Accidental Shield

“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.