“Turtles.” I grin as Flint lets my hand gently fall away. “Crazy. I would’ve guessed it’d be birds.”
“Birds?”
“Yeah, like the one on Savanny’s collar. Unless you put it there?”
Frowning, he reaches over and fingers the medallion.
“That’s a night heron,” I say.
“Yeah?” He unclasps the collar to get a better look.
“Sure is. It’s even got the ruby eye.”
I start wondering why it’s yet another detail that seems new to him, but his phone rings before I can ask.
He pulls it out of his pocket, glancing down. “Cash. I have to take this.”
An odd shiver tickles my spine as he walks away. No doubt about it, there’s more going on here.
Flint was just trying to make me feel better, and he did, but the weirdness with the heron pendant is like a cold splash of water to the face.
What’s going on here? My heartbeat picks up again.
That dread sensation I had earlier returns. I don’t know what to think.
Is there something he doesn’t want me remembering about my old life?
Something I’m not supposed to know?
He enters the house, and my breathing turns shallow again. My eyes follow him through the window as I stand, watching him pace, wondering what kind of man I’ve really married.
Danger blares in the back of my mind.
It’s like he doesn’t want me to hear whatever he’s saying with Cash. Why not, though, if it’s really about my health?
And why has it just been us here this whole time? I was in a bad accident.
Don’t I have any family? Parents or siblings or besties who’d care?
The breeze billowing off the ocean picks up, turning downright chilly. And it’s got nothing on the freeze that hits my brain, stuck on one scary thought.
What’s Flint hiding?
4
Secrets On a Stick (Flint)
“Hold on,” I tell Cash as I enter the house, making him wait until I’m in the dining room.
I can see Valerie out the window, but I make sure she can’t hear me before I press the phone to my ear. “Listen, I—fuck it. I have to tell her the truth, Cash.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t!” he spits back.
“Like hell I can’t,” I growl. “You didn’t see her face a minute ago. The chick turned as white as Casper the frigging ghost and had to hold her head like it was hurting. Bad.”
Guilt tugs on my heartstrings again, playing this bitter fucking tune I can’t stand.
“Why? What was the trigger?” Cash sounds concerned. Just not concerned enough to help me out of this hell he put me in.
“Nothing. That’s the thing. She just woke up from a nap.” Flustered, I run a hand through my hair, annoyed at the pain in my own head. “This lying shit gets a hundred times more complicated than you know. Right down to fucking cat food. Do you know how many different kinds of cat food there are?”
“Come now, you’re being—”
“I do, now,” I interrupt. “Bought one can of every kind because I’ve never owned a cat and have no clue what kind of chow they eat. Then I damn near scared a Boy Scout so bad he almost pissed his pants. All because he was selling popcorn to her when I pulled up, thinking he’d dropped by for Val.”
Did I mention guilt? It’s not a strong enough word for that crap.
If karma’s real, I’m coming back as a sea cucumber.
“What, you left the house with Valerie alone? Where’d you go?” Cash sounds amused. I’m not having it.
“To buy fucking cat food, Einstein! And more pain meds because you won’t give her something stronger than that over-the-counter pill candy. I was all out between Bryce’s banged up knee last week from surfing and this girl tossing them back like Tic Tacs every few hours.”
Just talking about it makes my own head feel like a hammer. Snarling, I pace the room, pinching the bridge of my nose, shaking my head.
“Damn it, Cash, this isn’t working,” I growl. “You can’t just plop some chick smack-dab in my house and say she’s always lived here. Or that I’ve been her ball and chain for fuck only knows how long. It’s not that easy.”
“We knew that when we started,” he says, so calmly I could reach through the phone and slug him. “It’s fine. She’s remembering little details, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. A few more pieces every day. Give her time. Eventually, it’ll all come flooding back,” Cash says with a muffled sigh.
“That’s what worries me. Remembering scares the hell out of her. So does not knowing. I had to make up a load of bull about what she did before the blow to her noggin. You should’ve seen her face.”
I had. Turtles and coffee farming.
Goddammit.
I’m a former SEAL, not some kind of folk singer. I couldn’t think of anything better.
The metal tag gripped in my other hand has me saying, “She remembered the cat’s name.”