by Nicole Snow
“She’s going to remember more, sooner or later. She’ll know her family tried to kill her.” My anger deflates into this melancholy dread.
How the hell do I deal with that when the time comes?
Not to mention the happy realization I’ve been lying through my teeth to her. The woman would be insane to trust me after that.
“One step at a time, big guy,” Cash says. “I spoke to her mother today.”
I freeze.
Shit, I knew it was coming. Cash and I talked this morning, while Val was still asleep. I’d stretched my Google-fu skills to the max searching the web, set up multiple alerts, and yet no one’s put out a missing person’s report of any kind for any member of the Gerard family. Their yacht still doesn’t show anywhere in port since that night, either.
“Yeah? And what’d you tell her?” I ask.
“Nothing, just asked for Valerie.”
My breath goes tight. “What’d she say? Spit it the fuck out.”
“She didn’t seem concerned. If the mother’s in on it, she’s an incredible liar. She told me Valerie and her brother Ray took the yacht to the Big Island but haven’t arrived yet due to the weather.”
“There hasn’t been any bad weather. I call bull,” I snarl, watching Val through the window.
She’s back in the lounge chair with the cat, gently running long strokes down its back.
“Mrs. Gerard said she’s been trying to call Valerie with no answer. She mentioned Ray calling her up last night and telling her Valerie’s phone isn’t working.”
Ice glazes my spine. “So she’s in on it, too. Her entire family’s scum.”
“No, I don’t think so. She sounded sincerely concerned her daughter hasn’t called, and a strange man like me is asking around. I gave her my best boring clinical impression, a simple request for routine medical records. Apparently, she wasn’t even aware of their plans to take the yacht to the Big Island until talking to Ray yesterday.”
I don’t bother prodding more about how Cash got all that info out of Valerie’s mother. He’s a much better bullshitter than I am, always has been.
His bullshit is more believable, too. If only we could trade places. He’d have come up with something better than turtle tours and coffee farming.
“She says she expects another call tonight,” Cash says.
I stroke my chin, letting it all percolate in my head. I’ve researched the family as deeply as I can. There’s only the mother, Lorelei, Valerie, and Ray.
Some extended family on the mainland, but it appears they’ve been estranged for years. Probably since well before Mr. Gerard died.
“What about the missing ships?” I ask, remembering a few King Heron vessels have come up unaccounted for recently. “Did you hear anything about those?”
“No,” Cash answers. “Not yet. I’ll find a way to follow up if it seems prudent.”
I swallow a groan, hating this waiting game crap.
Not being able to get out in the field, digging deeper into this, kills me. There’s only so much I can learn online. But I can’t leave Val alone for long, this morning all but proved it.
The gate was locked behind me this morning, and getting the notification it’d popped open filled me with a new kind of fear. After jumping down Louie’s throat, I had recognized him.
He’d come over to play with Bryce several times while we were building this place. Bryce could’ve easily showed his little buddy where the hidden keypad is and told him the code. I’ll have to talk to him about that later.
“Flint?” Cash says my name.
“Just thinking. It doesn’t make much sense with the missing ships. Cornaro doesn’t have any good reason to steal ships and commandeer them permanently when Ray’s already working for them. King Heron ships have probably been hauling illicit cargo for years, judging by the rumors.”
“I know,” Cash answers. “There’s obviously more here. Has to be. That’s why you’ll play Watson to my Holmes.”
I snort. “It’s gotta be the company assets. Something more than fishing boats. Cornaro’s after something else,” I say.
“I think you’re onto something,” Cash says.
Outside, Valerie stands. My pulse jolts as she stumbles, grabbing the back of the chair.
“Shit, I gotta go!” I race through the dining room, the kitchen, then down the hall to the lanai. She’s still propped up holding the lounge chair when I arrive, but clearly tipsy.
I lunge and catch her around the waist just as her legs give out.
“No falling on my watch,” I say, tightening my grip. “What’s the matter?”
“My head. Everything’s just spinning.”
“Hold on.” I hoist her up, folding her hands around my neck. “Let’s get you out of the sun.”
She slumps her head against my shoulder as I carry her inside, straight to the bedroom. I lay her down on the bed.
“Val? You with me?”
“I’m a little better now,” she says, trying to sit up.
Sitting next to her, I apply a gentle pressure to her shoulder, to keep her lying down.
“Just hold still.” I pull the phone out of my pocket and hit the icon by Cash’s name. “I’m calling the doctor.”
“Cash? No, I don’t need a doctor. I need—”
“You need to get your ass over here, now!” I bark through the speaker. “She fainted.”
“She what?” Cash sputters on the other end.
“I didn’t faint,” Val says, tugging at my arm. “I don’t need a doctor, Flint. I’m not sick.”
“What happened?” Cash asks again in my other ear.
“She stood up. Looked like she was going down fast when I caught her.”
“Um, yeah. Because I was dizzy from thinking so hard,” she says, giving this little pout of her lip.
“Check her pupils, please. Do her eyes seem dilated?” Cash asks.
“I don’t know! I’m not a damn doctor!” I bite my tongue and fight back the urge to chuck the phone across the room. Shit’s exhausting, but I have to keep it together for Val’s sake.
“Flint, pupils!” Cash barks again.
“Working on it.” My hand goes to Val’s face, and she stops squirming
For just a second, I graze her cheek. Ignoring the silky smoothness of her skin, I check her like he wants.
“Give me one second, honey,” I whisper to her.
I stare deep into her eyes, focusing only on her pupils. “No, they look...I don’t know, regular-sized? I’m even less of an ophthalmologist than you,” I tell Cash.
“Of course they are, I’m fine!” She’s had it. Val pushes my arm aside, sits up, and leans close enough to shout into the phone, “I’m not having a stroke or something, Dr. Ivers. Jeez.”
“She sounds perfectly fine,” Cash chuckles. “I’m not detecting any slurred speech. It’s worse.”
“Worse?” I snarl, tearing myself away, digging the phone into my ear. “Cash, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ve got one pissed off lady on your hands, my man. I’m afraid that’s outside my medical expertise.”
He’s more right than he knows. Val’s on the move.
Damn it all.
She gives me a scare, shooting to the other side of the bed. I reach out to stop her, but she’s too quick, already standing up.
“You want to know the only thing wrong with me, Flint? I can’t remember a damn thing, and nobody seems to care!” She marches around the bed and darts into the bathroom.
I stand up to follow just as she slams the door shut.
“Still there?” Cash’s voice floats at me from the phone. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s peachy.”
“You know, not all memory loss comes from physical trauma to the head. Sometimes, it’s inward. Trauma to the mind. If her own brother tried to kill her...then perhaps her mind doesn’t want to remember, and she’s formed a mental block in her subconscious.”
“
So you’re a shrink now?” I palm my forehead, running a tired hand down my face. “No, Cash. No, dammit, we’re not going there. I can’t dislodge some mental block. I’m so fucking far outside my wheelhouse I don’t even know what planet I’m on.”
“Settle down. Let me explain,” he urges. “It’s possible her mind’s trying to keep it all from coming back. Who knows what she experienced on that boat. It could be worse than we imagine. You have to keep her calm. Keep her distracted. Nice things, Flint.”
Nice things? Right.
Sounds like a cakewalk when I’m a natural at pissing her off.
“Are you on your way yet or what?” I growl.
“No. There’s nothing I can do for her medically. I’m also backed up on appointments this afternoon, so I’ll be over later.” There’s an edge in his voice.
He sounds frustrated, and that’s something, but it’s not half as frustrated as I am.
I glance at the clock. “It’s about one o’clock.”
“I’m aware. I’m working straight through lunch. Just keep a close eye on her and do something to take her mind off the stress. You can handle that for a few hours. I’ll call you soon.” He clicks off, leaving me with my jaw hanging open.
Fucker. I throw down the phone on the mattress, where it bounces a couple times.
There’s no sense in calling him back.
No damn sense in me acting like a roid rage powerlifter either, I suppose.
The bathroom door creaks open. I shift upright, move closer, still prepared to haul her sweet ass to a hospital, Cash Ivers be damned.
Val plants one hand on the doorframe and blinks, shaking her head. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine. Truly. I just worked myself up, thinking so hard. It sucks not knowing anything. And I guess it double sucks that what I do know is so flipping random. Still, I shouldn’t have freaked out. I didn’t want to make you fight with your friend.”
“He’ll get over it,” I growl. “He’s got a thick skin.”
Her words reach down and hit something deep.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sorry for someone in my life.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” I say, stepping closer.
She turns away from me, wiping at her eyes, but the tears are still there, glowing on her cheeks like worn diamonds.
Fuck, she’s so conflicted.
This pretty young thing with her golden oracle eyes and plush little lips, her hair running the full spectrum of every kind of brown in the light. So sad, so forlorn, so defeated.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s someone so beautiful and vulnerable looking like she just took an invisible sucker punch. I can’t let her suffer alone. Can’t waste time.
Once upon a time, Cornaro’s bastards taught me that lesson, and its poison runs deep in my heart.
I can’t take this shit, Val with her big, sad puppy dog eyes.
So finally I bolt forward, knowing she won’t slam the door in my face, folding my arms around her so hard she lifts up against me. “You have to stop trying so hard. It’s not good for you.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face in my shirt. “I know, but it’s hard. The not knowing. It feels like I’ve lost something precious, and I have to keep looking until I find it.”
I nod, rocking her back and forth, rubbing her back. She’s so fragile in my arms, like I’m the only thing holding her together right now.
A deep, quiet anger flares in my gut at the thought of someone trying to kill her—especially her own fucking brother. What could twist a man to murder his own flesh and blood? It’s not like Ray Gerard hasn’t grown up with money, riches beyond the Average Joe’s wildest dreams.
It doesn’t make sense.
But it does piss me off. At the same time, I think back to what Cash said. How her mind doesn’t want her remembering the hell she’s been through. And apparently, that extends to her entire family being part of that hell.
“Is...is our last name Gerard?” she asks, lifting her head. “That’s what made me so dizzy outside. I stood up, and all of a sudden, I knew my full name was Valerie Gerard.”
Fuck. If I hoped someone would cut me a break from loaded questions, it’s not gonna be today.
Her voice is barely a whisper. My body goes stock-still. She’s staring up at me with this pleading look, gouging out my soul.
No. I can’t lie to her again.
“Our last name’s Calum,” I say, trying to manage a small smile for her, cupping her cheek softly like a good husband should. It’s all too easy when her face fits nice and snug, almost like it was made for my hand.
Her eyes narrow, trying to process Calum as her last name.
My gut churns.
I’ve stood eyeball to eyeball with armed men who were nothing shy of monsters without a trace of fear, yet that’s what hits now. This nervous, stinging worry. For her.
“Calum?” she says. “Not Gerard?”
“Gerard’s your maiden name.” I let the truth slip. I’m worried even that info-crumb may not give her any piece of mind, so I keep one arm around her. “You sure you’re steady on your feet again?”
“Yeah. Nothing’s spinning anymore. I napped forever, too.”
“Then let’s go,” I say, tugging at her hand.
“Go? Where?” She stumbles after me, but I’m careful not to let her fall.
“For a drive.”
“Drive?”
“Yeah, babe. Me, you, truck. My hands behind the wheel, you letting the ocean breeze blow through your pretty hair, maybe we even smile. It’s called breaking up the monotony. We can gawk at tourists and grab some lunch off a shrimp truck.”
I’m not just following Cash’s advice for her.
I need to do something to get our minds off dark shit.
So I lead her down the hall, trying to sound nonchalant. “Why not? You said you’re feeling better?”
“Oh, I am. I’m just surprised but...let’s make a day of it. Sure.”
I shrug. “I can learn a few new tricks. It’s not doing us any good to keep you under lock and key.”
The way she grins and nods hits me hard. She’s just bright, sunny, and beautiful.
Hell, there isn’t even anything overtly sexual about the gesture, yet, just like this morning, when she said she needed a shower and I stupidly asked if she needed any help, my body responds like that’s all it wants. Forbidden sex with Valerie Gerard.
Like hell.
I don’t need more complications with this job. That’s what it is. A chore, even if it has its moments where the lies just roll off my tongue.
Same way it was with the Cornaro Outfit last time, the slippery fucks. Big Joel C himself might even be behind this.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
He probably demanded her brother slaughter her. Cornaro’s known for wanting full control, total obedience from his minions. He’s an angry, jealous little would-be god, demanding nothing comes before him, and getting it thanks to the consequences for people who don’t listen.
Maybe he wants the entire company, full control over all their cargo routes. A legitimate business to transport his shit under cover of fresh fish.
“Wait.” Val freezes suddenly.
A shiver pricks at my spine, wondering if she’s remembered something new. I look at her.
“I don’t have any shoes on.” She smiles, fluttering her eyelids sheepishly.
We’re in the kitchen, near the garage door. I open it. “Go ahead and get in the truck. I’ll go dig up your shoes.”
Thankful Cash kept the shopping bags he’d brought over for her organized, I jog back to the bedroom, collect the brown Pali sandals he’d included out of the closet, and return to the garage.
She’s in the passenger seat when I climb in behind the wheel, handing her the shoes before starting the truck and hitting the garage door opener.
“So, where’d I run my turtle tours out of?” s
he asks once we’re on the asphalt. “Or was the whole thing a joke?”
Shit.
“Various beaches, mostly up the road,” I say, rather than admit I was straight up lying. “You want to see for yourself?”
She studies me for a second, then nods.
Fine. Letting her think sea turtles were her reality might help her from thinking too hard about her two-faced family.
There’s a private beach I know up on the North Shore. Always see plenty of turtles there flopped down on the sands, sunning themselves, so I head north once we hit the highway.
The road takes us further inland for a stretch, through the hills and valleys covered with green, lots of monkey pod trees and rainbow eucalyptus.
“Wow. Who could get tired of this landscape?” she asks, after we’ve been driving for a while. “The island has it all. Mountains, seashore, trees, and pretty flowers.”
She’s not wrong.
Having lived on the mainland and been stationed near Seattle at one point, I don’t consider the hills around here mountains, but everyone else does. She’s right, though, about there being nearly every landscape imaginable packed into Hawaiian clay—from mountains to beaches to arid, rocky areas, and everything in between.
Sans the fucking snow. Which, I swear to God, I still haven’t missed and never will.
My old man’s years in the service had us traveling from state to state, base to base, which is part of the reason I didn’t re-up after I’d done my time. Spending the better part of a decade doing my patriotic duty was enough.
Plus, I didn’t want Bryce turning into a nomad. Didn’t want him living in danger or wondering if I’d come home alive, either, which is partly why Cash and I dissolved our old security business. Cornaro was the other reason.
“We’re going to the North Shore, aren’t we?” she asks, perking up.
I unclench my teeth, chasing back dark memories, and turn with a smile. “Glad you noticed. There’s a great shrimp truck in Haleiwa.”
She nods. “I feel like I couldn’t forget it.”
No surprise. Everybody and their dog on Oahu knows about the food trucks up here. I’ll never get how the folks running them produce the masterpieces they do in such hot, cramped spaces, but damn if I don’t appreciate it.
