The security guard had already notified TJ that three reporters had camped out on the road and several others were trespassing on Cleo’s property, trying to circumvent the barriers. How many were actually interested in Mara’s story and which ones had sniffed out Colonel Martin’s?
He’d retrieved another box from storage and opened it last night. This one contained account books that made no sense to him but showed odd expenditures an accountant might be able to follow. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he made a lousy judge and jury. He’d have to decide soon who should get the boxes.
Burning them would be easier.
Taking the gold button Jared held out, TJ turned it over in his palm. “Tell Cleo there may be more to Ed’s tales of subs than we suspected.”
“Nazi spies instead of pirates,” Jared mused, shaking his head. “Guess I should have listened in history class. I didn’t think the Germans ever touched American soil.”
“Ed gave me a book on U-boats. Besides the subs with torpedoes, several carrying spies landed on the East Coast, but there’s no record of any in the Carolinas. Spies needed metropolitan areas where the men could blend in with the population. They’d stand out like sore thumbs in a small town like this.” TJ took a long cold gulp of water.
Jared shrugged, losing interest. He eyed TJ instead. “You look like hell. I thought you won this round.”
“I did.” Of course, he’d also lost any hope of ever meeting Mara on amicable grounds again, but that was just the beginning of the story. She was better off out of his life right now. He’d survived on his own for a long, long time. He’d do it again—once he forgot the awe in her eyes after he’d punched her ex. Or the look of amazement that night he’d lost it and driven them both out of their minds. Or...
The picture wasn’t pretty. He knew how to focus on the immediate. “Is Cleo going to throw me out?”
“She’s pissed, but she hasn’t started heaving your worldly goods out the window yet. She did dump Gene’s black snakes on the driveway, and when I left, she was muttering about gators. She doesn’t have anything against reporters personally, but she resents anyone messing with family. You know how it is.”
Yeah, TJ knew how it was. Good thing he believed in gun control or he’d be hauling iron by now, taking out a few of the nosy bastards. He dried his face on a towel and wondered if all this was worth it. “Tell Cleo I’ll cut line the instant she tells me to. This is her hideaway, and I know what it means to both of you.”
Jared snorted. “The minute you’re out of here, the film crew moves in, so you’re safe enough. I won’t say the same for the reporters.”
TJ threw the towel down. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe they’ll leave once they see there’s no story.” He knew better, but for a little while, he could pretend this was just entertainment news and not the beginning of the end—for Cleo’s sake. He never left a job undone, but for Cleo and Jared and the safe world they’d built, he would walk away.
“You don’t have to lie to me.” Jared helped himself to a soft drink from the ice chest and dropped down on the rickety lounge chair. “I’ve seen how Hollywood operates. You forget, I’m part of the media.”
TJ grimaced. “How could I forget?” Comic-strip artists weren’t precisely reporters, but they were all in the business of attracting a mass audience.
Jared popped the can top and didn’t immediately reply. TJ recognized that as a danger sign. His younger brother did surface charm well but had to work harder at real communication. Cleo’s stormy nature had taught Jared a lot, but the people skills of the McCloud family left a lot to be desired.
“Cleo’s pregnant.”
Pow. That shook the stuffing out of him. TJ ran the cold water bottle over his forehead and tried to think how to respond. He was about to become an uncle. What did one do? Matty was big enough to talk to, but an infant?
Imagining his younger brother as the father of a baby staggered the imagination. Jared had been the middle brother whose zany antics as a child had irritated TJ’s too-mature sensibilities, but without Jared, he might never have learned to laugh.
He respected what Jared had done with his life, but it didn’t seem logical that of the three brothers, the clown was the first one to grow up, settle down, and have children.
“Congratulations,” was the only reply immediately coming to mind as TJ struggled to rearrange his thinking.
Jared grinned at his confusion. “I’ve been told women do that occasionally, you know—pop out squealing little monsters to make our lives interesting.”
TJ’s mind drifted to Mara popping out little monsters, and his head spun with delirium. He obviously had far too many changes in his life to digest another easily.
But now that he’d had time to grasp this latest shift in his world, TJ accepted it. “You’ve always had a way with kids. You’re great with Matty. You’ll make a good father.”
Jared seemed to relax a little at TJ’s approval. “Thanks. I’m hoping so. It’s kind of scary to think about, so I try not to think about it too hard.”
TJ grunted at this typical Jared reaction. If nothing else, this time out of his life had taught him to better appreciate his family. “You told me this for a reason?”
His brother returned to staring at his soft drink can. Not a good sign. TJ let his mind roam over the possibilities while Jared looked for words to explain. Now that he had time to get past the surprise, TJ knew that Cleo was a great mother, far better than their own despite the differences in their upbringing. Whatever Jared’s shortcomings, Cleo would overcome them, and vice versa. Working together, they balanced each other out.
TJ wondered if he’d ever find someone who could balance the huge scale of his own faults.
“Cleo freaks out if anyone threatens her kid,” Jared said slowly, frowning as he tried to explain. “I mean, really freaks.”
Recalling the memorable episode when Cleo had commandeered the courthouse roof to get her point across, TJ nodded agreement. “That’s what she’s got you for,” he reminded Jared. “You can stand between her and any perceived danger.” Perceived danger. TJ’s eyes narrowed. “What’s she afraid of?”
Jared helplessly lifted his arms. “Authority? Hurricanes. Anything she can’t handle. She needs to feel in control.”
Well, TJ could relate to that. “So, she can’t control reporters?”
“She can’t control authority. A Colonel Martin called asking for you. Since your contacts know how to reach your business phone, she thinks this is related to us. She’s terrified we’ll have a military outpost on the beach next.” He looked apologetic. “I think it’s hormones.”
TJ barely registered that last nonsensical statement. Cleo had excellent people instincts. Colonel Martin and hurricanes had a lot in common. Why the devil had the colonel waited until now to call him? And why hadn’t he used official channels? Did he think TJ’s phone line had been tapped?
Damn. He had far too much on his plate right now. He didn’t want to talk to Martin on top of everything else. He had reporters crawling up his ass. If he read any more of the material in those boxes, he’d have to act on it, one way or the other.
He hated lying—to the reporters or to the colonel. Maybe if he didn’t talk to Martin and didn’t read more of the material, he could safely say he knew nothing should a reporter be so perspicacious as to ask about his connection to Martin’s mounting problems.
Not reading the material was the coward’s way out.
What could the colonel want? Martin thought TJ had destroyed the boxes, so he couldn’t be after them. Although Martin was an old family friend and had acted as TJ’s mentor, their business relationship was strictly professional. He seldom called unless they were on assignment, and then he used his work phone. If the colonel was innocent, surely he didn’t need to influence TJ’s testimony, should it come to that.
TJ dragged to his feet and swigged the last drop of water before giving Jared the reply he wanted. “The colonel’s
a friend of mine. Tell Cleo this has nothing to do with the dig site. She can rig maniacal witches in the roadway with a clear conscience.”
Jared looked relieved. “She has some warped idea that you’re harboring a problem you’re not telling us about, and she was afraid the colonel might be it. She’ll be relieved to hear she was wrong.”
Oh, shit. TJ crushed the plastic bottle and heaved it at the trash bin. It bounced off the rim and fell in.
That Mexico job he’d been offered was sounding more promising by the minute. “Take her on a vacation while you still can,” he advised his younger brother, out of caution as well as concern. “Rugrats are cute, but they eat up all your privacy.”
Jared bounded up from the chair, full of enthusiasm. “That’s a great idea. We’ll take Matty to Disney World.” He halted and gave TJ a shrewd look. “You might want to go with us. Invite Pats. Cleo likes her. Maybe the two of you can settle your differences over the Mad Hatter’s teacups.”
Oh, damn, he longed to do just such a commonplace thing as that. It sounded so simple, so normal, and TJ could hear Mara’s laughter as the cups spun and fireworks blossomed. He wanted that some day. He wanted his own kids to shout with joy and surprise at the things he could show them. He wanted to be their hero.
“Carry a barf bag if you take Cleo on the cups,” TJ admonished, grabbing his shovel and driving it into the hole. Maybe he could solve the mystery of the bones before the rest of his life tumbled in on him.
Chapter Eighteen
She would lose everything.
After bolting from the B&B, Mara paced up a shaded back street, broad-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses firmly in place to hide the tears streaking her cheeks. There had to be some way out of this, but the child crying inside her just wanted to run and hide. Or find Tim.
She couldn’t believe after all these years she was reverting to that anxiety-riddled adolescent who saw Tim and her big brother as the security she craved. She knew better. Brad was dead. And Tim wasn’t really part of her life, no matter how much she’d like to pretend she was a film heroine and he was the hero riding out of the storm to save her. In his own stubborn, noncommunicative way, Tim was as much a pain in the ass as any film star, and she wanted him for far different reasons than security.
Sid had told her she needed a shrink. For a change, he might be right.
She hugged herself, hoping to hold it all in, but she thought she might burst from the power of her fury and terror. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t lose it all. She would do anything, anything, to save her film. Her entire future rested on it.
Maybe if she defied Tim’s federal injunction, ignored Sid, and brought in dozers...?
She couldn’t go back to Brooklyn and live with her aunt and uncle. She couldn’t go back to Irving. She didn’t have enough experience for anyone else in Hollywood to hire her. She only had this job because she’d married the boss. She had no education, no career, no talent except for disguising herself—and that was wearing mighty thin.
The film was all she had.
A pretty sad state of affairs if she did say so herself. Mara glanced up at the gracious old homes framed in ancient oaks and azaleas and wondered what it would have been like to have grown up here, in this oasis of stability in a world gone mad. Boring, probably, but boring wasn’t necessarily bad.
Maybe her family was right. Maybe she was meant to be a boring housewife, helping her husband to move up in the world, raising beautiful babies. Children were the future, after all.
She shook her head. Not her future. Going there was even worse than contemplating bankruptcy.
She was her mother’s future. If she was her mother’s future, then they were both damned.
A wry grin curled one corner of her mouth at that churlish prediction. At least her sense of humor hadn’t deserted her.
Once upon a long time ago, she’d worshipped TJ, loved him with all her adolescent heart. He’d understood truth and justice with a basic honesty that had shone through his every action. A teenage hunk who could be kind to a plain-Jane nerd had to have a special place in heaven reserved for him.
How could she destroy his work by bringing in bulldozers? Building her career on the ruins of his would turn her into a monster like Sid.
With her world crumbling around her, she needed to believe in TJ’s honesty and sense of justice. He represented an island of sanity in her life.
She needed TJ on her side. She’d already lost everything—what else did she have to lose?
Turning down a street leading to TJ’s storefront office, Mara knew what she had to lose, but she’d lost that a long time ago. Her stupid teenage heart had gone with TJ the day he’d walked away without looking back.
He could keep her damned heart. She’d lived without it this long. She just wanted her life back.
***
Cooled by the air-conditioned ride into town, TJ parked in the alley beside the office and climbed out of the car without glancing in the mirror to see what he looked like. He hadn’t showered and he probably stank, but that certainly ought to give his new secretary food for thought. He’d hired an airheaded teenager to guard the door and open the mail, hoping the age difference would discourage any of the fanciful ideas Leona had harbored.
As long as Mara was in the vicinity, he certainly wouldn’t be having ideas about other women. He’d forgotten how crazy she’d made him all those years ago. How could a woman drive him to the brink of murder and arousal at the same time? He alternately wanted to feed her and strangle her, depending on what tangent she’d taken that minute. He could spend the rest of his life spinning like a top with a woman like Mara around. He wouldn’t need war zones.
Hefting the box of artifacts from the trunk, he slammed the lid and carried them to the front door.
TJ grimaced as he recognized Roger Curtis lounging against the brick wall outside his door. Bad omens everywhere. Must be a full moon tonight.
“I’m tired, hot, and irritable,” he growled before the reporter could open his mouth. “Go find a bar and bother me some other time.”
Roger eyed TJ’s mud-streaked T-shirt and jeans. “I take it you won’t be joining me in a cold one.”
“I could, but I won’t.” He reached for the office door. He didn’t have the patience for pleasantries right now. His gut ached with guilt, and his mind roiled in doubt. He couldn’t remember ever being reduced to a state where his next action wasn’t clear and straight. He hated this.
“The independent investigator’s office this afternoon recommended a court-martial,” Roger said, undeterred. “Looks like Martin and his buddies are going on trial.”
“I’ve got my problems, he’s got his.” Rudely, TJ shouldered past Roger and entered the office, slamming the door behind him.
The phone was ringing off the hook. He should have thrown it against the wall along with the answering machine. It wasn’t as if he had more than two weeks left before the management company threw him out of this dump, anyway, so who needed phones?
Looking harried, his teenage secretary served coffee in Styrofoam cups to a couple of reporter types lounging on the cheap plastic chairs in his front office. From his laboratory, a radio blared a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. Just what he needed—musical accompaniment to his comic-opera life.
Cursing mentally, TJ ignored the men leaping to their feet, strode straight to the back room, and nearly dropped his box. Mara rose from his stool, wearing a white lab coat and her reading glasses and looking as if she belonged there. Behind her, his laptop slipped into a screen saver of a polar bear on ice.
He couldn’t do this. He wanted to drop the box and run for his life. Instead, he stood there gaping at the wickedly deceptive image of a Hollywood star dressed as his assistant and looking like the kid he’d loved back in the stone age.
She’d pulled her riotous curls into a fluffy knot on top of her head. The small wire-rimmed glasses looked so natural that he could swear it was Patsy staring over the top of the
m—but a different Patsy, one who had strength and determination shining behind her cat eyes instead of pleading anxiety and hero worship.
He liked the strength. It looked good on her. And it took some of the burden off his shoulders. He could fight equally with this woman and not fear hurting her feelings.
“I just talked to a Colonel Martin,” she informed him before he could formulate a coherent sentence. She glanced at a phone slip in her hand. “He said it’s urgent that you call him back.”
Life had an unfortunate way of dumping truckloads of manure on his head all at one time, TJ decided. He heaved the box onto the counter, grabbed the slip from her hand, and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “What are you doing here?”
“Borrowing your computer, since the library doesn’t have one. You said I could research your project. Considering I’m out of a job, I thought maybe you could use an assistant as well.”
He could tell by the twinkle in her eye that she was tweaking him, but he could also tell she’d been crying. He’d seen Patsy cry far more than he cared to remember. Damn, but he’d been an unthinking fool back then, a hormonal unthinking fool, although he’d never made her cry at the time.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. He refused to let guilt and tears drive him from finishing the excavation, if that’s what the crack about a job meant.
“What do you think is wrong?” she shot back.
The kid she’d been would have burst into tears. This one looked daggers at him, probably rightly so, but he didn’t have patience with the problems of her world of glitz. Let her take them to one of her rich ex-husbands. “Irving wanted a loan and pouted when you refused?” he suggested nastily.
Mara’s chin shot up. Her lips tightened. And TJ thought for a second she’d throw her clipboard at him. He waited. She didn’t respond as anticipated. She reached for a notebook on the counter and slammed it into his chest.
“Here. Look at this. See if you think it’s feasible before I present it to Cleo.”
He glanced at the opening page, recognized the drawing of the access road and dig site with modifications, and flung it back to the counter. He was too rattled to think right now. “I’ve got to label those specimens, take a shower, and answer my messages. I’ll look at it later.”
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