TJ’s lip curled against his will. In her high heels, Mara stood nearly eye level with him, and he wanted to grab her and kiss her silly.
Remembering the reporter’s accusations and knowing Mara’s cock-eyed optimism wouldn’t let her see the disaster looming ahead, TJ resisted. “I’ll be working night and day to get my job done so I can get out of your way. Don’t expect to see me around much.”
She made a rude noise, stood on her toes, branded him with her lipstick-enhanced kiss, then spun around and marched off, shouting orders at the staff lurking outside the door.
TJ continued leaning against the wall while he pushed his heart back in his chest. She’d almost ripped it out there for a moment. He’d be more careful in the future.
Chapter Twenty-six
TJ wiped at the sweat dripping off his nose, knowing he left a smear of dirt over half his face.
Nudging his hat back, he answered his screaming cell phone. He’d had call forwarding added to his business number in preparation for shutting down on the first of the month when his landlord would be throwing him out. So far, there had been a dearth of callers wanting to hire him. “McCloud Enterprises.”
“Señor McCloud, please.”
Well, he should have seen that coming. Leaning against his shovel, TJ scowled. “Speaking.”
“Señor McCloud, I regret to inform you that we have filled the position in Yucatan. We will not be needing your services,” the voice responded stiffly, as if reciting a memorized speech.
“Fine. Call me if you need me.” He hung up without a polite farewell. Had he the energy for it, he would have growled.
Was this how Brad had felt those last days of his life—pressured beyond bearing, with nowhere to turn?
He needed a break. He could hear laughter floating up from the beach, knew the film crew had stopped working to eat. He could walk a few steps and be in their midst within minutes. Maybe he just needed company to relieve the burden of his conscience. He didn’t know how Mara’s crew would react to his presence and really didn’t care. They’d dubbed him Indiana Jones and left him alone.
It was Mara’s reaction that mattered, and he decided he didn’t dare risk it. Ending up in bed together again wasn’t the wisest course of action. This time common sense instead of hormones would prevail.
He reached for a bottle of water from the cooler. The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could be out of her hair.
“Found anything yet?”
TJ almost dropped the water bottle before looking behind him.
The rotund mayor stood just outside the chain link, studying the mounds of dirt with what appeared to be fascination. Carrying his suit coat over his shoulder, wearing his white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, he looked hotter than TJ felt.
TJ grabbed a rag and rubbed his face, trying to figure what the town mayor was doing all the way out here on the island. He’d never expressed any interest in the site since TJ had warned him it didn’t contain pirate bones.
“Haven’t identified anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” The mayor would have been what—ten at most?—during World War II. He couldn’t have been involved in whatever had happened here.
“Guess clues would have been buried with the hurricane,” the mayor commented, dabbing a handkerchief to his forehead. “You about done yet?”
“Don’t think I’ll find much more without bulldozing the beach. Not certain anyone’s interested in going that far.” He could have interested lots of people in his Nazi theory a week ago. Not now. The grant people weren’t taking his calls. The grim spiral downward had begun as soon as his name had appeared in the media connected with Martin’s. Even the Defense Department had quit calling.
“Then we’ll never know who was buried here?” the mayor inquired, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket.
“Didn’t say that.”
“You know who they are?”
“Didn’t say that either.” Just call him a sadistic bastard, but it was nice to watch someone else squirm for a change. TJ collapsed on his plastic lounge chair and took a swig from his bottle of water.
“Confound it! Either they’re pirates or they’re not. Either they were murdered, or they weren’t. Why is the government paying you all this money if you don’t know anything?”
“They’re paying me to be cautious. I’ll write my report when I’m done. In the meantime, speculating is useless.”
“I thought you were an honorable man, Dr. McCloud, but I’m beginning to think you’re blocking progress for your own purposes. Looks as if the newspapers may be right.” Clearly irate, the mayor slid down the dune in the direction of the beach and the film crew’s laughter.
Might as well alienate the whole town while he was at it. He wasn’t a sociable man, didn’t need the approval of others. He had to live with himself, and that meant doing what he thought was right, regardless of consequences.
He just wished he knew what was right. Crucifying a friend sure didn’t feel right.
TJ picked up the letter he’d received from Jared yesterday, pulled out the picture Matty had drawn of Mickey Mouse, and read the boy’s uneven letters: “To Unca TJ, Yr Frnd, Matty.” So, he had one friend left.
He flipped through the photographs of Cleo and Matty riding blue elephants, Jared clowning with Goofy, and the neighbor kids, Kismet and Gene, standing in front of a pink castle. They were having a good time.
Jared had called last night to promise he’d take the kids and Cleo to his Miami condo and shelter them from any fallout. Cleo had been yelling in the background that she’d come home and get rid of the reporters, but Jared must have convinced her that TJ could take care of himself.
He missed them. He’d been traveling for fifteen years without any such regrets, and now he was getting bleary-eyed, wishing he could be as happy and carefree as they seemed to be, wishing he could have what Jared had.
Jared, the goof-off, the one his parents figured would never amount to anything.
TJ leaned his head back against the chair and tried to rearrange his priorities to suit the situation, but he couldn’t focus any longer. He needed Mara here to explain things to him. He wasn’t much on this family stuff. His parents had practiced benign neglect and let their sons grow up on their own. He’d always secretly admired the way Brad’s family had worked so hard together to achieve their goals.
Apparently, from Mara’s viewpoint, there were disadvantages to that kind of single-minded support. Maybe people weren’t meant to be happy.
He narrowed his eyes at the sight of still another reporter kicking up dust down the lane. His hired security guards had barricaded the turn-off from the public road to keep the jackals out. Mara’s crew had kicked in half the fee to secure the film site. Her people could drive past, but uninvited reporters had to hoof it.
TJ relaxed as he recognized Roger Curtis. The journalist had pulled his tie loose and discarded his sports jacket before he’d even attempted the walk. He and Roger had shared beers and battles together, and he trusted the man.
As Roger reached the gate, TJ tossed him a cold bottle of beer.
Roger twisted off the cap as he nudged the gate open with his shoulder. “Why aren’t you down at the beach with your girlfriend?”
“She’s got her job, I’ve got mine.” Girlfriend. TJ snorted at the schoolboy appellation. Mara was way past being a girl. He hoped she was still a friend, but he wouldn’t call her on it right now. The week since he’d seen her last seemed like eternity. He wondered how long it would take before she became a distant memory.
He had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t happen this time around. Even if he hated the outcome, these past weeks would be branded into his brain cells for eternity.
“How much longer have you got your job?” Roger asked with the cynicism of experience.
“You and Clay could be clones.”
“Doubt if Pretty Boy would appreciate the comparison. He said I’d find you here.”
TJ
chuckled at the description. Clay had a gruff attitude that attracted women like flies. “I wouldn’t call him pretty by a long shot, but I know what you mean. Maybe we should learn to snarl at women.”
“Not worth the effort. Heard from Martin yet?”
That’s why he liked Roger. He didn’t mess around with small talk. “Nope. Don’t figure the colonel’s much on talking to me right about now.”
“The evidence is pretty damning, but he’s claiming innocence. I thought maybe you might have some insight. The two of you were close.”
TJ shrugged. “He’s an old family friend. He recruited me to the job. He supported my reports when his superiors wanted to ignore them. I want to believe he’s innocent. Your articles paint a pretty grim picture against it.”
“A lot of the transcripts could point to the operation of some kind of Balkan Mafia involving foreign military and not ours. The boxes could be testimonies the colonel collected in an attempt to snuff them out. But we’ve uncovered clear-cut evidence that Martin let Turkosevic go free. The bastard was responsible for the rape of fifteen young women in an uprising a year after he got out. I have your reports enumerating the evidence against Turkosevic’s superiors in the earlier massacre, and your forensic reports supporting the army’s conclusion that men under Turkosevic raped and murdered those women whose bodies were uncovered later. Not one of those people have been brought to trial. It looks pretty damning to me.”
TJ sipped his water and thought about it, then shook his head. “We can’t judge until we’ve heard the colonel. Aren’t reporters supposed to seek both sides?”
“His lawyer isn’t letting him talk, so I can’t report his side. A hearing has been scheduled, but he’s not locked up. You might want to watch your back,” Roger warned. “You’re the only one who can connect Martin to those boxes. How did you get them?”
“So you can know and be called as witness, too? It was just an army snafu, pure accident. I’ve got another in the trunk of the Taurus. You might as well have that one.” TJ dug in his pocket for the car keys. “I trust you’ve turned the first batch over to the authorities?”
“After copying every page,” Roger admitted. “I gave them to the FBI, not military. Best I could do.”
“Better than I managed. Now that the story is out, no one can bury it. I owe you.”
Roger shook his head. “That story made my career. I can have any assignment I ask for right now. It’s you I’m worried about. If there’s anything I can do...”
TJ shrugged. “You took care of a problem for me. Ask for an assignment to Honolulu and maybe I’ll meet you there.”
Roger laughed. “The only bodies there are mummified in suntan oil. That might be a pleasant change. I’ll leave the keys under the seat.”
Just like that, TJ thought, wishing for a beer as he watched Roger walk off—his career down the drain. It was so easy. Virtually painless—if it weren’t for losing Mara. No numbness on earth could shield him from the agony of letting Mara slip away again.
Even if he had a career left, she had a life he couldn’t share. She knew that. No point in prolonging the torture of teenage dreams. He’d finish up here and move on. She’d finish the film, start an illustrious career, and maybe she’d finally have the confidence she needed to stand on her own. She didn’t need him.
But right this minute, he needed to hear Do-wah-diddy-diddy humming behind him just one more time.
***
“You’ve put on weight,” Constantina griped, pulling up the hidden zipper at the back of Mara’s spandex gown.
“A month ago, you told me I’m too skinny. Now you tell me I’m fat.” Ignoring her hairdresser’s constant carping, Mara poked at her new hairpiece and grimaced. TJ was right—she looked phony in all this crap. Once she had the film canned and the power of the studio was really hers, she would ditch the artifice and come out of the closet as an intellectual harpy. Hollywood could use a good shock.
“Making love makes you hungry,” Constantina concluded with approval. “You will need a whole new wardrobe if you stay with that man.”
TJ hadn’t called her since she’d left. If she kept busy enough, she wouldn’t have time to fret over that. Call her Pollyanna, but she intended to keep her appointment with the doctor in the morning for birth control pills. TJ was still out there, and he wasn’t picking up women in bars. She had her spies.
“Making love makes me fat—a whole new concept in weight consciousness.” Mara jerked off the hairpiece and flung it on the bed. “I think I’ll let my hair go natural.”
Constantina snorted. “You don’t remember what natural is. Men like blondes. And redheads. Why look dowdy when you don’t have to?”
Okay, maybe she wouldn’t go back to brown. She poked her reading glasses on her nose and peered at the mirror closer. Nope, she didn’t like her glasses any better either—at least not while wearing an evening gown.
She liked glasses in the library and while reading the Sunday papers with TJ. She was two damned different people.
“I’m not out to impress anyone tonight. I’ll make it an early night. I have some material I want to go over before I go to bed.” Ignoring Constantina’s clucking as she rearranged her curls without the filler, Mara made mental notes of everything she needed to do between now and the time she hit the bed. She’d once thrived on being needed. Now, the idea of so many senseless tasks exhausted her. When would she ever have a life of her own?
She did what she had to do. She’d persuaded Aunt Miriam to keep Mama out of the institution for a while longer. They’d hired two nurses to watch her. It stretched her budget, but she could be in only so many places at once. “That’s fine, Con. I’ll just flap my lashes, fill the guys with alcohol, and get the checks signed. Don’t wait up.”
Leaving Constantina muttering dire imprecations, Mara sashayed down the stairs. She’d debated between holding the party outside where the humidity would curl the straightest hair, or inside, where the narrow dining room provided an intimacy she didn’t want without TJ present. She’d opted for the terrace, but regretted it as soon as the soggy air hit her.
Her guests were already mingling under the influence of the open bar. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the glitzy milieu of Mara the party girl.
“Durwood, so good of you to come.” She took the arm of one of her deepest investors. “Has Ian showed you the daily rushes? Aren’t they stupendous? Glynis at her best. That sheer dress for the sea scene was sheer genius.”
Durwood failed to notice her play on words or alliterative license, opting instead to look down her cleavage. “You’re better off without Sid, kid. We should work together more often.”
His suggestive tone opened pathways she once might have explored. Durwood was rich, currently single, and a power in this business.
With burgeoning confidence in her abilities, she chose to believe she didn’t need a man to get her where she wanted to go these days. Smiling, she patted his arm. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll have Ian give you a call when we’re ready to start the next project.” She leaned closer to whisper, “I have a wonderful idea involving U-boats and a spy who falls in love with the enemy. What do you think?”
She didn’t care what he thought, but Durwood liked giving advice. When he appeared ready to wind down, she located her next victim. Waving at the mayor, she kissed Durwood’s cheek and drifted toward the little group of locals.
“Mayor Bridgeton! So good to see you.”
“Fine party, Miss Simon. I understand filming is ahead of schedule. Do you have any idea when Dr. McCloud will be done with his project? I’m still working on the state, hoping to get that park.”
She didn’t have any idea when Dr. McCloud would do anything, and the knife in her heart dug a little deeper, but she smiled brilliantly. “We’ve worked out an agreement. He’s brought in his brother to help. I’ve been doing a little research on my own. Did you know German U-boats used to patrol these waters?”
One of
the men with the mayor laughed as if she’d just told a good joke. “You been talking to Ed? He swears he saw one land. Can you imagine some poor German wandering out there lost, eaten by mosquitoes and chased by wild boars? Maybe it’s their bones McCloud is digging up.”
The idea took root, and Mara glowed with the images it conjured. “Stranded in paradise. Stranger in a strange land. Or maybe a romantic comedy, if the daughter of a local fisherman finds them...”
The mayor coughed. “He’s being facetious, Miss Simon. I’m sure those bones belong to some poor fisherman who stayed out too late, got drunk, and never came home."
“Oh, no. TJ says one was definitely shot, and there are two bodies out there. But I wouldn’t end the movie that way. I prefer happy endings.”
“Movie?” The mayor looked vaguely alarmed.
Mara patted his arm reassuringly. “It takes a long, long time to pull together a script and a film. We won’t wreak havoc on your quiet town for another few years.”
She left him choking on his olive. She’d just had this marvelous idea for a story line. If she got upstairs in time, she could scribble it all down before it got away from her.
Let Ian handle the investors, media, and other assorted sharks. She wanted to be creative.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ignoring the fading Southern Living magazines scattered across the sixties-style laminated end table in the doctor’s office, Mara scribbled notes into her PDA as fast as her stylus would allow.
“Make note to buy keyboard,” she muttered. She ought to get an i-Pad.
“The doctor will see you now, Miss Simonetti.”
Maybe she should have made the appointment under her married name. Maybe she should have gone into Charleston instead of the local office. She’d never given much thought to prescriptions for birth control before—probably because she’d been married or about to be. Leave it to TJ to reduce her to the status of embarrassed adolescent again. Was there any way of amputating her shy gene?
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