Accidentally Yours

by Rebecca Winters

  “Give me a brief description of her, Max.”

  That part was easy.

  “She’s a brunette with a ponytail. Olive complexion. Dark brown eyes. Black lashes and eyebrows. Five-four, five-five. Slender.” He sucked in his breath. “Very well built.” Great legs, but he didn’t add that.

  “She was wearing white shorts, a sleeveless yellow blouse and leather sandals. The heel strap on the right sandal is broken. Said it got caught on the accelerator.” If he sounded a bit sarcastic, it was because he didn’t swallow the story about her broken shoe strap causing the accident.

  “Coral polish on her fingers and toes.” He liked those touches on a woman.

  “If that’s the brief description, I wonder what the long one sounds like,” Gideon said dryly.

  Max frowned. The woman was too attractive by far. His enemy?

  Checking his watch, he said, “It’s time to phone Nikolai and pretend I don’t know someone tried to wipe me out a little while ago.”

  “Max, this woman could be an innocent party who has nothing to do with the scam. But if she ran into you on purpose, I’d wager it’s Nikolai’s doing. You know he’s gunning for you.”

  “If he sent her to do his dirty work, I sure as hell am going to find out.”

  Dear Reader,

  I don’t suppose anyone would fully understand the pain of losing a spouse except the person who’s been through such a difficult and heartbreaking experience. In Accidentally Yours, Gaby Peris has lost her husband after two and a half years of marriage. Her family wants her to leave Florida and move back home to New Jersey, where they can love and support her. But Gaby fears that returning to the safety of her childhood home might cause her to live in the past for the rest of her life. When she’s offered the opportunity to set up a new law firm in San Diego, Gaby rises to the challenge.

  It is there, in San Diego, that she runs into a situation that brings a new man into her life. Someone different, exciting, dangerous. Someone who takes her out of her comfort zone and forces her to really live again. I know you’ll applaud her courage. And I hope you’ll thrill to the tension that crackles between her and the man who brings her heart to life.

  I always love to hear from readers. You’re the reason I write! Please visit me at my new Web site. The address is http://www.rebeccawinters-author.com. You can e-mail me from there. I’ll be delighted to e-mail you back.

  Happy reading!

  Rebecca Winters

  Accidentally Yours

  Rebecca Winters

  Accidentally Yours

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAX CALDER DIDN’T SEE the white car through the left side-view mirror until a split second before impact. What happened next was out of his control.

  The black Audi he was driving did a forty-five-degree spin. Its right back end butted up against a parked Buick. The white Sentra that caused the accident jammed the Audi’s left back end. The three vehicles were now locked together.

  A cacophony of curses in three languages—Russian, Japanese and Korean—came from Max’s passengers. Trapped in an accident that wasn’t supposed to have happened until they’d reached Palm Avenue two blocks away, they forgot to speak English.

  Known in FBI jargon as “stuffers,” the occupants of his car had been recruited by a designated member of the Russian mafia called a “capper” to ride in the vehicle involved in the staged accident.

  After it had taken place, the stuffers would file fraudulent insurance claims with the assistance of corrupt doctors and lawyers for bogus injuries. When the doctors received insurance payments, they’d send a portion to the cappers who kept their share before paying off the stuffers.

  Though Max didn’t believe any of his stuffers were seriously injured, no one was going anywhere.

  “Khue’vye den’ki nastali!”

  Sofia, the nervous Pole sitting in front, took the words out of Max’s mouth. This was a bad omen all right, but not for the reasons worrying her or the others in the back seat.

  Though it might have been a freak accident, Max couldn’t discount the possibility that an undercover police officer had caused the collision for reasons that would come to light later.

  Then again, someone in the mafia might have become suspicious of Max and had decided to get rid of him using one of their more blatant methods of elimination. If that was the case, they’d bungled this job and would come after him until they got it right.

  A blown cover meant he’d be forced to kiss goodbye any more arrests carried out by a specially trained team of his colleagues in the bureau.

  For the past year the FBI, along with a large team of undercover police officers, had been working successfully on an investigation code-named “Tangled Steel” with the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of California and the California Department of Insurance.

  For something to go wrong now when he was so close to breaking into the top echelons of the mob….

  By this time a crowd of pedestrians had gathered. San Diego’s El Cajon Boulevard was a busy street at any time. Noon was a nightmare. With his window rolled down, he could hear people shouting for someone to call 911.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder from behind. “Anatoly?” the other man addressed Max in Russian. “What are we going to do now?”

  Paranoia was the constant companion of the stuffer. “Relax, Sergey,” he answered back in the same language. “Let things happen naturally. With so many witnesses, the person driving the Sentra will receive the citation. If nobody loses their cool, we’ll be able to pull this off to our advantage and keep Nikolai happy.”

  Except that Nikolai Gromyko, a driver who’d been made a capper in the San Diego region a couple of months earlier, was never happy.

  Though it had been a big promotion for him, he despised Max, who’d moved up in the ranks three times as fast and had been notified by Boris, the cappers’ boss, that he was going to be made a capper over the beach cities next month.

  Nikolai had wanted, coveted, the beach cities’ position. The ambitious Russian immigrant had a personal vendetta against Max for being singled out for the plum capper job. It you did well there, you were moved up in the mafia hierarchy.

  Since being made a capper, Nikolai had held all the business meetings for the drivers at his latest girlfriend’s apartment. From what Max could tell, Galena Pedrova and her daughter, Irina, lived in fear of Nikolai.

  After drinking too much, he would start to bait Max over trivial matters like the colored T-shirts he wore, the French brand of cigarettes he smoked. He continually looked for ways to embarrass him. His jealousy was apparent to all. When he couldn’t get a rise out of Max, he’d go to the bedroom and turn all that venom on Galena.

  The combination of various nationalities and mass paranoia among the ring members made personality conflicts inevitable, if not flammable and dangerous. Max couldn’t help wondering if Nikolai’s hatred had escalated to the point that he’d decided to take matters into his own hands and get rid of Max for purely personal reasons.

  “Choi Jin’s hand is smashed!” Hebi cried, unleashing another string of Japanese profanity.

  Through the rearview window Max could see the Korean holding up his right hand at the wrist with his left. Getting hurt was one of the hazards of the bus
iness. They knew the risks.

  But this was Choi Jin’s first time. Like all stuffers who operated under multiple identities, he was frightened because something had gone wrong. Depending on the amount of police involvement, he might decide the outcome wasn’t worth the physical pain or the kickback, especially when cash didn’t change hands until the capper got his fee from the doctors and lawyers in on the scam before paying the stuffers.

  It had taken Max nine months to work his way into the ring here in San Diego. Little by little he’d gained their trust. As driver of the “nail” car, the vehicle destined to be crashed into, part of his job entailed doing damage control among the stuffers. One change in plans and they turned into hysterical children.

  “It’s okay, Choi Jin,” he said slowly in English. The Korean knew about twenty English words. That was it. “Don’t talk. Let me.” Choi Jin nodded.

  Max turned to Hebi, who spoke fairly good English and knew a little Korean. The two stuffers lived in the same apartment building.

  “Tell Choi Jin it doesn’t matter if we didn’t stage this accident. He’s to follow through exactly as he was trained to do and there will be no problem.”

  Hebi did his bidding.

  Too bad Max couldn’t use his cell phone in front of the others to alert Gideon that today’s mission had hit a snag. Gideon Poletti, his best friend from their earliest days working together for the New York Police Department, was his major contact. By now he’d be wondering why Max hadn’t shown up at the staged accident site.

  As Max opened the door of the Audi and climbed out, a new gold Passat cruised by in the opposite direction. It was the “hammer” car, the bureau’s name for the at-fault car. But for this unexpected accident, the Passat would have crashed into Max’s car on Palm Avenue, the way they’d rehearsed it at the last meeting.

  Oleg, the driver, made eye contact with Max before speeding off. It was his duty to get on the cell phone to Nikolai and report that their carefully formulated accident on paper hadn’t gone off as planned.

  If Nikolai was behind this crash by the Sentra, he would report to Boris that it was a major failure on Max’s part to carry out a simple job. Anything to diminish him, and hopefully get him demoted.

  Max could hear sirens blaring in the distance. Before police and paramedics arrived, he intended to check out the driver of the white car—who might or might not be the assassin hired to take him down.

  “YOU’RE SURE you’re both all right?” Gaby Peris asked, frantic because she’d been the cause of an accident that might have hurt a lot of people, not just the two pregnant teens in her car.

  Instead of enjoying a warm September afternoon at the beach, it looked as if they’d be spending their time in the E.R. getting examined.

  “Sí,” Juanita assured her.

  Gaby looked over her shoulder. “How about you, Sandra?”

  “It scared the heck out of me, but I’m okay now.”

  Those were Gaby’s exact sentiments. She could only pray the jolt hadn’t done something that would cause them to lose their babies.

  At three months, Juanita wasn’t showing yet. But Sandra was another matter. Her baby was due in six weeks.

  Gaby took several deep calming breaths. Thank heaven she’d told them they would have to fasten their seat belts or there’d be no outing. Otherwise there might have been serious injuries.

  On the surface they seemed all right, just shaken up. Still, Gaby refused to take any chances where their well-being was concerned. Her fear now was for the people in the other car.

  Several sirens wailed. “The paramedics are almost here.”

  “I’m not going to any hospital.”

  “Sandra, if they decide that’s where you and Juanita need to be, I’ll take care of the expenses, so don’t worry.”

  Those were brave words considering Gaby was saving money for the future and lived on a tight budget. But she was the one who, however accidentally, had precipitated this crisis. It was up to her to pay any doctor bills. She couldn’t expect Girls’ Village to pick up the tab.

  Like other similar volunteer programs she’d worked with in New York and Miami, the nonprofit organization, funded and managed by a group of wealthy San Diego citizens, had been in existence long before Gaby had moved from Florida to the West Coast. Any teenage girl who’d been abused, abandoned, kicked out of her home or had run away from home could have a temporary haven there.

  Pregnant teens received medical treatment. Also housing and assistance during their pregnancies and afterward, until they could find work and decent day care for their babies.

  When Gaby’s job as a lawyer allowed the time, she volunteered at the Village. Three days and nights out of every month she was on call in case a trained dispatcher from the Village phoned her to pick up a girl in trouble.

  Unfortunately these two girls were in trouble now because of Gaby. If it turned out there were medical costs, the insurance company covering her car would have to pay the bill. She could plan on her policy being canceled after that, but right now she had more serious things to worry about than the outrageous cost of another premium with a new insurance company.

  “Aieee, Gaby! The driver of the other car is coming this way. He’s very handsome—muy guapo—but I think he’s very angry, too. Madre de Dios.” Juanita crossed herself.

  Gaby turned her head. Juanita was right on both counts.

  The tall, muscular man approaching her open window was breathtaking, if you went for the black-haired, olive-skinned type.

  If she didn’t miss her guess, this one had Russian roots. And possibly a little Irish thrown in, judging from his eyes, which glittered a dangerous green. In her line of work as an immigration and naturalization attorney, she’d learned to be ninety-five percent accurate in summing up a person’s ethnicity.

  Of course it took no brains to figure out the man was furious that she’d plowed into his sleek new Audi. It looked as if he’d just driven it off the showroom floor. She wasn’t too happy about the situation herself. To add to the misery of knowing she’d caused the accident, she was now minus a drivable car.

  The Sentra she’d bought used upon her arrival in San Diego would be in the body shop for a while. Too late to kick herself for not paying a little more insurance money for a rental car to be provided in case of accident.

  He lowered his head to look inside. “Good afternoon, ladies. Is anyone in your car hurt?”

  His deep voice possessed a sensuous quality. Maybe it was because he spoke fluent English with a noticeable Russian accent. The combination had a certain allure.

  Up close in the tight black T-shirt he was wearing, he was even more breathtaking. She averted her eyes, surprised at her reaction. Nothing like this had happened since long before her husband’s death fifteen months ago.

  “I think we’re all right. How about the people in your car?”

  “Except for one hand injury, everyone seems to be okay.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Good heavens, he was attractive! “Here—I’ve written down my name and phone number, and the name and phone number of my insurance company. Please, if there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”

  He eyed her for a brief moment before taking the paper from her. “Thank you.” After feeling in his back pocket, he handed her what looked like a business card. “I can be reached at that number during the day.”

  Gaby nodded and put it in her purse without looking at it. Her eyes quickly darted to the chaos she’d created. “I had no idea I was going fast enough to do so much damage.”

  “It was the angle of your approach as much as the speed. I am afraid it will require a wrecker to separate our cars so everyone can get out of their prisons.”

  Like many immigrants, he wasn’t yet in the habit of forming English contractions. That, along with the way he rolled the “r” in wrecker, made her want to smile. It was a crazy impulse, considering the fact that she was mortified by what she
’d done. There was nothing remotely amusing about the situation.

  “Thank you for not yelling that the accident was my fault. I take full responsibility for it.”

  After a brief pause, “Your honesty is refreshing.”

  She could still hear anger behind his words, but who could blame him. She cast another glance at the smashed-up Audi.

  An exquisite car. Unusual for an immigrant to afford one. Maybe he’d borrowed it from someone he worked for. Maybe without permission.

  America. The land of wealth and opportunity. Unfortunately no one ever told the desperate souls pouring in over the borders, legally or otherwise, that their problems were just beginning.

  Feeling guilty because she was one of those problems, Gaby darted him another curious glance. But he’d turned his head to talk to the investigating officer. Soon paramedics were huddled around the cars, figuring out the best and fastest way to get everyone extricated.

  Another officer approached her.

  “How are you feeling, ma’am?”

  “I’m still trying to calm down, but there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes. We all wore our seat belts, so we were protected. But both girls are pregnant and need to be examined.”

  “The paramedics will see to that right now. Want to tell me what happened here?” He opened the door to help her out.

  The second her right foot met the hot pavement, she let out a moan. “Just a minute, Officer.” She reached inside the car for her broken sandal, then slid her bare foot into it.

  Though the Russian was half turned from her, Gaby got the distinct impression he was listening to her conversation with the patrolman.

  “The girls and I were on our way to the beach. While I was making a left hand turn into the left lane of the boulevard—” she gestured behind her “—the heel strap of this sandal caught on the accelerator.”