Mara drew herself up to her full height, nearly pressed her nose to his, and stabbed his chest with her finger. “This is me, Timothy John, not one of your lovestruck assistants. I’m sitting right here until you take time to listen to me. I’ll join you in the shower if I have to. You will not drive me off like you have every other damned female in your life.”
Out of all the shit load of crap turning his life into a cesspool, Mara’s blunt words pealed like heavenly bells of joy. He figured he’d gone insane, but something very like hope wormed through the barriers around his heart and opened a pinprick of light. Maybe he’d start with that shower offer.
The phone shrieked.
His secretary returned and burst into tears rather than answer it.
Both reporters appeared in the doorway at once.
Mara raised her eyebrows and waited expectantly.
“You’re hired.” Spinning on his heel, TJ shoved past the reporters and stalked out the door.
***
If it wasn’t so funny, she’d cry. Mara bit back both tears and laughter, gathered the teenager in her arms and patted her back, and glared at the stunned journalists who—when faced with genuine human drama—didn’t have the sense to follow TJ.
“Out,” she commanded them firmly. “Business hours are over. Go find Ian down at the bar and commiserate.”
They shrugged and obeyed. The answering machine she’d just purchased at Cleo’s Hardware picked up the call, and whoever it was hung up.
Mara listened to the girl’s sobbing account of a bad day and a broken love affair and idly wondered if happy teenagers existed.
Remembering TJ’s wild-eyed look as he stormed out, she smiled again. Men like TJ needed mystery and adventure in their lives but didn’t have the sense to recognize it in the everyday world around them. She thought maybe she could teach him a thing or two.
He’d better learn fast. She needed him here rather than out beating up reporters.
“Look, honey,” she soothed the miserable girl, “men aren’t worth our tears. Cry over babies and invalids, but tell the men in your life to go to hell. It’s the only language they understand.”
The girl looked at her in disbelief, but something in Mara’s expression must have made a believer out of her. She nodded and wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
“Go on home. I’ll lock up here. I don’t think Dr. McCloud will need you this evening.”
Mara ushered the girl out the door, turned the key in the deadbolt, and with grim-lipped decision, marched back to TJ’s office and the box marked “Martin” that she’d found in the closet.
She hadn’t just spent the last hours weeping in her beer. She’d been listening, reading, and catching up on news she’d ignored while involved in her own troubles. A man named Martin had played a significant part in current events lately. TJ had been in the Balkans. This box contained notebooks that mentioned both the colonel and TJ.
It looked to her as if TJ McCloud might be involved in something far larger and darker than his impassive façade revealed. Maybe if she explored further, this could be her chance to rescue him the way he used to rescue teenage Patsy.
***
Showered and relatively more lucid, TJ drove across the causeway back to town. He would have to call Martin tonight.
First, he needed to see what Mara wanted. If she owned half the film company, surely she couldn’t be out of a job. She was just being dramatic.
After the debacle at the dig site, he couldn’t believe she’d come to him unless something was far more wrong than she was letting on. She might infuriate him, she might enflame his hormones, but she was still Patsy Amara, the funny, sensitive girl he would protect with his life.
So he had overdeveloped Neanderthal tendencies. Probably went with the size and hardheadedness.
He’d intended to find Mara at the B&B, but passing his office on the way, he saw a crack of light through the curtains. The idiot he’d hired should have turned them off and locked up at five. Surely she could manage that much.
Surely thieves didn’t turn on lights.
Switching off his headlights and pulling to the curb a few doors away, TJ got out of the car and slipped back to the storefront. Curtains blocked any view inside.
Without hesitation, he stuck his key in the lock and opened the door.
Mara instantly appeared in the lab doorway. “I hoped you’d be back tonight.”
She had dust smudges on her perky little nose, and he wanted to kiss them away. Her topknot was tumbling from its pins, and he thought her natural curls far more crushable than the elaborate hairpiece. She’d shed the lab coat, revealing her movie-star designer crop top and hip- huggers, but he rather liked that tanned expanse of taut tummy wedged between vibrant reds. He more than liked it.
Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the distraction, he focused on familiar green eyes. They watched him warily but not out of fear as much as concern. He had the sneaking suspicion Patsy had been playing snoop again.
“Some things don’t change, do they?” he asked wearily, repeating her favorite phrase, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Have you eaten? I ordered pizza.” She swung around and marched back into the lab without hammering him with questions.
He remembered that about her with a degree of pleasure—she didn’t try to pry things out of him when he didn’t want to talk. Unfortunately, she still possessed the audacity to apply her razor-sharp mind to discovering his secrets on her own.
The aroma of sausage-laden pizza rumbled his stomach, and he grabbed the Coke bottle on the counter before tackling whatever monumental catastrophe Mara was about to fling at him.
“The answering machine has caller ID.” She took one of the counter stools and swung in slow circles, sipping her soft drink and not watching him. “The person with the Washington area code keeps slamming down the phone rather than leave messages. The last few times, it’s come through as ‘unknown caller.’ Do you think that means he’s on a cell phone now?”
He refused to think of Martin on an empty stomach. Reaching for a pizza slice, TJ shrugged and took the other stool. He really didn’t want to talk. He’d much rather carry her to the couch and find better things to do. It was easier to see her naked in his mind than think about boxes and loyalty and scandal. That skimpy top of hers wouldn’t resist a determined tug. He wondered what kind of contraption she wore under it to disguise her cupcakes as melons.
“Until we solve this problem of ours, we’re not going to bed,” she told him firmly, popping his bubble.
TJ glared at her and ripped off a bite of pizza instead of answering. Patsy’s honesty never had any limits.
She shoved her notepad across the counter to him. “Sid fired me. I’ve lost the film because of you. The ratfink promised I could use the profits from the film to buy out the company, but there won’t be any profits if Sid and his creative bookkeeping take over. I gave up my share of the house for this opportunity, and you’ve cost me a fortune. Normally, I’d tear you into shreds and spit you out like bad meat, but I think you’ve got as many problems as I do.”
He glanced down at her sketch and took a swig of Coke. If he was reading the plan correctly, Cleo would hate having her big bushes ripped out. It could destroy the delicate ecological balance out there. On the other hand, it might work.
“Why save the film if you’ve been fired?” He shoved the sketch back at her.
“Because it’s my film,” she all but shouted.
Okay, he should have figured rationality wouldn’t last. She still operated on nervous energy. She just covered it up better these days.
The phone rang.
Mara stared at him, waiting. He reached for more pizza.
“You have to talk to him sometime,” she said softly.
“What do you know?” he growled.
“The Intimidator I remember never backed down from a problem.”
“I’m not backing down. I’m protecting a friend.”
If he talked to Martin, should he tell him about the boxes? Should he say he had read what was in them? Or promise to destroy them or turn them over to the authorities? If he didn’t talk to Martin, he could ponder his choices a while longer.
“If he’s your friend, then you ought to tell him so,” she chided. “The question is, is he really your friend?”
Cursing rabidly, TJ grabbed the phone and instead of ripping it off the wall, he answered it.
Chapter Nineteen
“McCloud?”
The gruff voice sounded as commanding as ever. Standing beside his desk, TJ relaxed his grinding back teeth enough to respond. “Colonel. I’m a little short-handed down here, but my new assistant said you called.”
He ignored the wadded paper napkin Mara flung at him from the worktable.
“Your family told me where to find you. What in hell are you doing in that back hole? I thought you were in Africa until I saw you on the news the other night.”
Well, that explained why the colonel hadn’t called until TJ’s little contretemps with Mara hit the television news. Grimacing, TJ flung the napkin back. “A little R&R, visiting the family. Needed a little time off.”
“Can’t say I blame you. I’d like a little of the same if I could get these damned media hounds off my back. Saw you’ve got some movie set down there, so you must know what they’re like. Anything for a story. They’ve been on my doorstep night and day.”
The colonel was never this loquacious. TJ tensed again. “The film crew brings them in,” he agreed cautiously.
“None of them bothering you about me, are they? I’d hate to see a friend dragged into this.”
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a little mess,” TJ answered evasively. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Not that I know of, boy. Stay out of it, if you can. Go back to Africa where they can’t find you. It will all blow over soon.”
“Right. I’m considering a Mexican contract, down in Yucatan, so I’ll be out of touch. Let me know if I can do anything before I leave.”
TJ let the colonel hang up first, then slowly lowered the receiver. Concentrating on his thoughts, he almost jumped when Mara covered his hand with a warm palm.
“Is he still your friend?” she whispered anxiously.
TJ wrapped his callused fingers around her manicured ones, glad to have a real friend to help him through this. Mara might have changed physically, but he trusted her innate honesty. Perhaps he’d gone ballistic over the court order, but once he’d calmed down, he’d believed that it was her ex’s fault, not hers.
Filling his lungs, he processed his conversation with the colonel a second time. Confirming what he’d thought the first round, he shook his head. “He was telling me to get out of town.”
“That means he’s protecting you, doesn’t it?”
Gad, even after all these years, she was still a cock-eyed optimist. He didn’t want her involved in this. But he’d never been less than honest with her, either. “No, that means he’s protecting his ass. A few months ago, he ordered me to destroy boxes that might contain evidence against him, and he doesn’t want me testifying to that.”
He’d trusted Martin, admired him, followed him into the hell of war zones. He still couldn’t believe the man had been using the power of his position to rake money out of the pockets of rapists and murderers, but the possibility that criminals had gone free because of him had become one step closer to real.
He exhaled the air he’d taken in.
Mara’s arms circled his waist, and her soft curls brushed his chin. “I’m sorry, TJ. It’s my fault, isn’t it? He saw that tiff we had in front of the TV reporters, didn’t he?”
“Tiff?” He gathered her against him, luxuriating in the feel of supple curves and exotic scents and mindless arousal. He didn’t let down his guard often, but Mara had a way of stealing under and around it.
She had a career of her own to save. He couldn’t involve her. He hadn’t fully read the material in all the boxes, but if the rest was as incendiary as what he’d read so far, he could go up in flames along with Martin once the press found out. If she was just starting a new career, she didn’t need her name connected to him and the scandal. Reluctantly, he set her aside and returned to the pizza box. “You said Sid fired you. Was that a tiff, too?”
She didn’t protest but returned to her stool and her pizza—no clinging vine , Mara Simon. He’d do well to watch his back if he really ticked her off. TJ chomped into his pizza crust.
“Yeah, Sid and I tiffed ourselves right out of marriage,” she said dryly. “I learned from Irving, but I take my lessons to extremes. After Irving, the passive-aggressive whiner who never argued, I thought my screaming fights with Sid were refreshing.”
“All of which is avoiding the point. What happens if he’s kicked you off the film?” Solving Mara’s problems seemed immensely more appealing than solving his own.
“What happens if your colonel discovers you have that box?” she countered, nodding at the neat stacks of notebooks she’d evidently been reading before he entered.
“I can’t get fired. If I talk Cleo into your plan”—TJ pointed at the sketch— “will you be hired again?”
“Probably not. If I know Sid, he’s planned this all along. Ian’s probably in his pocket. They’ll pad the expenses, pocket the difference, and tell the investors we broke even. He’s about bankrupted the company with those tactics. Baby girlfriends and his nose snort a lot of cash.”
“Damn, Pats, you sure can pick ’em.” TJ slammed his plastic cup down and tried not to picture her with some old Hollywood fart who snorted Coke and fondled kids. He wanted to rub his eyes to erase the image.
“Yeah, and you can’t pick any,” she retorted. “At least I’ve lived. What have you got to show for all your genius?”
Had him there. Truth and justice were pretty ephemeral at the best of times. What good had all his work in the Balkans done if Martin was letting the criminals go after TJ identified them? “Okay, let’s get back to the problem. How do we get your job back?”
She wrinkled her pert little nose, and TJ had to admit it was a damned attractive nose.
“Get Ian drunk and pour him on a ship to China?” she suggested.
“Works for me. You find the ship, I’ll find the bar.” A good stiff drink would do him good, but then he’d have to go home and decide what to do about those boxes. Planning the demise of an evil little producer appealed to his more primitive instincts.
“Would you do that for me, even though I sicced the media on you?”
She sounded wistful, tugging at strings he resented having tugged, but no matter how hard he resisted her, he always succumbed sooner or later. Denying Mara was akin to denying himself.
He knew that if he were wise, he would stay out of her vicinity, but when had he ever been wise? He walked minefields for a living.
Deciding the box of evidence was no longer safe in his custody, TJ tucked it under his arm, caught Mara’s shoulder, and nudged her toward the door. Minimal contact, his superego screamed, while his libido conjured visions of showers and comforting arms and naked breasts. “C’mon. You can’t spend the night here. Let’s play Bounce Ian Against the Wall and see what happens.”
“This isn’t high school, TJ,” she warned, falling into step with him as he left the office, waiting patiently while he locked up and stored the box in his trunk. “You can’t bully Ian and Sid into behaving.”
“They’re bullying you, aren’t they?” he asked matter-of-factly, without a trace of anger.
Mara watched as TJ pocketed his keys and strode confidently toward the inn, his broad shoulders and tight ass swinging in the easy momentum of a born athlete. He’d been crushed and distraught two minutes ago but had switched into warrior mode in the blink of an eye. That’s what confidence and never failing did for a person, she decided.
She’d never have that kind of confidence, but she damned well wouldn’t let him run her life for her. Sh
e ran after him to catch up. “You’re not my big brother, TJ.”
It wasn’t quite dark yet, and she could see his scarred eyebrow arch in wry humor that had her squirming in embarrassment. She flushed and tried to wriggle out of it. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’d better not be your big brother.” He picked up his pace. “So, what am I?”
“What are you?” She skipped a step and caught his arm before he had her running out of her shoes. The warmth generated where she touched his bare arm and the heated look he slanted her clarified the question, and she descended from embarrassment to smoldering desire.
“Not boring, for certain.” She dropped his arm like a hot potato. They didn’t need sex confusing the issue here. They weren’t officially lovers, but she certainly didn’t regard him as a brother.
“Right. Not your brother and not boring,” he agreed as if that settled an argument. “But a bully,” he reminded her, soliciting her opinion with a facsimile of intellectual interest.
“Probably. But a good bully,” she amended, uncertain where he was going with this. “You just think that because you’re bigger, that you can take charge.”
“Is that what I do? Take charge?” he asked without any hint of distress, as if merely acquiring evidential information and not steamrolling down the hill toward Ian.
“Yes, you do, you know you do.” Hurriedly, she tried to explain before he pitched Ian out a window. “This is my problem, and I have to solve it.”
He seemed to mull that over a while, and she breathed easier. Stepping briskly she started down the drive to the inn at his side.
“All right, you get first chance at him. Then it’s my turn,” he said in satisfaction, as if they had similar goals in mind.
“TJ, you can’t—”
But he could. She caught and tugged his arm, but he stalked up the steps as if she weighed no more than a shopping bag. She skipped a step to keep up, dropped his arm, and hurried to get ahead of him. Politely, he opened the door for her.
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