Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(55)

He believes in me, even when I’m not so sure myself. Any FBI field investigator wouldn’t be so understanding or so caring. They’d see me as a one-way ticket to bust open whatever’s going on inside King Heron.

Plus, I’ve read enough suspense books to know if Ray climbed in bed with bad people, dark connections run deep. A bribe here or a crossed moral wire there, and pretty soon you can’t tell where law and order ends and the criminal underworld begins.

With Flint, I can be honest. He’s not after fame or fresh accolades on his resume.

It’s not just that he’s vowed to protect me, he knows how.

Even when he spent the better part of a week on that fake marriage whopper, he was right to worry I’d freak. I totally freaking would have if I’d just thought I was living in a strange house with a strange man with stranger memories rattling around my head.

How on earth do I ever repay him?

Seriously, he doesn’t have a personal stake in this, and it’s not hard to sense he’s got all the money he could ever want. How do you thank a man who’s willing to stick his neck out so far the blade meant for you could fall on him at any time?

It’s not like a bottle of old scotch or a box of chocolates works for this situation.

I don’t even know if he likes scotch or chocolate.

I mean, technically I don’t even know if I like scotch.

Chocolate, on the other hand...what kind of monster wouldn’t?

The instant I smile, it feels out of place. My lips curl sourly, sinking back into full sulk, familiar darkness bleeding into my mind.

Ray doesn’t believe I have amnesia. It was in his voice. He thought I was messing around, trying to incriminate him on someone else’s orders.

How did our relationship get so crappy in the first place?

Did we play tricks on each other as kids? Or did we just flat out lie?

I don’t want to believe I was that kind of a person, even if I had good reasons like Flint did with me.

I don’t feel like I was dishonest. But Ray...

God. That dream keeps coming back, the one where we were little, and I wonder if it was partly just a dream or another bitter memory.

He was horrid to that other little boy, and he didn’t get in trouble.

He never got caught for claiming the conch shell was his, either, when I know I’d found it.

Whether it was real or not, it seems fitting. Like Ray’s entire life runs on bald-faced lies and gross selfishness.

If I had any doubts about the kind of man he was, the last few hours swept them away. His reactions showed it. His anger, his entitlement, how he’s used to bullying people into obedience...

He flipped his lid because I wouldn’t just jump in the car with him.

I let out a heavy sigh, this dull ache resonating from my temples for the umpteenth time.

Why did my parents let him become such a little tyrant? Did they not know or not care?

Flint would never let Bryce act like Ray.

Not that I can see that sweet, gangly boy ever wanting to. He’s too well behaved.

While we were at the coffee shop, he never made a peep. Never questioned what happened later, either.

Flint hadn’t bullied sweetness and sensitivity into his son. He’d taught him.

Planted morals and watered them with fatherly kindness. Now, he’s reaping tons of respect.

I can’t help wondering how I was raised, too.

Will I see all of this differently if and when my memory returns?

What if I’m more like Ray than I remember?

There’s a scary thought. My stomach knots, looking across the beach just past the property, where the sunlight fragments into layers of pink and orange and indigo over the wavering horizon.

Sweet, sweet Hawaii.

If there’s one thing that’s not so pleasant about the breathtaking sunset, it’s being sad during it. People come from thousands of miles away just to watch the sun go down over the placid ocean with a drink in their hands.

I can’t help thinking how many must be watching the same scene, happy and grateful and carefree.

It feels wrong to be so tormented while I’m bathed in so much beauty.

“Hey, Valerie? Check it out!”

I twist to see Bryce, who’s busy playing in the sand just outside the lanai wall.

“Savanny’s learning how to fetch!” he tells me proudly, tossing a rubber ball low to the ground so it skips across the sand.

My cat takes off after it like a sprinting cheetah. He darts after the ball and pounces on it with a chirp, stopping it from bouncing.

“Awesome, Savanny! Now bring it back, dude,” Bryce calls to him, but the cat remains prone, side-eyeing both of us suspiciously with the ball tucked under his big paws.

I think he’s afraid we’ll snatch away his new treasure. It’s impossible not to grin.

“Looks like he’s got it halfway down pat,” I say.

Bryce runs over then and snatches the ball up. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t bring it back to me yet, but he will! Just you wait.”

Laughing, I shout, “Can’t wait to see that. You’re a lucky little guy if you manage to teach an old cat new tricks.”

“Keep watching!” Bryce yells back.

I smile, resisting the urge to shake my head. It’s incredible how confident he is with something so ridiculous, another trait he must get from Flint.