Accidental Shield: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “Fine.” I glance at the computer and nod. “You’re on, Val. Look up the closest furniture store and what time they open.”

  Her grin grows. “Why?”

  “Because today we’re gonna furnish those guest rooms.”

  “Guest rooms?”

  “Yeah, got two of them, and they’ve been empty too long.” I flash her a smile as I put the water on to boil. She looks like she’s just walked into a candy store holding her golden ticket. “What’s so damn amusing, honey? You’re that pumped to do a little shopping?”

  Her smile just gets wider.

  It takes half the day to answer that question, but it comes.

  Oh, hell does it come.

  Had I known how much joy decorating would bring her, turning her into a little whirlwind, I’d have braced myself. The lifelike drawings she whipped up of the cat and Bryce and her brother should’ve hinted at her artistic side.

  Now, Val’s totally in her element. Not just with the furniture, but with the accessories, the rugs, the pillows, pictures, lamps, and shelves.

  As soon as Bryce was awake and dressed, and breakfast over, we went out shopping together. She’d insisted I couldn’t purchase a mattress without trying it first, so she found a store that had everything we could ever want.

  She also wore her disguise again with the baseball cap and sunglasses.

  Not a bad idea, honestly, just on the off chance we happened to go roaming by anybody looking for her.

  I’ve never seen a chick look as good as she does in a hat. Or in one of my chambray shirts. She wore it over her yellow tank top and blue denim shorts, charming the young salesman right into offering me twenty-five percent off my entire order.

  I might be a millionaire in paradise, but damn if I don’t still appreciate a discount.

  It was probably the biggest sale of the kid’s life by the time we were through. He told us he’d only been on Oahu for a short time. He’d moved to Hawaii as soon as he graduated high school in Michigan. Valerie had him spilling his life story within minutes.

  Before we’d left, she measured out the rooms and sketched what each of them would look like when she was done. I liked what she’d drawn, and so had Bryce.

  So I gave her free rein, paid the bill, and let the delivery truck follow us home.

  And that’s just the beginning.

  For the next three days, I just stand back and help her when she needs some muscle to move something or wants my opinion on new end tables, new paint, the perfect places to hang the beach sunset portraits she picked up to compliment the rooms.

  She’s like a professional, honestly. Intently focused. So perfectionist it’s downright adorable.

  Yesterday, she decided we had to make one more trip back to the store, purely to swap out a glass table for a rustic copper top stand in the bigger room.

  After hauling it home, I let out a sigh, nearly exhausted from just watching her, and then go to the kitchen to make lunch. Val stays upstairs, ripping open packages like it’s Christmas, showing no signs of slowing down until her projects are complete.

  My hand goes to the phone, ready to dial Cash, wondering if I should move her next checkup earlier.

  It can’t be healthy having a lady with amnesia working as a full-time interior decorator...right?

  But there’s no denying she’s happy, and I’ve watched to make sure she gets her full eight hours of shut-eye every night after dinner.

  “Hey, Dad, can Savanny and I go play on the beach?” Bryce asks. “I want to practice, too.”

  I grin. “What, you don’t want to help Val fix up the new rooms? Looks like a rougher day out there on the water. I know your swim coach drills hard, but I don’t think he’d appreciate you working your arms off.”

  “Aw, c’mon. You got through Hell Week in the SEALs, Dad. I can handle a little chop.” He shakes his head. “And Valerie...um, I like her just fine, she’s nice, but...now I know more about sheets than I’ll ever need to for the rest of my life.”

  I chuckle, flashing him a mock-stern look. “Trust me, boy, you’ll appreciate the higher thread count some day.”

  “We’ll see,” he says, totally unconvinced, and heads down the hall to the back door, followed closely by Savanny. “I kinda hope we don’t have to go furniture shopping again, either. That was exhausting.”

  “You’re only twelve,” I tell him. “You don’t get exhausted like grown-ups do.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I have to laugh again, mainly because he’s not wrong about how draining it was.

  Valerie comes down to eat a little while later. I whip her up a fresh pitaya bowl with plenty of dragon fruit, coconut, and banana slices. It’s a treat watching her pop the colorful morsels in her mouth.

  Goddamn. Those heart-shaped lips chewing so happily as she looks up at me and smiles just might be a hint of my end. Little minx.

  Afterward, she asks for tools and a few adhesive hooks for hanging pictures.

  “Shit, don’t tell me. You want to swap out those beach portraits already?”

  She flashes me a grin, tossing dark hair back over her shoulder. “Just move them, really. I want to be sure they’re in the right places where the glass won’t catch the morning light and blind anyone waking up.”

  “Fine, I’ll get your stuff,” I tell her. “Need a hand?”

  “No, thanks. I want you to be surprised when you see the final reveal.” Her face glows. “Wowed even.”

  “Wowed?” I repeat the word back to her, wondering if I’ve ever been wowed by any room in my life.

  She nods vigorously.

  Guess it’s possible. I’m not hooked on furniture and art, though.

  I’m wowed by her. The effort, the focus, the care she puts into it, going through all this trouble so me, Bryce, or any of our future guests will be happy in this house.

  “Give me another hour or two. I should be wrapped up by then,” she says.

  I collect the requested items from the garage and hand them to her. “Here you go. Wow me, babe, but don’t wear yourself out.”

  “Oh, quite the opposite.” She takes the packet of adhesive hooks and scissors. “It’s invigorating. The most fun I’ve had in years,” she says, running up the steps as fast as Bryce does sometimes. “Maybe ever! I don’t know!”

  Her laughter floats back down the stairs and makes me grin. I consider going up to check on things after a while, but don’t because she asked me to wait.

  Instead, I open my laptop and do some research, anything new I can find out about Ray Gerard or the Cornaro Outfit.

  It’s too damn quiet.

  Davis is still out following up on a lead about a black SUV and a whole gaggle of goons with Cornaro tattoos being seen around Ray’s beach house in Maui, not far from the start of the jagged Road to Hana. He’ll figure it out, he’s a fine scout, the best man I can trust with this insanity outside Cash Ivers.

  I hope to fuck Ray hasn’t left Oahu since Val cut him off, but maybe so.

  His Maui vacation place is only a half hour flight or so away. And if he thinks Val was compromised, working with the law, trying to incriminate him, then it’s possible the rat jumped ship for what he thinks are safer waters.

  I should be happy at the thought of having one less hyena lurking around after her. But if it just makes getting to the bottom of this harder, prolongs her agony, I’d rather confront him head-on.

  There’s got to be something we’re missing.

  And sometimes missing the smallest details can be nothing short of fatal.

  I swore I’d never make that mistake again.

  Not since Joel Cornaro taught me a lesson in pain, in failure, in fire and blood.

  Five Years Ago

  I grit my teeth, swallowing a painful groan as the terrible burning consumes my back again, consumes my mind. Then that loud grinding mechanical whir restarts, igniting my ears with its hellish growl.

  I can’t help the tortured groan spilling out of me.

  �
��Again, Mr. Calum? You know I don’t enjoy this, yes? Look at me.” Joel Cornaro’s polished shoe taps on the ground impatiently as he kneels, grabs my chin, and lifts my face up to stare into his dark eyes. “For you and your associates, this could all be over very, very quickly. If you’ll just answer my questions...”

  “Fuck. You,” I spit back, the same response I’ve given him the last three times he tried to talk to me like an old friend while he’s got his man drilling holes in my back, savaging nerves I didn’t even know I had.

  They want to know who I am. Mercenary or military.

  They’re afraid we’ve got backup, enlisted men who’ll come swooping down on their little fortress at any moment from the sky.

  Oh, how I wish that were the case.

  If we’d come here officially, with proper backup from the US Navy, we might’ve had the surveillance goods to avoid hitting that goddamn mine in the first place.

  They can go to fucking hell.

  I won’t tell them anything. Ever.

  My head throbs like death, the knot on my skull could fill my palm if I touched it.

  My back is destroyed, this torn, raw meat flayed open to the bone.

  Sometime in the last hour, I’ve been moved to another chamber in this place. I don’t smell the same dank mildew scent as before. I knew it as soon as they tore the dark hood off my head and went to work.

  First it was just the minion, throwing punches. Nothing I haven’t had plenty of before.

  Then a short time later, Cornaro himself came in to oversee the dirty work, watching coldly as that demon fuck took a power drill and trailed a neat line of hellfire down my back, one exploding pit at a time.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Calum,” Cornaro growls again. “You and your merry little crew are the first ones to make it this far, you know. You almost caught us by surprise. It’s almost like you saw right through the hostage story I left when we staged her disappearance...there was never any chance at bargaining for her.”

  “Asshole, you’re right,” I snarl. “No fuckin’ bargaining.”

  He stands and rolls out a deep chuckle, and I get a good look at him for the first time.

  He’s dressed like a slick-dick banker, as well put together as he is ruthless. Only, those shoes he’s wearing are more like boots, I realize. And he must be wearing at least four heavy gold chains around his neck; they rattle softly like bones clinking together every time he walks.

  The maniac even has this dark fucking cape flowing behind his double-breasted jacket, a cigar in his hand, flicking stray ash off on the floor as he regards me coldly. I expected the Godfather, but that’s only half of what he is.

  He’s far more modern Blackbeard, a pirate bastard haunting the South Pacific with extensive holdings far beyond the Hawaiian Islands like this place in Bali.

  “Such a shame. You know I don’t enjoy tormenting her,” he says quietly.

  “Let her go,” I bite off, even though I know it’s as insane as it is hopeless.

  He doesn’t even laugh. Just gives me this look that’s intense, cruel, and...almost sad?

  “You’re asking the impossible. Her husband took off with Cornaro assets, vital information, thinking he’d double-cross me and sell it to the highest bidder. If it was just money, well, there’s always more of that. A traitor, however...well, I think you know my reputation. I never tolerate a turncoat, Calum.”

  My heart starts to pound.

  Oh, fuck. So the ransom request he’d left behind in Honolulu was just a lie. Cover for an execution.

  “Goddammit, don’t you dare!” I’m roaring, even over that heinous drill again, the goon pushing the button as he holds the spinning head over my back.

  “I’m just as sad as you are. Still, a fucking traitor...” he spits the word, flicking more ash across the floor. “I play by the book. And my book says anyone who double-crosses me dies. So does their family. If it’s any consolation, I’ll make her suffering brief.”

  That’s when I hear her. The woman in the corner. He’s got her mouth bound with a gag, but her eyes are huge. She’s been watching me this whole time, clutching her daughter against her chest, her bound hands looped around the kid’s head.

  It’s a small relief knowing she tried to protect her from the sounds of my screams, the damnable whirr of that bloodthirsty drill.

  “Want me to finish this fuck boy, boss?” The goon asks, squeezing the drill again so it stirs in his hand.

  “Keep working him. I want answers. As for our other guests...I’ve seen enough. Finish them cleanly, please. The little girl, in particular, should go first so she doesn’t have to watch her mother. We’re not heartless.”

  His heavy footsteps echo across the tiled floor as he walks away. More muffled sobs come from the woman, and the goon sighs as he stands, like a petulant child who’s just been robbed out of his next carnival ride. He lays the drill down and pulls what looks like a nine millimeter from his belt.

  I swallow the bile in my mouth.

  I’m so weak they didn’t even bother tying me down. I don’t know if there’s permanent nerve damage, or if I can stand, but if there was ever a time to find out...

  I flex my fists, channeling all my fury, my hurt, my fear into one fluid movement so I can spring up.

  All I see is his back as he walks toward them. Laughing, he disregards his boss’ orders.

  He tells her I was sent there to save her. He laughs again, saying I’ll be dead within the hour, and then she’ll be, too, and so will the girl in her arms.

  Like hell!

  I reach for my gun. It’s not there. Of course they’ve taken it.

  There’s a chair, though, the one he was sitting on when he wasn’t on the floor drilling hell in my back.

  It’ll do. Despite the pain, the hellfire burst zipping up my spine, I leap to my feet and—

  Present

  A noise pulls me out of my thoughts.

  It’s Val, coming downstairs, grinning from ear to ear. I shut my computer. I’ve spent hours again coming up with practically nothing.

  “All finished?” I ask.

  She nods like her head can’t hold itself up, then presses a hand against her mouth, too excited to speak. She lifts up on the tips of her toes, bouncing, flaunting her curves in ways I’m almost afraid to notice.

  Fuck, this girl.

  “Come see!” she chirps, her tits bouncing real sweet every time she bends her knees and springs back up.

  “Let’s check it out,” I say, standing up, trying to find the strength not to watch her ass hugging those jeans she’s got on today.

  “I hope you’ll like them, but...if there’s anything you don’t like, just tell me. We can always change things around,” she says, hurrying to the stairs.

  “I’m sure you left nothing unturned.”

  “Seriously, just tell me,” she says. “It’s your house, obviously, so anything you like, I’m game.”

  Right. I see plenty I like, following her up the steps, but I won’t tell her that any more than I’ll say anything negative about the rooms.

  She’s worked too hard. I can always change things after she goes home if it’s appalling.

  Upstairs, both doors are closed.

  Smiling, she rakes a mischievous gaze over me and says, “Time to make a choice, Flint. Door number one or door number two?”

  They’re both across the hall from Bryce’s room and the bathroom.

  Since it’s the farthest one down the hall, I say, “Number one.”

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.” She hurries down the hall, wagging a finger after me to follow.

  “Why?”

  “Because number one’s pretty good...but two might be my favorite.”

  “Saving the best for last? Smart.”

  “Yes!” She opens the door to the first bedroom and steps aside for me to enter.

  I do, pausing for a moment. The room looks exactly like she’d drawn it, except she’d done her sketch with penc
il. The room’s bursting with color.

  The walls are still covered with builder’s white paint, but the bedding, rugs, pictures, and accessories bring it to life. Damn.

  The bed sits between two windows, covered with a comforter of tans, greys, and greens that match the sheer curtains hanging to the floor. It’s flanked by tables on each side, both with bamboo shaded lamps. There’s a ladder shelf near the closet, along with a monkey wood chair, and a fuck-huge chest of drawers on the other wall, plus a tall leaning mirror.

  “Shit, Val. You really went all out.” I’m not just feeding her what she wants to hear. I let out a soft whistle as I really take it in, pacing the perimeter.

  “Aw, shucks,” she says playfully. “You really like it, though?”

  “Like it? Hell, woman, I’m in love.” I finish my rounds and nod, fully satisfied. Nothing’s too overdone. “It’s perfect.”

  “Whew. Big relief. I worried I was overthinking it, and maybe you wouldn’t like it, but...check this out!” She takes great pride in pointing out the little things, the new photos of the palm leaves on the beach, the sunset portraits, different shaped throw pillows, knickknacks like tiny anchors and a leather-bound journal or two on the shelves.

  “It’s everything you drew, and then some,” I say, amazed she could teleport the image in her head so clearly to my house. “I liked it then. Like it even more in the flesh.”

  She grimaces slightly. “The other room isn’t exactly like I drew it. I took some liberties there. Come on.”

  Val leads the way out of the room and down the hall. I follow, stepping around her as she opens the door.

  I mentally prepare myself. This could be the overdone one.

  I truly hadn’t paid that much attention to everything she’d picked out.

  “Let’s see it,” I tell her.

  “Okay. Take a deep breath.”

  I fill my lungs and puff up my cheeks with this big, exaggerated breath so she laughs, then step into the room.

  The air I’d been holding releases as I take it in. “Shit. I’m impressed.”