Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(52)

A man could fall in love with that shit.

When a woman’s this beautiful and lost and fragile, a flick of her hair can bring a dude to his knees far swifter than any barking gun.

Her eyes glow a little brighter. “But Flint, what if—”

“No,” I tell her. “Don’t you worry about what ifs.” Before she can argue, I ask, “You brought your new phone, didn’t you?”

She nods and holds it up.

“Good.” At least one thing’s sure to go right then.

“Why?”

“Because as soon as we’re in position, you’ll give Ray a ring again.”

“Huh? Why would I—”

“So we can tell if he’s working alone or if he brought someone else with. We need to know who we’re dealing with, how tight he is with Cornaro or even his own security crew.”

She flinches as it all sinks in, then nods.

Can’t blame her. I sense her frustration. Her fears.

It’s a special hell, not knowing the specifics, but just enough to put the fear of everything unholy about her own brother into her head.

“What does Ray drive? Do you remember?” I ask, pulling into a parking lot.

The coffee shop is at the end of a long line of outdoor retail shops and street vendors, the typical crowded shopping zone in these parts. I park in the back row, far enough away to see the full seating area plus the lot across the side street, where others might try lurking to watch. I have a hunch.

“I’m not sure,” she answers, hissing softly as she shakes her head. “God, I just don’t remember his stupid car.”

“It’s cool,” I assure her, just as a silver Maserati GT convertible whips into the lot next to the coffee place.

I know it’s him before I even get a solid look at the man in the roaring status symbol. He drives like the spoiled, flashy punk he is. Big surprise.

Ray Gerard punches his car into a spot in the front row and scans the outdoor seats. A second later, a white van pulls into the lot across the street. It looks like a construction vehicle, but it’s too bland, too nondescript, clearly a disguise. The wi-fi antenna jutting out the top is a dead giveaway.

I hold my breath. A text message pings my phone saying my team’s in place. Davis Samuels is in charge, a big man with strong wits, eagle eyes, and sharpshooter skills that could shoot a dime off a surfboard from the shore—and I’m hardly exaggerating.

“Now, Val. Call him.” I open the console and pull out a pen and paper.

“I don’t know his number,” she says. “I can’t...”

“Call the office then, like you did before.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m just nervous.” She nods at the convertible. “That’s him?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He’ll never see you.” I hold the paper and pen against my leg with one hand, then reach across with my other.

Her fear eases as my fingers lace with hers, squeezing courage into her.

“Put the phone on speaker. I’ll write down your script if you get stumped. Otherwise, just ask him whatever comes to mind. You’re safe.”

“Okay.” She presses the phone icon and waits as the call connects.

“King Heron Fishing, Mr. Gerard’s office,” a chipper woman says.

“Hi. This is Valerie again, can you patch me through to Ray?”

“Oh, hi! Didn’t he answer last time?”

“Yes, but...I just need to talk to him again, and I don’t have his number. I got a new phone and—”

“Ohhh, say no more, lady. Been there, done that,” the woman says. “No one remembers numbers any more, but would you believe I still know my home phone from when I was a kid? Here, let me tell you Ray’s, so you won’t have to keep going through my red tape.”

“That’d be lovely. Thanks,” Val says, casting me a long, gold-eyed look.

I nod, pulsing her hand again, and jot down the number the receptionist rattles off.

“I’ll patch you through to him now,” she says. “Hope to see ya around the office soon!”

“I’m sure you will. Thanks,” Valerie says again as the line goes silent.

When it starts ringing, her face goes a shade paler. I can practically feel her getting sick.

“Act normal,” I whisper. “Ask him whatever you want. Now’s the time. He can’t do shit to you, babe, not while I’m here.”

She nods, then flinches. Her chest isn’t moving. I can tell she’s holding her breath.

The guy in the convertible holds his phone to his ear when the ringing stops.

“Gerard here.” His voice drifts over the speaker.

“Ray,” she says.

“Val, why the hell do you keep coming through on the office number?” He’s looking around, scanning harder.

“Because I couldn’t remember your number. They patched me through.”

“Whatever. Are you here yet?” Before she can answer, he continues. “I’m worried about you. This whole amnesia thing...listen, I’ll take you to the family doctor. I called the clinic. They said to bring you right in, and they’ll find out what’s going on. Where are you, anyway?”

I try not to snort. The prick sounds concerned.