Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  I wish it were that simple.

  The police don’t make people disappear into an unmarked grave. And no dirty cop has millions at his disposal making sure we’re found.

  Fuck.

  Was Willow right all these years? That was the main reason we’d never married.

  She couldn’t trust me to keep my nose clean. That’s how she’d described it. I’d promised her I’d changed my stripes since returning to the States after my last big stint in the Army, and I’d asked her to marry me for the third time. She’d agreed, and I’d been ready to put the ring I’d bought on her finger before she went into labor.

  I never got the chance to see how we would’ve worked as one big happy family. The laughs, the love, the fights, the anger, the disappointment most couples go through weren’t meant to be.

  “What’s this place called?” Shane asks between bites of apple.

  Eyes focused on the road, I point at a green sign.

  “Finley Grove,” I say. “Twenty-nine more miles.”

  “I wonder if they’ll have a library?” Lauren muses, biting her lip.

  “Library? How about an arcade? A big one with laser tag!” Shane thumps his small fist against his chest. “That’s way more fun than a bunch of musty old books.”

  “Don’t knock it unless you try it.” Lauren sticks her tongue out, turning her face back into the paperback resting on her lap.

  It’s some new kids’ book by Olivia Woods, who writes about brave little girls with magic powers to kick ass and mend broken hearts. I’m just glad Lauren isn’t into the author’s sister, Milah Holly, once the screaming, beating, musical heart of teen rebellion.

  I don’t interrupt their debate on libraries versus arcades, nor do I comment on the fact that we won’t be in Finley Grove any longer than absolutely necessary. It shouldn’t be more than a day or two before Keith calls and we get the go ahead to board a plane, but we won’t be joining him in Ecuador.

  All four of us are bound for Ireland: one man, two kids, and a wife.

  This isn’t the way I’d always wanted to take the kids overseas. I don’t mind soaking in new cultures and old world charm, but hell.

  This isn’t a family fucking vacation.

  As soon as we’re settled in a little village off the map, I can talk to Keith half a world away on secure lines. Then the real work begins; how we’ll unfuck our lives permanently and end this threat so we can come home.

  It’s still on my mind less than half an hour later when we roll into town. The law office isn’t far.

  The building looks nondescript, worn, tired. It’s a one story made of faded brick, a block off the main road that cuts through Finley Grove. It’s the kind of place you’d miss if you blinked after stopping at the four-way stop sign.

  I’m careful not to make that mistake now.

  Glancing at the time on the dash as I put the car in park in front of the building, I let out a huff of relief. Nine o’clock on the dot. Maybe that’s a sign things will start going our way.

  “This it?” Shane asks.

  “We wouldn’t have parked here if it wasn’t,” Lauren answers for me. “Can we come in, Daddy?”

  I nod as I open my door. I’ve already told them what I expect. They know how serious this meeting is. There’s no need for behavior reminders.

  While they climb out, I collect a backpack out of the back hatch. It’s stuffed to the brim with payment for services rendered.

  The kids follow me to the glass door. I pull it open and we walk inside. A sign for the law firm hangs above a door halfway down the hall.

  Stork, Storkley, and Associates.

  What a bullshit name. I don’t know how Keith even found this Manny guy when he’s halfway across the country from Seattle, but I’m counting on this lawyer coming through. Handing me everything I need.

  A wife.

  Pretend wife.

  One willing to lend us cover, then travel to get us the hell out of the country.

  There are no other signs hanging over the other doors, which leaves me to believe the rest of the offices are empty.

  Good. Discretion is the name of this supremely screwed up game right now.

  The kids walk at my sides, and I give them each a quick scan. Remarkably, they look no worse for wear after a road trip that seemed like it’d last forever.

  Their freckled faces are clean. Shane’s dinosaur t-shirt doesn’t have a single nacho stain, surprisingly. I don’t need to inspect Lauren’s pink unicorn shirt. It’s as neat as the freshly combed, brown hair hanging around her face and down her back. Her pink shorts look fine and so do her sandals.

  I tap Shane on the shoulder as we arrive at the door. “Pull up your shorts and tie your shoes.”

  Nothing new there. His lanky frame doesn’t have any hips, so his pants are always falling down, and his shoes are forever untied. His hair is cropped short like mine. Otherwise, it’d be sticking out in every direction. No denying he’s as much a boy as Lauren’s a girl.

  And I love them for it with all my heart and soul.

  I wait till he’s done tying his shoe before reaching for the doorknob. The door is mostly glass, but there’s a vinyl blind hanging on the other side so I can’t see through it. The blind bounces against the glass as I push the door open.

  We’re not alone.

  A woman with golden-red hair sits behind a desk. Her big green eyes lock on me, but the rest of her seems frozen stiff. I wonder what the lawyer told her about me, about us.

  Her deer-in-the-headlights look doesn’t change, and she doesn’t say anything. I wonder if she’s like other chicks I’ve met half a lifetime ago. One of the quiet, hot ones who’s also battier than a castle?

  “Nine o’clock appointment,” I say, stopping just short of waving my hand in front of her face.

  “Oh, uh, of course!” she stutters, coming to life.

  Wait. That voice.

  I recognize it from the phone last night. My eyes shift up and zero in.

  She stands then, and I’m surprised at her height. Closer to my six-foot-five frame than most women, even if I’m still taller.

  Her loose-fitting, flowery dress enhances a figure that’s in perfect, lush proportion to her height. Her hand moves up to her head, and the bun holding back her thick hair shifts, letting several corkscrews fall around her face.

  Goddamn. If I had time to stop and drool, I just might forget our hellish predicament long enough to grow a hard-on like diamond for this ginger-red fox of a girl.

  I’ve always been partial to redheads, and this one’s pure gold from head to toe. But there’s no time for lusting. No time to gawk and admire her many assets, much less hold up the show.

  Giving my head a slight shake, I nod to a door on the other side of the room. “Is he in yet?”

  “Who?” She shakes her head, waving one hand too far, which hits a plastic container of pencils and pens. Reaching for the container as the contents fly out of it, she says, “Oh, Mr. Stork, right. That’s who you mean.”

  She spins around, scrambling to collect the pens and pencils before they roll off the desk. “Ugh, I knew that,” she mutters under her breath.

  Lauren darts forward, catching a couple pens before they hit the floor.

  “Thank you!” the woman says, offering my little girl a timid smile as she takes the pens. “I really appreciate it.”

  Then her jade eyes flick to me with something like savage shame and annoyance. “He’ll be here very shortly, I’m sure. Thanks for your patience...sir.”

  I fight back a grin at how slow she is to add it. Maybe it’s the long drive, but there’s something amusing about making her day more interesting.

  Gingersnap.

  That’s a good name for her. Just like the cookies that pack a touch of sweetness and some serious bite behind their rusty glow.

  Not only is her hair a similar golden-red, right now her face could teach cherries how to blush.

  “You’re welcome,” Lauren says,
stepping back. “I just wanted to help if you’re busy.”

  “Oh, no. Not yet. Mr. Stork isn’t here,” she says, stuffing her things back into the container and setting it neatly on the desk. “But he should be any minute.” She waves a hand to a small sitting area. “You’re welcome to wait.”

  “Dad? Can I use the restroom?” Lauren looks at me.

  “Of course,” Gingersnap says. “It’s straight across the hall. Can’t miss it.”

  Lauren looks at me, waiting. So does Shane. They’re probably wondering what fucking spell just came over me.

  Slowly, I nod, shrugging off my stupor. As both kids reach the door, I say, “Leave that open, please.”

  They do, and I turn back to the woman. “Should be, or will be?”

  She frowns, her brows knitting together underneath that brilliant head of hair.

  “Stork. Should be here any minute, or will be here?” I ask, trying not to snarl. “Lady, I’ve come a long damn way, and I really don’t have time to waste. Or any room for misunderstandings.”

  She purses her lips, wringing her hands together, then pulls them apart and sets the pencil holder on the other corner of her desk.

  “Will be, will be.” Under her breath, she adds, “God, I hope.”

  I lift a brow, letting her know I heard that.

  Her smile comes out strained and wobbles. “Don’t worry just yet. He’s...he’s usually here somewhere between nine and...”

  I lift both brows, waiting for her to finish.

  “Nine thirty!” She grimaces, glancing at the wall behind me. “Seriously. That’s the latest I’ve ever seen him in. I’m sure of it.”

  I turn. The clock hanging there says it’s ten after nine.

  Fuck. I really didn’t need to see that to know she’s stretching the truth, trying to keep the peace.

  “It’s always before ten,” she rattles on. “Can I get you a bottle of water or some coffee?”

  There’s a small fridge in the corner near the waiting area, and a coffee maker sitting on top of it.

  My dry mouth throbs like my burning eyes at the thought of throwing more caffeine down my throat. Now, I’m getting worried.

  “No, nothing. Our appointment was for nine,” I say. “Your boss shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep.”

  “Oh, I understand, and I’m sure he’ll be here in just—” A sound stops her.

  I heard it too. The outside door.

  I’m off, heading for the door, glancing down the hall impatiently. I hope it’s that damn lawyer and not anyone tracking us. Christ, I’m so tired I think I left my gun in the glove box, and the others are even more locked away.

  Then I see a tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties or so hurrying toward me. Hardly the profile of a lethal mercenary on clean-up duty.

  “Mr. Rush?” he asks, forcing a smile. “Manny Stork, at your service! It’s a genuine pleasure.”

  “Our meeting time was nine,” I growl.

  “I know. Traffic held me up. Unreal this morning.”

  I blink at him. This town only has one four-way stop on the GPS. “Traffic?”

  “A train!” he says. “A really long one. I, uh...got caught taking a little delay after fueling myself up for the day.”

  Finally, the bastard gets to the truth. The tall cup hanging in his hand, filled with some syrupy sweet Franken-coffee I can smell steaming through the plastic lid.

  Train, my ass. It’s only my kids’ lives at stake while he gets his morning fix.

  I want to throw him against the wall, spilling that shit all over his pressed shirt, and ask him if he’ll take this seriously.

  But I’m too pissed, too desperate, to menace this clown who’s still our only pathetic hope.

  I evil-eye him instead, finally stepping aside as he rushes through the open door.

  “Right this way, Mr. Rush. I read you loud and clear. No need to hold things up any longer.” Glancing at the woman as he hurries to his office door, he says, “Hold all my calls, Ms. Courtney!”

  “Got it.” She nods and looks up at me. “I’ll watch for your kids. They’ll be just fine out here with me.”

  I stare back out the door, across the hall at the restroom doors, slowing. For a second, I hesitate, hating the idea of leaving them alone with anyone.

  “Or I can send them straight to Mr. Stork’s office, if you’d prefer?” She must sense it, the feral, protective spark lighting up my face.

  “No,” I snap. “Keep them out here. Please.”

  I’m asking for an honest favor. Don’t need the kids seeing my reaction if Stork doesn’t have everything he promised in place. There may be smoking craters left behind.

  She nods, then looks toward Stork’s open office door. I cross the room, enter the office, and pull the door shut behind me.

  “Sorry I’m late again,” Stork says as he settles himself into the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk. “Please have a seat.”

  “Don’t tell me that’s her?” I ask.

  A huge, heaping part of me hopes it’s not.

  Gingersnap is a looker from the way her hair falls around her face to the way those long legs move when she’s nervous. I damn sure don’t need a diversion like that in any way, shape, or form.

  This shit makes me nervous enough. I’ll be exposing my kids to a stranger, making them pretend she’s their mother, something they’ve never had.

  What kind of chick agrees to that, no matter how well it pays?

  Hell, what kind of woman takes on any of this for money? She’ll be taking a big risk.

  Any sort of mistake, hiccup, or malfunction, and the same sick fucks who are after us will be on her.

  Stork’s eyes drift to my backpack and stop. “Did you bring the money?” he asks.

  My fist tightens. I hold out the bag by the strap and let go, watching as it hits the floor.

  He tries to peer over the desk worriedly, as if the bag will sprout legs and wander off like a tortoise.

  Asshole.

  It’s not hard to see where his priorities are. His suit is expensive, tailored, and his obsession with the bag shows how much he likes his money. I know plenty of men like him, ones willing to do whatever it takes to get more of their favorite green fix.

  My skin crawls just being here, standing in front of his beady little eyes.

  I’m not sure what sort of connections Keith used to find this guy, but I remember there’s no choice. Stork’s obsession with a fatter bank account just might save our lives.

  “Right there,” I answer, stepping in front of it as he stands up. “You can count it later. Let’s not put the cart before the horse.”

  He blinks and nods. “Oh, of course. Your arrival’s earlier than expected, Mr. Rush.”

  “Things change,” I growl. “We had to leave earlier than planned. I gave you plenty of notice.”

  “Yes, yes, I got the message...”

  “And? You able to deliver or what?” It comes out like acid, words wishing they could burn a hole through this greedy pig.

  It’s not his life on the line. His future. His kids.

  His gaze goes to the door. After a dull silence, he nods. “Absolutely. However, I still have a few last details to finish before you’re on your way to the Emerald Isle. I hear it’s a nice place this time of year, all soft breezes and beer to die for–”

  He drifts off when he notices my death glare. “I don’t give a fuck about Guinness. Two week turnaround. Ideally less. That’s what you promised.”

  He forces the world’s most awkward smile. “Right, right! It’s been a long trip here, I get it. No worries, my friend. You’re in great hands now. This won’t take long. As you’ve probably noticed, Finley Grove isn’t a big spot on the map. You’ll be nice and cozy here until everything’s set. No trouble will find you here.”

  For your sake, you’d better be right, I think to myself.

  This dark hunger rises in my veins, an ache in my fists I’ve had ever since Keith and I bare
ly blew Seattle with our lives.

  I’m not happy with his answer, but I haven’t been happy with much for weeks. “How long?”

  His mouth goes crooked while he thinks. Or he tries to cook up the best answer to avoid upsetting me.

  “Hmmm...no more than another day or two to get this going? It should be fast.” He reaches over and turns on his computer. “It’s just paperwork, really. Legalese making sure the I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed.”

  “But the woman, that’s set? And a place for us to stay?”

  He pauses for a strained second, then glances at the bag on the floor again. “Sure, sure, but...not to sound crass, I’ll need the money up front. That’s not all profit. Some of this is just covering our travel fees.”

  He winks. I just pretend the insufferable cock didn’t.

  “Half the money,” I bite off. “That was the deal. You’ll get the rest when we, my family and I, board the plane. Not before.”

  “All right,” he huffs after a long pause. I can’t tell if he’s nervous or just that greedy. “Half now and half then. That was the deal. Right-o, captain.”

  My fist tightens again. He flicks his tongue over his lips and nods again as a sly grin forms. “I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable at Ms. Courtney’s home. She lives a somewhat simple, secluded life, but unless I’m mistaken, that should fit your present needs like a glove?”

  I force a nod. He rubs his hands together.

  Goddamn. I can almost see the wheels turning inside his head like the cogs in a machine set to scheme-mode.

  Keith better be right. I have to believe he knew what he was doing when he contracted this guy.

  I know he made it out safely, at least. His other guy in Phoenix didn’t let him down. Let’s hope this one’s just as reliable.

  Clearing my throat, I sit up straighter. “So, when will I meet her? You never answered my question about that.”

  Stork holds up a finger and stands. “Very shortly, Mr. Rush. And about that...I’ll be back in a jiffy! I just have to go speak with my receptionist and make sure all the arrangements are in place with no more delays.” He rounds his desk and bolts for the door before I roar back. “I won’t be long. Make yourself comfortable!”

  Comfortable? He’s got to be shitting me.