Calorie City. She didn’t think she’d eaten mashed potatoes since she’d left Brooklyn. She wasn’t entirely certain she’d ever eaten fried chicken. “No tofu and broccoli casserole?” she asked in seeming disappointment. Tugging TJ’s chains gave her more thrills than a roller-coaster ride, and she hid her smile as anger finally flared in his eyes.
“Are you coming or do I have to tell Cleo you’re in bed with the mayor?” he retaliated, finally reverting to form.
Mara beamed in delight and opened the door sufficiently to let him in. “I’m just deciding what to wear. Is this shirt suitable for a dinner of fried chicken?” Under his scrutiny, she hastily fastened a few buttons.
TJ eyed the cleavage still revealed and took a deep breath. “Does it have any more buttons?”
Mara pushed another button through its hole and awaited his approval.
TJ tried to tear his gaze away from the tantalizing swells still revealed by her shirt, but he was back in her bedroom, where he’d done far more than stare, and his head wouldn’t shift out of that particular gear.
He’d spent a week trying to forget she existed, to return to his usual routine, but he’d been lying to himself. Mara in all her flashy beauty and perverse provocativeness hadn’t been out of his head for a second, but it was the Patsy behind the flash that gnawed at his heart and brought him here despite every incentive to stay away. He saw the vulnerability behind her need for approval and appreciated the courage it took for her to provoke him.
“Are the slacks okay or should I wear jeans?” she demanded, swiveling her hips to distract him from her cleavage.
Her stretchy slacks conformed to every curve of hip and thigh. TJ knew for fact that she didn’t pad an inch of those curves. He supposed some might consider her too thin, but he’d known her as a kid. This wasn’t thin. This was heaven.
This was the woman he’d attacked as if starved. Even after a week of digging mounds of sand by day and reading notebooks of terminally boring transcripts at night, he couldn’t get the appalling fact out of his head that he’d jumped her bones without a single thought to consequences. He jerked his eyes back where they belonged—encountering the top of Patsy’s artificial curls. “The slacks are fine. Are you ready to go?”
Her cat-eyed gaze made him nervous. He hadn’t been nervous around a woman since high school. He was looking at a female who wore glitter and hair pieces to the beach. Why should he care what she thought?
Because this was Patsy, and behind the deceptive glitter lurked the brains of a computer and the tenacity of a pit bull. And a vulnerable woman who fell to pieces when he held her.
He had absolutely no clue how to deal with women who fell to pieces, or ones who concealed so many facets he could never discover them all in a lifetime of trying. He preferred coolly intellectual women who could discuss the latest theory of forensic science right after sex.
Liar. He loved a mystery, and Patsy Amara was every fascinating enigma he’d ever dreamed of. He was in deep shit and digging deeper.
If he wanted a mystery, he ought to stick with Colonel Martin’s problem. He’d not found evidence of anyone’s guilt in the transcript box he’d read through. He needed to go back to the storage unit and look for something more damning. Or revealing. Something had to pry this black cloud from his head.
“Shall I bring my shawl?” Mara asked dryly, hauling him back to solid ground again.
“Not the red one with feathers,” TJ answered in what he hoped was a tone to match hers. He wanted to see those red feathers draped over her naked breasts.
Mara smiled in triumph and sauntered past him in her high heels, every move drawing his attention to breasts and hips until TJ thought he’d go up in smoke if he had to watch her all evening. Slamming her door behind him as they entered the hall, he focused on her bleached blond hair. “You don’t need a hair piece at Cleo’s.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she flapped overlong eyelashes at him. “You don’t need sports jackets in this heat.”
“It’s proper informal dinner attire,” he argued, taking his place at her side, grateful for something to distract him from the erotic scent of her perfume. He’d been taught etiquette with his ABC’s. A woman in heels needed support. He offered his arm.
She glanced at his sleeve in surprise, smiled seductively, and reached for the stairway banister to show she didn’t need his help. “Then so is my hair,” she insisted. “I have an image to uphold.”
“I trust that image will keep you from falling down the damned stairs.” Okay, so etiquette fell by the wayside when it came to Patsy. He was back to behaving like a frustrated teenager. How did one look after a woman too stubborn—or too strong—to accept his aid?
“I’ll have you know I took a year of modeling school to learn how to walk in these heels, and I could probably beat you to the car if I knew where it was.” She teased him as she had as a child, challenging him to notice her with ridiculous claims.
He was mature enough not to accept challenges these days. Racing her in those heels guaranteed trouble. It had been a hard lesson, but he’d learned he was strong enough to put others before himself. He diverted the argument. “Modeling school? I thought you got married out of high school.”
They reached the front foyer and ignored the fascinated clerk at the desk as TJ appropriated her arm and Mara elbowed him. He grunted and dropped her arm but held the door open. She patted his cheek and sailed by as if he were a doorman.
He wanted to wring her neck, but that body part was too close to softer places he’d much rather get his hands on. Besides, he knew she was simply getting even with him for his neglect. He caught her arm going down the porch stairs and refused to release it. “Well?” he demanded. “Did you go to modeling school instead of college?”
“I went to modeling school when a buyer for Irving’s store said we could sell more clothes if I looked more glamorous.”
The ugly jealous monster inside him didn’t want to hear about Irving or any of the other men in her life, but his conscience needed to know how she’d gotten to where she was now. It was as if he’d betrayed Brad’s trust by letting Patsy fall into bad hands. He’d wanted her to be happy.
“That’s a crock,” he countered, guiding her down the porch stairs and in the direction of his car. “You were model thin at sixteen, and tall enough to wear anything. What was this clown Irving selling, granny dresses?”
“Lingerie,” she answered dryly, “and Irving was my husband. He thought he’d upscale his father’s candy- panties business and rival Victoria’s Secret, but I was the only sales clerk he could afford.”
“Candy panties?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, TJ knew better than to ask.
She flirted a laughing smile over her shoulder. “Want to try some? I bet I could find a pair or two.”
TJ thought he ought to shut up and forget he’d heard any of this, but curiosity had usurped his usual reserve. “Your husband let you model underwear, in public?”
She shrugged and waited for him to unlock his car door. “This was Brooklyn, remember. Once our neighbors saw our inventory turning a skinny nerd like me into a glamorous model, they bought anything I recommended.”
TJ waited until he’d slid into the driver’s seat and his anger cooled a bit before replying. “He used you to sell scanty underwear?”
“It’s no big deal,” she said dismissively, watching out the passenger side window as they drove into the late summer twilight. “I kept the books and knew with the way rent was rising, it would be only a matter of time before we were out on the street if we didn’t do something. We tried hiring a good-looking kid with a figure, but she was dumb as stones and didn’t understand why we wanted her to wear a bra instead of taking it off. So I started taking modeling classes. Then I broke my nose and one thing led to another...”
Her voice trailed off, and TJ was hit upside the head by the memory of teenage Patsy doing that same thing when she didn’t want to tell him somet
hing. Sometimes her chattering got ahead of her thinking, and she said entirely too much.
“How did you break your nose?” he demanded in what he thought to be a perfectly reasonable voice.
“None of your damned business,” she retorted, turning to glare at him. “It’s way too late to waste energy looking after me now.”
He didn’t want to know what that meant, but he did. He and Brad had always looked after her, hauling her out of street brawls, helping her with science projects, dragging guys over to dance with her when she actually showed up on prom night—alone. Who had looked after her after Brad died? No one, apparently. What the hell had happened?
“At least tell me you broke the other guy’s nose or tore off his balls to justify it.”
She uttered a noise that could have been a giggle or a sob or both. “Kicked him in the balls, anyway. I caught Irving doing more than ogling the clerk’s braless wonders. I should have known better than to attack a man with his pants down. He reacted before he thought.”
“Irving broke your nose?” TJ wanted to grab the bastard by the ear and smack him against a brick wall, face first. “Your husband broke your nose? What in hell is wrong with your family? Irving was the most eligible bachelor in Brooklyn?”
“Like I said, he reacted before he thought, or he’d have known it would cost him. I got a bloody nose and a good cosmetic surgeon out of the incident.” She crossed her long legs and rubbed her sandaled toe down his trousers. “You and Brad taught me how to take care of myself, and maybe I’m a wee bit psycho, but I’m not dumb.”
Years of observing war atrocities had petrified TJ’s weaker emotions, but he wanted to weep at this tale. Patsy Simonetti had been shy around strangers, brilliant around friends, creative in her troublemaking, and loyal to a fault, not to mention a royal pest when she put her mind to it. But she’d never been dumb.
She’d been the girl he’d loved with all his teenage heart, and she’d married a stinking rotten bastard of an underwear salesman. He could imagine the smarmy, balding twinkie mauling Patsy’s teenage breasts, and he wanted to upchuck.
Shy Patsy punched his biceps—hard.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” she ordered. “Irving was a hunk with unmortgaged assets and an entrepreneurial mind. I didn’t complain about being married to him while it lasted. The nose job he paid for got me the modeling job that took me out of Brooklyn. It provided me with enough money to take care of my mother and has given me great satisfaction over the years. I’m a winner, and if you start calling me anything else, I’ll beat you into a pulp. Might I mention that I have a black belt in karate?”
Okay, deep breath, rearrange priorities. “You’re a winner,” he agreed with honesty. “And a survivor. I’m just having a hard time dealing with your parents’ roles in all this. They worshipped at Brad’s feet, worked two jobs to pay for his education, sent the two of you to private school so you’d have the best teachers and facilities... I just don’t get it.”
“No one says you have to,” she said with a sigh shadowed in sadness. “It just is, okay? Brad’s death took something out of them. I was never more than a carbuncle on his ass, anyway. I was informed daily that girls get married and have kids and don’t need jobs, so Brad was their future. Since I thought I was too ugly for a boy to ever marry, I was kind of confused by it all for a while. But after Brad’s death, my life went on, and theirs didn’t. It happens, all right? You once promised me a red teddy bear and didn’t come through. I didn’t die of disappointment.”
“I bought the damned bear.” TJ could have bitten off his tongue after he said it. He could almost hear her lift her eyebrows, and he finished grudgingly, “You moved.”
“My father walked out on us. My mother didn’t have a job, so we moved in with her family.”
“I tried calling you.” Okay, so this was ancient history, but he’d been torn into shreds with the loss of both his best friend and the girl he’d adored. He hoped she didn’t hear the question and the pain he’d buried long ago.
TJ breathed a sigh of relief when she merely eyed him consideringly.
“My mother wasn’t precisely rational at the time. I didn’t know you called. I tried calling you once, but you weren’t there. Then we moved and my aunt wouldn’t let me make long-distance calls. With everything happening, I just figured you’d lost interest.”
He heard what she didn’t say—everyone else had lost interest in her, so she figured he had, too. TJ couldn’t get his head around a lack of self-assurance that large, but he should have known. Teenage boys didn’t think with their heads though. He’d been too bent out of shape to discover she’d moved without a trace. “I thought you blamed me. I should have known better.” One more guilt to add to his burden. He should have been there for her instead of licking his own wounds.
“We were too young. I needed to learn not to rely on people or promises. You would have used me as a doormat just like Irving.” She diverted the topic to a safer one. “Tell me about the vandals. Were you able to put your office together again? Your work is much more interesting than my life.”
Not to him, not right now. TJ wanted to know more about the beautiful tigress she’d become and how she got that way. She was more fascinating than any set of bones he’d ever unearthed, or any mystery he’d ever explored.
He didn’t regret how he’d spent these last seventeen years, but he sure wished he’d made an effort to keep an enigma like Patsy in it.
“Earth to TJ, come in, pal. No tripping allowed on my watch.” Mara flipped the overhead light on, leaned against the car door, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts to grab his attention.
“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” TJ asked, understanding her actions a little better. “You don’t need to wave your mammary glands in my face to keep me interested.”
She snorted but sat upright again. “Made you look,” she said provokingly.
“I looked when you were sixteen and didn’t have any breasts to speak of,” he retorted, remembering that episode of his life with clarity. “You were the only girl around who didn’t rub her breasts in my face or giggle when I walked by. You were straight with me. Wanna go back in time and try that again?”
She thought about it, then shook her curls. “Nope. You had all the power then. You were the one who got to call the shots. It’s my turn now, and I like having that power. Get used to it.”
“Did Irving have time to appreciate the monster he created before you crucified him?” he asked in warped fascination with the woman she’d become.
“Nope, but Sid did. Stupid man thought he’d married a pussycat. Why in the world would any sane man want to marry a bubblehead? Explain that to me.”
“Because bubbles only show them their reflection?” He didn’t know where that came from, but he’d seen it often enough. Jared had dated women like that for years, but he’d never been serious about any of them. There was a difference between casual dating and committing for a lifetime.
She chuckled. “Sid’s so ugly, I can’t imagine why he’d want to see his reflection, but I see what you mean. Irving married me for my brains and Sid married me for my looks, and I married both of them for security, so we all lost. I learned my lesson. I provide my own security these days. What about you? Where are you going with this bone-digging stuff?”
“Probably nowhere,” TJ admitted, “but that’s not your problem. We’re almost at Cleo’s. She doesn’t entertain often, so this is a big deal for her. I’ll try not to yell at you if you’ll try not to insult me, okay?”
“I like Cleo, and if she’ll provide me with a supply of those squishy eggs, I’ll be quite content egging you and Jared all evening. I shall be the model guest. Are you going to tell me after we leave why bones aren’t going anywhere?” she asked with interest.
“Probably not.” He braked the car in Cleo’s drive and turned off the ignition. The sun hadn’t quite set, and TJ could see Mara’s delicate chin stuck out in a stubborn pose h
e knew too well. “If you’re still willing to help, I’m ready to start researching the island. I have a secretary starting next week, but she won’t be any good at research.”
The diversion worked as well as he’d hoped. She lit up like a light bulb—the Christmas-tree kind in sparkly colors. Patsy would never be so ordinary as to radiate plain white light.
“I adore research,” she sighed with satisfaction. “I about drove the scriptwriter insane by forcing him to stick to the facts I dug out, but details positively make the film. I’ll check when the library opens tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” And he meant it. He also knew the diversionary tactic would last only long enough to get him through the evening. The Patsy he knew never let a subject of interest escape her for long. Before she gave up, she would dissect his evasion into tiny pieces.
How long before she dissected him? And could they do it in bed—without killing each other first?
Chapter Fourteen
Approaching the McCloud’s front porch, Mara admired the twinkle of a swinging mechanical Tinkerbell—until Jared stepped out, looking more grim than TJ at his worst. Her stomach plummeted to a place between her toes.
TJ stiffened but calmly guided her down the shell path to the house. She didn’t bother arguing with his proprietary support this time. She’d had enough bad news thrown her way to know when it was time to dodge and when it was time to run like hell. TJ apparently was of the old school of taking it like a man.
Jared slipped him a folded packet of paper as they stepped up on the porch. “Sheriff was by earlier looking for you at the dig. Needless to say, Cleo wouldn’t have been happy to see him. I made the intercept. Sorry.”
Mara had been in Hollywood long enough to know legal papers when she saw them. Sid kept a whole raft of lawyers on retainer to field just this sort of thing.
Pulling out his reading glasses, TJ glanced at the first few paragraphs in Tinkerbell’s swinging light, swore, and shoved both glasses and documents into his inside coat pocket. Without another word, he swung on his heel and started for the stairs.
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