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.
Of fucking course he’s trying to sound concerned. All the better to lure her in. Trouble is, he’s such an impatient little mongoose it’s not even coming across that way. I’ve heard bastards in handcuffs put on a better act.
Beneath the surface, Ray sounds anxious, demanding, uneasy. Apprehensive.
“I don’t need a doctor,” she says.
“Bullshit, Val. If you’re not playing around with this amnesia crap, you need to be seen,” Ray tells her.
“I’ve been seen by someone perfectly capable. There’s nothing he can do. It just takes time,” she answers.
My eyes flick to the white van. The two guys inside are scanning the area, homing in on a guy near the long line of t-shirt racks at the store next to the coffee shop.
He’s not a shopper looking for trinkets and printed Hawaii shirts. He’s a man on the hunt if I’ve ever seen one. Almost certainly one of them.
“What doctor? When?” Ray continues, rapid fire. “Valerie, listen—”
“I’m telling you, I’ve been checked almost every single day since the accident. I wouldn’t lie,” she answers. Then glancing at me, she asks, “Ray, why was I on the yacht? Why were we on the boat at all?”
He’s silent as he stretches up in his seat, searching the area harder.
“I thought you said you had amnesia,” he says, a sharp, unsure edge in his tone. “Are you fucking wired, sis? Are the cops—”
“Wired? No! I just want answers.”
Ray drags the phone closer to his mouth, damn near growling into it. “Yeah, answers. Fuck. Then we’re