows how.

  Even when he spent the better part of a week on that fake marriage whopper, he was right to worry I’d freak. I totally freaking would have if I’d just thought I was living in a strange house with a strange man with stranger memories rattling around my head.

  How on earth do I ever repay him?

  Seriously, he doesn’t have a personal stake in this, and it’s not hard to sense he’s got all the money he could ever want. How do you thank a man who’s willing to stick his neck out so far the blade meant for you could fall on him at any time?

  It’s not like a bottle of old scotch or a box of chocolates works for this situation.

  I don’t even know if he likes scotch or chocolate.

  I mean, technically I don’t even know if I like scotch.

  Chocolate, on the other hand...what kind of monster wouldn’t?

  The instant I smile, it feels out of place. My lips curl sourly, sinking back into full sulk, familiar darkness bleeding into my mind.

  Ray doesn’t believe I have amnesia. It was in his voice. He thought I was messing around, trying to incriminate him on someone else’s orders.

  How did our relationship get so crappy in the first place?

  Did we play tricks on each other as kids? Or did we just flat out lie?

  I don’t want to believe I was that kind of a person, even if I had good reasons like Flint did with me.

  I don’t feel like I was dishonest. But Ray...

  God. That dream keeps coming back, the one where we were little, and I wonder if it was partly just a dream or another bitter memory.

  He was horrid to that other little boy, and he didn’t get in trouble.

  He never got caught for claiming the conch shell was his, either, when I know I’d found it.

  Whether it was real or not, it seems fitting. Like Ray’s entire life runs on bald-faced lies and gross selfishness.

  If I had any doubts about the kind of man he was, the last few hours swept them away. His reactions showed it. His anger, his entitlement, how he’s used to bullying people into obedience...