by Snow, Nicole
“Watch your mouth. My ma’s no bitch.”
His lips curl up in one of his eat-shit grins. “No, Beverly’s a saint. She’s put up with your big demanding ass for over thirty years.”
Swallowing another growl, I turn. I walk over and grab a frying pan from the rack hanging over the center island and briefly consider knocking Cash upside the head.
“Tell me again,” I say. “Everything that happened yesterday. Don’t leave anything out.”
He hands me the bacon package he’d taken out of the fridge. “I was on that little uninhabited island southwest of the point. You know the one I mean. Looking for nests.”
Yeah, that island. His latest obsession. He can’t shut up about it.
As ridiculous as it sounds, Cash is an avid bird watcher. He’s been known to travel hundreds of miles in his private cabin cruiser to record obscure species of birds on deserted islands, plus all the populated ones.
I think he’s at least laid eyes on damn near every one of the hundred and thirty-seven islands in the Hawaiian chain, plus all the tiny atolls not included in the official count. I’ve gone with him on several of his bird excursions, and have to admit, it’s interesting sometimes.
Not the bird watching, so much, but the exploring. The scenery. The trade winds, which do a mighty fine job of sweeping away a man’s woes out on the open sea.
“Go on.” I toss the bacon in the pan.
“It was late, not long after sunset. I was watching a moli, a Laysan albatross, plucking a squid out of the water when a good-sized boat came into view through my binoculars. The reefs out there make it an odd place for a private yacht. You typically have to sail around the south side of the island, not the north. I watched as they unloaded a small skiff, and thought they were in trouble. Maybe the bigger boat was caught on the reef or something. Then I saw it: commotion on the deck. Two men throwing her in the dingy, and her cat—” He pauses and looks around. “Where is that little beast, anyway?”
“Laundry room,” I say, flipping the bacon. “It kept trying to jump on the bed with her.”
“How’s its leg?” Cash asks.
“No clue. You’re the doctor.”
A twinge of guilt strikes. I’d put a box of sand and some water in there along with a couple slabs of fish. Since then, I’d forgotten all about the animal while racing around after Valerie. Although Oahu has thousands of feral cats, the breeds actually allowed here are limited. I’m sure they don’t include an exotic, spindly thing that looks like a mad scientist used a shrink ray on a cheetah.
“It’s weird. Cats like hers are illegal in Hawaii,” I say, stroking my chin.
“Yeah, I know. It’s a Savannah breed, almost full serval, another reason I couldn’t take her to my house. I’m allergic to cats,” Cash says.
I point the spatula at him. “Bullshit. You’re not allergic to cats.”
He shrugs with a smirk. “I might be. We’ll know after I check on it. I’m no vet, but I’m sure I can assess the leg.”
“Yeah, after you finish telling me exactly what happened,” I say, ignoring his smart-ass excuse.
He’s no more allergic than I am.
He plants both hands on the center island. “Right. So, she landed in the boat, but didn’t look hurt because she jumped into the driver’s seat and took off like a bat out of hell, too fast with the reef right there. She’s lucky she didn’t plow straight into it. Then she must’ve heard something, seen something, because she grabbed her cat and dove off the side a few seconds before the whole boat exploded. Went up in a nasty ball of flames.”
“Fuck,” I snarl, letting out a whistle. “I don’t get it. What were they trying to do? Besides fry them both up.”
Cash shrugs. “Who knows. They had it rigged or something. A grenade, perhaps, or another explosive set to a timer or remote control. Either way, the skiff blew to smithereens. I scanned the water but didn’t see her surface at first. The cat did, paddling its little paws. I was able to get over and haul it up. I don’t think they noticed she’d jumped in the water because the yacht was already heading in the other direction.”
I take the egg carton he’d picked up to hand to me. I know he saw everything he’s describing.
His bird binoculars are the best of the best. They give him eagle eyes, even in the dark. With those things, he can read a newspaper taped to a post a hundred yards away.
“I swam out as fast as I could, of course, looking for her. Found her facedown. Didn’t know if she was dead or alive until I got her to shore.”
“Damn. Why didn’t you take her straight to the hospital? Or the police station?”
“Because I noticed who threw her overboard,” he says seriously.
I wait.
“It was her own brother. The face clicked for me this morning when I did some heavy searching on her family.”
My gut clenches as I stare at Cash. “Her own fucking brother? You’re sure?”
“It was him. I didn’t have to look hard. Ray Gerard’s picture has been in the newspapers often enough. Just about anyone would recognize him in these parts. I saw the tattoo on the back of the hand of the other guy.”
Shit.
I know what type of tattoo he’s referring to. We’d seen it plenty when we were captives in one of Cornaro’s compounds years ago. A big C with thorns and regal flourishes around it. A sick fuck pretending at being royalty.
It’s a sign of making it to the Outfit’s senior level.
“I had to get her as far away as I could, so what better place than here with you? They won’t look for her body on this side of the island,” he says. “But they are scanning the shores on the other side, knowing it’ll wash up. I heard it earlier from the guy down there renting out surfing gear.”
“Bodies don’t always resurface,” I say.
“That’s why they’re checking, to make sure they’re the ones to find what washes up before anyone else does. They won’t worry after a couple days. They’ll figure she became turtle food.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how the hell she lived, or the cat, honestly. Nothing but confetti left of that boat.”
A chill winds up my spine. There’s no reason for Cash to lie, to make any of this up, to even embellish it.
We barely survived the Cornaro Outfit once. We knew people who weren’t as lucky, who were killed. Murdered.
Law enforcement agencies have been after the syndicate for years, but Cornaro is slick, taught by generations before him and flush with resources. No one’s ever been able to take him down.
Could this shit finally be it? The way to nail them to the wall?
I don’t know, but Cash is right.
I have to keep her here, like it or lump it. And yeah, I guess go along with this pretend husband bullshit.
She’d looked utterly bewildered earlier asking me about that as I’d helped her into the bathroom. I’d put her off, saying we’ll talk after she’s cleaned up and had something to eat.
Cash almost reads my mind, pointing to two big shopping bags near the back door. “I guessed at her sizes, but think I remembered everything she might need.”
“She’ll notice they’re new,” I say. “Chicks are good at that sort of thing.”
Cash shrugs. “Cut the tags off, genius.”
I shake my head. “Tags or no tags, a woman knows new clothes. Leave them in the laundry room. I’ll wash them first.”
With a nod, he walks over and picks up the bags. “I’ll go check on the cat while you finish breakfast.”
He leaves the room through the door to the breezeway that leads to the laundry room.
Hell, my insides are still cringing. There are a lot of things she’ll notice that don’t add up.
Thanks, Cash.
I’ll have to think about this, how I can pull this wife thing off. At least until she gets her memory back. I can’t have her escaping.
The island isn’t that big, and she’s from a rich family. She’ll be recognized wherever she goes.
I hate to admit it, but a thrill crackles through my blood. Maybe I have been bored, and nailing Cornaro to the wall, with railroad spikes, is too good an opportunity to pass up.
“Something smells good!”
I twist toward the door leading to the hall and damn near drop my spatula. There’s a rocking body too close for comfort.
Valerie Gerard is a pretty woman. Slender, with subtle curves and long tanned legs. Her hair hangs halfway down her back, a chocolate mixture of layered browns, but it’s her eyes that draw me in.
They’re this unique hazel color that looks almost gold. Her face is exceptional, too, round with high cheekbones and pouty lips. The kind that turns heads for miles around when they curve into a smile.
She takes a hesitant step into the room.
I put down the spatula. “How you holding up?”
“Better now. The bath helped.”
“Sweet. Cash knows his stuff once in a while.” I suck in a breath and try not to lose my eyesight in how pretty she is with her hair no longer matted and stuck to the side of her head.
“I still don’t remember anything.” With a shrug, she adds, “Nothing important, I mean.”
She’s wearing a pink tank top and white shorts, the clothes I’d washed last night and carried into the bathroom for her earlier. They don’t look like they’d been full of seawater, weeds, and blood, now.
Neither does she. The side of her head was still bleeding when I hauled her out of the back of Cash’s car last night.
The doctor in him went straight to work, stopping the bleeding first, then examining her from head to toe. I’d done what I could, but my medical training, the small amount I had in the service, hadn’t been much use aside from getting her dry and comfortable.
Not to mention cleaning up after her middle of the night gut assault.
“Come sit at the bar,” I say. It’s a center island, but I still call it a bar. “Bacon and eggs will be coming right up.”
She walks across the tiled floor to the island and sits in the low-backed stools. “Scrambled?”
I hold my breath for a second. “Yep.”
“Awesome. I always love my eggs scrambled.” She glances up sheepishly. “Another useless thing I remember, I guess. Funny how that works.”
Not half as funny as me just making a blind-ass guess at how she likes her eggs.
It’s time to get this pretend show on the road.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t dream of making anything less than your favorite,” I tell her, turning back to the stove. “You practically chopped my head off the one time I brought you sunny-side up.”
“I didn’t!” she gasps, letting out a loud sigh. “Then again...eww, yolk.”
“Exactly. Got you covered, honey. The best fucking scrambled eggs you ever tasted are coming right up.” I’m only partly exaggerating. I’ve never been shy about taking credit for my cooking skills.
“Did Dr. Cash leave?” she asks.
Not knowing if Cash is sneaking out the back way or not, I drop bread in the toaster before answering, “Actually, it’s Dr. Ivers. His first name’s Cash. He always has fun with that. Telling people to make the check out to Cash.”
“Guilty as charged,” Cash says, entering from the breezeway.
The cat comes flying through the doorway behind him and makes a beeline for Valerie.
Cash and I share a look. I’m sure he’s holding his breath just like I am as she pauses, taking in the big tan beast peppered with spots that’s suddenly butting at her leg. Smiling, she leans over and strokes her hand across its head.
Time stalls.
Part of me hopes the cat triggers her memory. Another part hopes to God not. She’s in no condition to go running, especially with a lethal clean up crew after her. She needs to heal up before remembering that her own brother tried to kill her.
Bastard.
Her trim brows knit together as she looks up at me, and then down at the cat again. I can almost see the wheels in her head turning.
Cash must too, because he lurches forward. “That was my best pickup line for years. Whenever somebody asked who to make the check to, I’d answer with My best friends call me Cash.”
She grins politely his way, then frowns again as she looks back down at the cat.
The toaster pops.
My insides jump like I just heard a gunshot. I spin around, grab the toast, and butter it. Then pile a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast, and slide it across the counter to her. I open a drawer and hand her a fork and knife.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, still frowning.
I turn to Cash. “You staying for some eggs and bacon, or what?”
“No, I have to get going, but I’ll stop by this evening. Call me if you need anything.”
I nod.
Looking at Cash, she sets down her fork. “Wait. Why’s the cat limping?”
He walks over and kneels down to pet the animal’s spotted fur. “I think it’s a pulled tendon or something. Nothing broken, I checked, so I’m sure it’ll be just fine in a couple days.”
Valerie nods, but then asks, “How did it pull a muscle?”
“I don’t know.” Cash stands and pats her shoulder. “But you should eat. Rest up, and don’t pull a muscle trying to bring back memories. They’ll all come back in good time.”
She glances at me.
It’s like she wants my permission. That’s how it was in the bedroom, too. I set a glass of pineapple juice next to her plate that I’d poured while she was talking to Cash. “He’s right. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
She nods and glances at Cash again. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome. It’s what I do.” He gives me a one finger salute. “See you later, pal.”
Can’t help laughing at his antics.
I fill a plate of eggs and bacon for myself and then sit down at a bar stool near the corner, leaving a couple stools between us.
“Good news: your grub lives up to its hype,” she says. “It’s really good. I didn’t know I was so hungry until I started eating.”
“Plenty more where that came from.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, this will be plenty. Shouldn’t push myself too hard, right?”
Yeah. At first, I think it’s a joke, but she’s barely in any condition to sit up chewing.
It’s like watching an hourglass as the grains of sand fall to the bottom, the way her energy wanes. By the time she’s done eating, she’s slouching a little, holding the side of her head.
I stand and walk over beside her.
“Come on. Cash said it might be like this. Just take it a few hours at a time until you can stay awake,” I say, wrapping an arm around her. “Time to get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
She leans against me. “Already? I don’t want to go back to bed.”
“Fine. You don’t have to, as long as you’re resting up somewhere.” Doubting she can walk on her own, I lift her off the stool and carry her into the breezeway and then out to the lanai that runs along the entire back side of the house.
Once we’re there, I carry her to a cushioned lounge chair and carefully slide her down.
Sighing, she leans her head back, eyes closed. “This place is really beautiful.”
I grin. “Your eyes are closed.”
“I know. I saw it while you carried me. It looks like a spa here.”
Ma says the same thing. It’s tiled with a hot tub and planters full of different orchids. I’d done the designing myself, recreating specific things I’d liked from resorts and fine restaurants I’d visited. “Thanks.”
She smiles, then grimaces and touches the side of her head. “Who was your builder?”
“You’re looking at him.” I pat her hand. “Hold on. I’m gonna get you some pain reliever.”
The cat jumps on her lap. I reach to lift it off.
“No,” she says, petting the cat’s side as she clings to it. “Let her stay, Flint.”
�
��Okay. Be right back.” I jog into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water and some over the counter pain relievers, and race back outside.
After making sure she takes a couple pills, I tell her I’ll be right back after cleaning up the kitchen.
Eyes closed, and with the cat still on her lap, she nods.
I jog back into the kitchen and grab my phone. Cash answers on the first ring.
“Hey, she needs to be seen by a neurosurgeon or something. Get her an MRI, or a cat scan, or something like that.”
“Why?” he asks. “What happened?”
“She could barely hold her head up by the time she was done with breakfast.”
“What else?” he asks.
“That’s enough,” I say, frustrated. “Isn’t it?”
“That’s normal,” he says, holding in a laugh. “Her body’s simply been through the wringer. Like I told you before, let her rest as much as possible. There’s no risk to her since we ruled out a concussion.”
Concerned it’s something more, I ask, “How do you know she doesn’t have internal bleeding?”
“None of the symptoms are there.”
“How do you know?”
“Flint, trust me. The girl’s exhausted and has a bad amnesia fugue. If things aren’t better in forty-eight hours, I’ll have her seen by a specialist.”
“Twenty-four hours,” I growl. “I agreed to keep her here. You fix her head.”
“Fine,” he agrees. “Now go keep an eye on her. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
I click off and toss the phone on the counter, then go check on Valerie.
She hasn’t moved, and neither has the cat, drowsing on her lap. Despite Cash’s advice, I focus on her chest, make sure it’s rising and falling naturally.
It is. She’s breathing easy. I go back into the house, clean up the kitchen for real, and then return to the lanai where I sit down and wait.
Trouble is, that leaves me too much time to think. Those small, gnarled circles on my back burn as I remember the last time Cash and I tangled with Cornaro.
