With a much jauntier step, she set off in search of the library. She’d once entertained thoughts of a career in law, doing legal research. The summer she’d spent working in a law office had cured her of that foolishness, but she still loved digging through musty old tomes. Her Gemini mind saw both sides of the story too easily for law, but TJ’s problem didn’t require making judgments or searching for loopholes.
The library was housed in one of the old antebellum mansions, and the wood frame was sagging beneath the weight of the books inside. Paint peeled off the gracious columns, but the bearded oaks and rampant azaleas disguised the decay. Mara asked the librarian for old newspapers first, and any books on the history of the area. The elderly lady behind the desk was thrilled to help.
Surrounded by cartons of microfiche film, dusty volumes of bound newsprint, and a few self-published pamphlets on the islands, she joyfully settled in to work. Thunder rolled and cracked overhead, but the patter of rain on the roof only settled her more thoroughly into her seat. If she could make a living sitting on her rear end in a library all day, she’d be in hog heaven. She could wear her glasses and blue jeans, tug her hair into a ponytail—become the nerdy teenager TJ had once respected. And left behind.
She didn’t have to be what another man expected of her ever again. Repeating this mantra, she buckled down to scanning ancient dusty tomes and taking notes.
Her cell phone vibrated, and she ignored it. Voice mail could get it. A film crew trapped inside a hotel all day could cause all manner of havoc, and she wasn’t interested.
It buzzed again two minutes later. Probably Irving. He could go back home where he belonged.
She shoved a pencil through her upswept hair and concentrated on a World War II-era news article about a group wanting to form a coast watch on the islands. The Germans were invading the Netherlands. Why the devil would locals think they’d land on an impoverished South Carolina coast? Could those bones just be some misguided boy scout who starved to death waiting for an invasion that never came?
The phone buzzed again, and scowling, she shut it off.
***
“You want me to file a federal injunction for that?” The portly lawyer with a silvered ponytail gazed at the muddy excavation in disbelief.
“It’s under the auspices of a federal grant,” TJ responded impassively. “The discovery of an early American settlement here would give grounds for further historical exploration.” As far as he could tell, nothing had been stolen last night, and he’d like to keep it that way. Mostly, though, he wanted his project out of the film company’s clutches.
The lawyer’s sharp gaze took him in. “What about pirates?”
TJ shrugged noncommittally. “Pirates, smugglers, or wreckers are a possibility, given the history of coastlines. Doesn’t change the historical significance. How long will it take to obtain the injunction?”
The lawyer didn’t look as if he bought this for a minute, but his gaze returned to the mud wallow left in the wake of the morning’s storm. “Depends on the judge’s schedule. Could be hours or days.”
“If you can obtain an injunction to void the film company’s order, I can post guards out here, and prevent further invasion.” And keep out film crews, but TJ refrained from mentioning anything so politically incorrect. He might be ambivalent about keeping out Mara, but if her second ex was as big an ass as the first, he’d meet him head on.
The lawyer remained skeptical. “It’s a sand pit. Why would anyone want to break into it? Are they expecting buried treasure?”
TJ raised his eyebrows. “Interesting thought. Hadn’t considered that.” Not that it was going to happen, but who knew what thieves might believe. “Mostly, I want to protect the site’s integrity.”
“All right, I’ll bite, although knowing your sister-in-law’s views, I can’t imagine she’ll appreciate posting armed guards out here.”
“Not armed. And it’s for her privacy I’m doing this.” Sort of. He respected Jared’s and Cleo’s need for peace, but between film crews, vandals, thieves, and security guards, chances of that happening were slim.
The lawyer nodded and reached for his cell phone. “I’ll get on it. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” He gave TJ another appraising look. “You’re prepared for the public outcry if you halt this film?”
TJ crossed his arms and stared back. “What do you think?”
“That I’m damned glad I’m not the other guy.” With more grace than a man his size should possess, the lawyer stalked down the wet sand, shouting orders into a phone smaller than his hand.
Standing stiff and straight, arms still crossed, TJ watched his last chance of seeing admiration in Mara’s eyes walk away. By this time tomorrow, the place would be swarming with reporters, Mara would be cock-eyed furious, he’d have blown his cover, and his career would be on a fast track downhill.
He could still save his career. He doubted if he could save Mara.
His gaze flickered over the muddy pit that his life had become, and he thought the analogy more than apt. Trapped at the bottom of that hole, he couldn’t see a future until he climbed out. The time had come to dig the first step in the wall.
***
“Sid, it rains out here.” Mara shoved a loose curl off her forehead and growled at her cell phone. Sitting in the limo’s climate –controlled interior, she handed Ian her PDA, pointed at the name of the set designer she wanted to talk to, and plastered on a conspiratorial smile for the reporter sitting next to him. “It’s not L.A. South Carolina has rains and hurricanes. You ought to try weather sometime. It will be a new experience.”
She only half listened to her ex’s complaints about time and budget. Her stomach clenched nervously as they approached the island. She’d forestalled Sid’s demand to rent bulldozers, but she didn’t know how long she could hold back. They needed to get those ship scenes before the days grew too short.
She hadn’t heard from TJ, hadn’t expected to. She knew his capacity for systematic revenge and was terrified to consider what he might do in retaliation for the court order. She’d hoped yesterday’s research would yield instant success to pacify him, but she’d found little more than a few names of hunters who used the island and a couple of landowners. She needed to dig deeper.
She didn’t have time to dig deeper. Sid was screaming, Irving was whining, her aunt had left messages on every voice mail Mara owned, and Ian had invited People and Entertainment Tonight to the set. The film crew was right behind the limo, and her teeth would be chattering if she hadn’t clamped her lips into a bright smile.
She didn’t need to inherit her mother’s psychosis to go insane. This business would drive her there. She shoved her phone into her purse.
“I understand you had to obtain a court order to gain access to the beach location.” The reporter clicked on his recorder now that he had her attention.
She continued smiling and shrugged nonchalantly. “Dr. McCloud has a federal grant and had to protect the government’s interest. It’s just a legal formality. We’ll preserve his artifacts.”
“I hear that you and Dr. McCloud have a relationship. Are you aware that—”
“Friggin’ sheep shit!” Ian shouted, glancing through the limo’s windshield to see why the car had slowed. “The turd’s hired guards!”
Jim pulled the limo to a smooth halt and awaited further instruction. In front of the car, Day-Glo orange barriers blocked the access road. A uniformed security guard manned the barricade.
The reporter scribbled furiously. Mara didn’t have to look out the rear window to know the TV film crew would be spilling from their van, cameras in hand. Every ounce of acting she had learned these last years would have to fall into play if she was to pull this off with any semblance of grace and aplomb. Anything less, and she’d have investors pulling the plug faster than her ship could sink.
What she wanted to do was hunt down TJ McCloud and bash him over his stubborn thick head with his stupid security guard.
&n
bsp; Or crawl into his strong arms and cry until he made the world go away.
Talk about conflicts—she ought to write a book. She’d definitely do a chick flick next, should she survive this encounter.
Still smiling through her Rogue Rouge, Mara let Jim open the car door. With extravagant care, she smoothed down her screaming orange miniskirt, adjusted her long, tanned, silk-clad legs, swung her stacked heels gracefully to the sand, then with a benevolent expression, accepted Jim’s hand and exited the limo.
She could feel the reporter’s smoldering gaze burning the backs of her knees. She shimmied her hips to adjust her skirt again, and figured he was out for the count. Show time.
Thrusting out her elastic-enhanced chest, teasing a lock of synthetic hair back into its stack, drawing attention to her cleavage with the gesture, Mara licked her lips and batted her fake lashes.
The guard’s mouth hung open. Cameras whirred.
“Hello, honey,” she purred, walking up to him. “I’m Mara Simon, and this is my right-of-way. Could you move these pretty orange things over to the side of the road?”
“In about three months,” a familiar dry voice answered from the wax myrtle thicket as it parted.
Crushing her temper, fighting the sick curl of desire that voice engendered, Mara swung around to glare at Dr. TJ McCloud, arch nemesis. “Says who?”
“Says the federal injunction posted on that gate.” TJ nodded at the chain link on the hill down the road. “I told you this was a federal grant. Your city buddies can’t help you here.”
He looked so good in those dark shades and that jungle hat, she thought she might change teams, climb over the barrier, and glare at the reporters from his side.
Traitorous instincts, indeed. Too many people counted on her to back down now.
What if she failed?
Failure meant returning to Brooklyn and becoming a bag lady.
Okay, maybe that was a little melodramatic.
Advancing so they stood toe to toe and no one else could hear them, Mara ran her fingertip up and down the black cotton stretched across TJ’s impressive chest. “I didn’t file that order, TJ McCloud, and you damned well know it. Can’t we find a compromise?”
If TJ felt anywhere near as breathless as she did, they’d both expire of asphyxiation. She deliberately took a deep breath, and the heated hunger of his gaze knocked the air out of her lungs again.
“I don’t think so, Pats,” he said gravely. “I’m paid to do this job, and securing the site is my priority.” He stepped backward, away from her prying fingers.
If she thought crying would help, she would turn on the tears, but the TJ she knew had more respect for brains than weeping wimps. She lifted her gaze to trap his, damning him to hell without saying the words. “I’m paid to do my job, too, and I’ll warn you now, I’ve had dragons far more intimidating than you in my face, and I’ve slain them all. Watch your throat, McCloud. I’m winning this one.”
Sunglasses hid his eyes, but she read the admiring tug on his lips before she swung away, sashaying her hips slowly to make him crazy.
TJ McCloud admired her.
She threw the film crew a stunning, genuine smile that faltered as she climbed back into the car.
She may have won TJ’s admiration, but she had lost the battle.
Chapter Seventeen
“Didn’t you watch the news last night?” Sid screamed through the receiver the day after the barricade disaster. “You looked like a damned ass out there flirting with that Indiana Jones character! You’re off the film, kid. Ian’s in charge.”
Panic flooded through her. Mara dug her fingers into her unstyled curls, leaned her elbows on the lunch table, and fought down the hysteria pounding for escape. “ET isn’t news,” she muttered, knowing her ex’s penchant for entertainment news over anything more substantial. “There are kids starving in Angola, and my disagreement with McCloud hardly rates tempest-in-teapot status. This is my film, Sid. You can’t take me off it.”
“I still own the effing company, doll, and I’m not wasting any more money. Either Ian takes over, or I’m offering Glynis another production. I’ve already talked to her agent.”
She couldn’t bear this. He’d promised. Not that Sid’s promises meant more than she could hold him to at the point of a gun. “I’m the one with the most at stake here, Sid. I’m the one who gets a share of the profit. Ian doesn’t care about bottom lines.”
“Ian cares about getting his butt chewed if he doesn’t come in under budget. Go back to your whining relatives and get out of my hair.” He hung up.
Shivering, Mara clicked the phone off and contemplated the empty dining room. A chill crawled across her skin, and she couldn’t blame it on the air- conditioning.
She could call her divorce lawyer. The film was part of the settlement. She didn’t understand the legal terms, just the ramifications. She got to keep the profits from the pirate film; Sid got to keep the house. Sounded like Sid got both if he could pull her off the job.
If the film didn’t make a profit, she couldn’t buy out his half of the company. If the settlement awarded her half the business, didn’t she have some say in who worked the film? Probably not the way Sid had it set up.
She dialed her attorney anyway.
He confirmed her suspicions. Sid was head of the company until she legally owned it. He could fire her anytime he liked. All she was entitled to was the profit—and knowing Sid’s practices, there wouldn’t be any.
She should have known he’d agreed too easily to her demands. Honesty wasn’t a word Sid understood.
Mara’s mind danced wildly over impossible solutions while her insides slowly shriveled and died. She was out in the cold again, with nowhere to turn and little in the bank to show for the years of her life wasted. Bag lady status loomed.
“Do you have time to talk now?” a nasal whine intruded.
Irving. She didn’t need the hassle, the reminder of another failure while she was still being crushed beneath the weight of this one.
The bandage plastered across Irving’s handsome face reminded her that he wasn’t what he appeared. She shot him a glare and reached for the coffeepot. “Go home, Irving. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
Her hand shook as she poured the coffee.
“I promised your aunt I would talk to you, Patsy.”
Gad, she hated that name. So appropriate, too. She was a walking, talking patsy for every man who ever trodden through her life.
Irving took the seat across the table and gazed at her with imploring brown eyes. The color might be similar to Tim’s, but not the expression. Irving’s eyes reminded her of a spaniel. TJ’s changed from laughter to admiration to fury in a matter of seconds, revealing all those boiling emotions his chiseled countenance concealed. Oh, damn, why was she thinking of that monster now? This was all his fault.
“The store is doing nicely.” Irving helped himself to the coffee, then grimaced when he sipped it. “It’s cold.”
“Don’t drink it,” she advised wittily, taking a swig of her own. She desperately needed a caffeine infusion.
“I’m thinking of opening two more stores, in better locations.”
“Franchise them.” Swell, she needed her nose rubbed in how well she could have been doing if she’d stayed with him.
She could never have stayed with him. Unconsciously, she rubbed the nose he had smashed and let the misery build. No matter how much she’d learned in the process, she’d failed at every damned thing she’d done.
At least this time, she recognized the breaking point where desperation drove her to do something foolish—like running off to Hollywood. Only this time, she had nowhere left to run.
Irving looked interested in her suggestion. “Franchising involves more than I can handle on my own. I need to hire more staff for the branches as it is. I’ve got to get back today. Why don’t you come with me? Your family wants to see you.”
“My family wants me to should
er their burdens.” Maybe she should just get up and walk away. It wasn’t as if Irving could fire her.
Irving had the tenacity of poison ivy. He’d never leave until she heard him out.
“Your mother really needs to be institutionalized,” he said soothingly. “They’ve found an excellent home where she can have her own apartment. She’ll be fine. These places aren’t like what you see in the movies.”
She heard the disapproval in his voice. Irving never had liked going to the movies. There had been a time when she’d practically lived in them rather than go home at night.
“Unless Aunt Miriam or Uncle David intend to move in with her, Mom will be terrified.” She squelched that hope with as much force as her shattered psyche could manage. “Besides, I can’t afford it.”
“I’m doing very well,” Irving replied suggestively. “You were young and foolish, and I didn’t handle things well. We could try again. With your connections—”
That did it. The frayed rubber band that kept her motor running snapped. Tires squealed. Mechanical parts flew. The engine cracked and spewed steam. Mara lifted the cold coffeepot and swung.
Black liquid splattered across Irving’s smug face. Before he could react, Mara smacked the empty glass pot upside-down on his professionally styled and colored hair, shoved back her chair, and marched away.
She dared them to lock her in the psycho ward with her mother.
***
TJ wiped the sweat from his forehead, stuck his shovel in the pile of rain-sodden sand he’d dug this morning, and dropped down to sit on the box he’d locked his tools in. “What now?” he demanded of the visitor he found waiting at the top of the pit.
Jared looked up from the collection of artifacts representing the morning’s work. “Rib bones and Nazi insignia?” he asked in curiosity, holding up the gold buttons.
Despite his laid-back attitude, Jared worked as hard as he played, so TJ knew he hadn’t come out here to poke through garbage. But at the moment, TJ wasn’t in any humor to figure out what he wanted. They’d learned non-communication at their parents’ knees.
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