Okay, so that last remark was malicious spite in retaliation for Glynis trying to move in on TJ last night. Glynis’s official age was six years younger than Mara’s real age, and Mara would resent every year of that difference if she believed in official bios. She didn’t. Hollywood worshipped youth and Glynis catered to the media. Mara calculated her star had hit the big three-oh last year.
She could tell from Glynis’s angry silence that the dig had hit home. Having won the battle, Mara graciously gestured at her limo driver and bodyguard. “Jim, take Miss Everett out to the island, would you? I have a few more things to do here. You can pick me up later.”
Gratified at the offer of the best car available, Glynis slinked off without further argument. Checking the actress’s footwear, Mara grinned. Glynis would have to ride the ATV or break her fool neck trying to cross the dune in those heels.
“Perhaps I ought to open a shoe rental stand,” a dry voice remarked.
Spinning around, Mara caught Cleo McCloud eyeing the departing actress with cynical interest. Enjoying being on the same wavelength with another woman for a change, Mara pocketed her cell phone and set aside her pen to welcome Tim’s sister-in-law. “A shoe rental will work only if you persuade them to check their egos at the door.”
A brief grin of appreciation flitted across Cleo’s face. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her baggy camp shorts, she sauntered closer. “A moment ago, I was thinking you might be better at scaring off tourists in my driveway than the mechanical witch I used to hang there, but maybe you’re human after all.”
The blunt honesty hit Mara’s funny bone, and she laughed at what should have been an insult. “I operate on automatic once production starts. Snap, and I snap harder, so watch out.”
Cleo eyed her with curiosity. “Snap too hard, and you break. Been there, done that. But I didn’t come over here to hand out bad psychology, I’m looking for TJ. He didn’t come home last night, and this morning he has police tape across his office door. I figure he’s a big boy and can take care of himself, but Matty still gets upset when he sees police tape. I told him I’d make certain everything is all right.”
Mara had the feeling that this was a long speech for Cleo, and that she had to care about TJ a great deal more than she let on. Living in a shallow world that didn’t look beneath surfaces, Mara normally would have accepted Cleo’s speech at face value.
Today, the idea of anything happening to TJ aroused irrational panic.
“TJ spent the night here.” Mara tried to act calm while her insane imagination flew over all the things that might have happened. “He was fine when he left a few hours ago.”
Unthinkingly, she looked for Jim to see if he’d heard anything on his scanner, but cursing, she remembered her driver had left for the beach. Shoving the clipboard at one of the dozen assistants running around trying to get the crew off, Mara strode for the street. “Where’s the police station?”
Running backward in front of her, Cleo spread her arms and blocked Mara’s path. “Whoa, sister! No point in going off like a cocked pistol. If TJ was alive and well this morning, then he’s terrorizing some poor official somewhere. You really don’t want to face the sheriff after Tim’s worked him over.”
Heart rate reducing to almost normal, Mara halted and tried to locate her equilibrium. She couldn’t. Police tape and TJ stirred ancient, moldering fears. “How do we know TJ’s murdered body isn’t behind that tape?” she demanded.
Cleo snorted in a definitely unladylike manner. “This is a small town. If TJ had been murdered, my phones would be ringing off the hook. Silence means no one got hurt. That’s all that’s important. Sorry if I disturbed you, but I wanted to be able to tell the kid his uncle could still beat him up when he gets home.”
Still not convinced, Mara restlessly continued pacing toward the street. “What about Jared? Wouldn’t TJ have called him?”
Cleo laughed and fell into step with her. “Just exactly how well do you know the McCloud men? Walking testimonies to testosterone, the three of them. Men like that don’t communicate, they compete.”
Mara considered that and kept walking. She might want to beat the aggravating beast to a pulp, but nobody—no one, ever—had treated her as if she were the moon and stars all wrapped in precious silk as TJ had last night.
Yeah, he had a little temper control problem when she pushed too hard, but given how that had turned out, he could lose control with her any time he chose. “They can communicate, if pressed,” Mara replied. “TJ’s likely to blame me or the crew if anything happened. Where’s the sheriff’s office?”
Cleo whistled and glanced up and down the street as they emerged from the inn yard. “Forget the sheriff. Let’s try the café.” Without waiting for agreement, she strode off in the direction of the harbor.
All right, so networking worked the same in small- town America as it did in Hollywood. One just needed to know where the in crowd hung. She could accept that. Glancing down at her curve-clinging white knit jumpsuit, Mara felt the old self-consciousness return. “They’re not going to talk with me around, are they? Maybe I should go back—”
Impatiently, Cleo tugged open a glass door painted with blue dolphins. “Don’t wimp out now. You want to look like an albino giraffe, make ’em accept albino giraffes.”
Albino giraffe? Startled by this perspective on her carefully chosen designer outfit, Mara instinctively sought retaliation—until she encountered a roomful of expectant faces watching their entrance, and froze. She hadn’t been so nervous before an audience since high school graduation. Gingerly, she trailed Cleo into the lion’s den.
“Where’s TJ?” Cleo demanded of no one in particular, weaving her way between tables to the counter. “Did he finally murder his assistant?”
“Someone trashed his office,” a gum-chewing waitress responded laconically. “Gonna introduce us to your friend?”
“Why? So you can ask for an autograph? I don’t think so.” Cleo appropriated a stool at the counter and spun it to face the grizzled old man on her left. “Hey, Ed, thought you were going to keep an eye on those pirate bones of Tim’s.”
Having the feeling that she’d stumbled into Oz again, or at least through a rabbit hole, Mara smiled apologetically at the unperturbed waitress and ordered a coffee. Nearly six feet in her high heels and stacked curls, she towered over her audience. Lowering herself to the stool on Cleo’s right, she attempted invisibility while waiting for a reply to Cleo’s question.
She might as well have attempted to feel inconspicuous sitting on a mantel flapping angel wings before a choir of awestruck kids. All eyes focused on her.
“Ain’t pirate bones,” the old man scoffed, tipping the beak of his John Deere cap to Mara. “German, if anything. Bet he’ll find their sub if he digs deep enough.”
“You’ll be the first to know if he does,” Cleo assured him, before turning back to the waitress. “All right, you win. This is Mara Simon, and she’s running the show over at the inn. Now tell us where big brother is.”
The lanky waitress set two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. “Pleased to meetcha, Miss Simon. Don’t mind Cleo’s manners. She’s equally rude to everyone.”
So this is what it was like to suffer culture shock, Mara decided, sipping her coffee and wondering how to reply. No false smiles or kissy faces, no charming lies, Versace halter tops, or glass slippers. Maybe she’d been gone from Brooklyn too long. Had people been this up-front there? If so, she didn’t remember it. She’d done a damned good job of forgetting her childhood.
She had the nervous feeling everyone in the room hung on her reply. Setting the cup down, she tried to adapt to her surroundings. “Not rude, but blunt, I’d say,” she answered cautiously. “Cleo is blunt and concerned. Police tape means bad things where I come from.” Bad line, she reprimanded herself. Next, they’d be asking where she came from.
Cleo expertly diverted their attention. “Yeah, I’m concerned. No one else is crazy enough to r
ent my beach house in the middle of hurricane season. I’m in danger of losing money here. Has the sheriff locked him up?”
Laughter rippled through the room, and Mara relaxed. Always take a good guide into strange territory, she noted in her mental PDA. Hurricane season? She pushed that particular piece of panic aside.
“Nah, McCloud is threatening to call in the state cops if the sheriff don’t get off his fat duff and do something. Some kid trashed his office,” a baseball-capped man commented from a nearby table.
“Duff” and not “ass,” Mara mused. Definitely a time warp. She breathed a little easier knowing TJ was up to his usual macho tactics and not harmed in any way.
“Thanks, Goober,” Cleo called. “Does the sheriff need rescuing or should I leave them alone?”
More laughter. No longer feeling as if she were the target of everyone’s gaze, Mara relaxed. Getting into the scene, she tried a line of her own. “Let the sheriff call the cops,” she said blithely, helping herself to a donut from the plastic case on the counter. “I’ll add them to the cast. The role of pirate should come naturally.”
Ed snickered, and even the laconic waitress cracked a smile. As she’d guessed from Cleo’s comment, in this freebooting society where government in any form was regarded with suspicion, any uniformed law enforcement served as a target of humor.
Cleo gave her a nod of approval, and broke off a piece of the donut to sample. “Works for me.”
Mara finished her half of the donut and laid a crumpled ten on the counter. It may have been a long time since she’d waited on tables, but she’d never lost the habit of tipping well. “Guess I’d better mosey on back, as they say in the westerns. Good meeting all of you. Cleo, tell TJ to holler if he needs help cleaning up. I’ve got a maintenance crew.”
Cleo waved her off. Sucking in her stomach, holding her shoulders back, Mara navigated the sea of stares as she’d been taught—with a swagger and a sway. She’d been momentarily off balance, but habit restored her training.
Until she reached the sidewalk, alone and feeling as if she straddled two worlds. She needed to leave the reality of hometown America and return to the synthetic glitz she knew, where she had some modicum of power and control. With that decision, she strode briskly toward the B&B—and collided with the familiar solidity of TJ’s broad chest as he emerged from the inn’s garden gate.
“Damn,” she muttered, digging her fingers into his black polo shirt and steadying her accelerated pulse. He hadn’t been wearing that muscle-conforming shirt this morning or she’d never have let him out of the room. Tim’s big hands clasping her waist to steady her didn’t help. She’d had some weird idea that last night would have flushed this need for him out of her system.
“Going somewhere?” he asked in a tone laced with irony.
The tone should have warned her, but Mara glanced up anyway. It would be much simpler if she could rip out her silly sentimental core and act the part of heartless mogul, but this was TJ. He’d held a piece of her heart for so long, she couldn’t disguise it. “Cleo was worried. What happened?” she demanded. Realizing she was still clinging to his shirt, she pushed away and attempted to casually brush a fallen curl from her face.
He scowled and released her. “I’ll call Cleo. I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve got the kids around here believing I’m the only thing standing between them and Disneyland.”
“Disneyland?” She honestly didn’t know what he was talking about. Recognizing his impatient wave of dismissal for what it was, she smacked his hand—hard. “Don’t patronize me, Timothy John! I’m all grown up now, and I can hear the truth. What the hell are you talking about?”
Mara propped her hands on her hips, and the action tugged the sleeveless knit tight across her breasts.
TJ all but bit his tongue off. Knowing how those high, firm curves molded perfectly to his palms made his groin ache. If he thought about how she’d writhed beneath him, he’d be reduced to a whimpering idiot. Or if pushed, to a Neanderthal who’d grab her hairpiece and drag her back to his lair.
“You all but promised to turn this town into Cinderella’s palace!” he shouted back, letting temper rule. “Do you have any idea what it’s like for kids who live here in the middle of nowhere, with no hope of seeing the world outside? To have someone come along and offer them every fantasy come true? They’re desperate to believe it.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” she cried. “All I promised was a little landscaping. The beach is a wreck.”
He shoved his hand through his hair and tried to get a grip. “You promised them a damned park! It only takes a small leap of imagination to conjure Myrtle Beach in the making.”
She looked briefly bewildered, then shook her head. “They have paradise already. All I wanted to do was help the state preserve it. And where do you fit into the picture?”
Shit, she’d have him believing her in a minute. Before TJ could think of a suitable retort, the rotund mayor sallied across the street, a benign frown upon his cherubic features. “Dr. McCloud, we don’t shout at ladies down here. Miss Simon, how do you do this lovely morning?”
TJ rolled his eyes heavenward as the mayor drooled over Mara, and she simpered back. He’d had just about enough for one day. The war zones of Eastern Europe were looking inviting in comparison.
Returning his gaze to Mara’s fair cheeks, he noted the pink forming there. “Wear a hat,” he ordered. “You’ll burn your nose if you don’t.” He turned stiffly to the mayor, nodded farewell, and walked away. He didn’t need this hassle.
He needed Patricia Amara Simonetti in his bed beneath him—or on top of him or anyway he could have her. One night hadn’t provided the closure he needed to an episode in his life he’d never forget.
Swearing at that realization, TJ walked faster, almost mowing down Matty before stumbling to a halt. The boy joyfully threw himself at his knees, and TJ stooped to catch him up, watching for the man who seldom let the boy out of his sight. He located Jared pushing off the brick wall of his office front.
“Cleo send out a posse?” TJ asked, shifting Matty to one arm. The kid trusted too readily, as if the whole world was a charmed place protected by family, but TJ knew Cleo’s history and the fears hidden behind Matty’s wide, bright eyes. He’d worried them. He wasn’t used to people worrying over him. If they’d had any clue how many bullets he’d dodged in his career, they wouldn’t concern themselves over this little incident.
“Cleo has a thing about cops.” Jared verified TJ’s thoughts. With a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the police tape. “What happened?”
One of Cleo’s bad decisions had landed her in jail and separated her from her son. TJ should have known she’d panic. He just had a hard time remembering that his brother’s idyllic world could be disturbed by something he considered annoying but not earth-shattering. He tickled Matty’s tummy to keep the kid from thinking this was serious adult stuff.
“Some spoiled brat needed a new playpen,” TJ answered casually. “I get a little ticked when people play with my things.”
Matty nodded solemnly. “Alexa broke my crayons and I got mad.”
Matty spoke of his baby cousin, TJ knew, and he nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t get mad because babies don’t know better, but it’s hard.” He handed Matty over to Jared, who still watched him with suspicion. “I gave the cops some suggestions,” TJ continued, “but they’re not real interested in chasing vandals.”
Especially after he’d told them one of the vandals was overweight and gray-haired. They’d practically hooted him out of the office at the thought of fat old men running rampant through the streets like delinquent teenagers.
“Need some clean up help?”
The husky feminine voice came from behind him—Cleo. Just what he needed, more overconcerned citizens. How had he lived his life before this?
TJ waited to answer until Cleo stood beside Jared, arms crossed, waiting impatiently. “Thanks
for the offer, but what I need most is an assistant. Unless you know someone experienced in forensic anthropology, there’s nothing you can do to help. They tore up my address book, and it will take me a while to piece it together again.”
“We can handle that.” Blithely ripping the police tape from the doorway, Cleo shoved open his office door and entered. TJ heard her swear. He exchanged looks with Jared, and shrugging, joined her in the destroyed front room.
“I can’t believe anyone here would do this,” Cleo exclaimed in an unusual display of anger.
TJ couldn’t either, but the only other persons coming to mind ought to be in Washington D.C., and the lone box he’d kept out of the storage unit had been dumped across the floor in the same disregard as the site material.
“Someone doesn’t want you here, bro,” Jared commented idly, poking an overturned chair with his toe.
Mara.
TJ didn’t want to consider that. The Patsy he’d known all those years ago was as adamant about truth and justice. He wouldn’t believe her guilty of this kind of senseless rampage.
But the world she moved in now didn’t necessarily have the same values. He’d have to take a closer look at her production crew. Did any of them have gray hair?
Chapter Twelve
“I’ve ordered sand-colored canvas, and the netting will hold sea oat plugs. With a few fake palmettos, the background will look just like the foreground,” Mara argued, pointing at the sketch she’d made while balancing her cell phone on her shoulder, waiting for her set designer to take her off hold.
This past week of rehearsal had driven everyone to the edge of desperation. Tempers should be a real bitch after a month of roughing it like this, but she had no intention of letting TJ halt her film. They’d work around him until it came time to move in the heavy equipment. Glynis had a contract specifying a limo, dressing rooms, and catering. Mara figured she could hire a yacht and convince Glynis it was an upgrade.
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