Undercover Heat

by LaBue, Danielle

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Earl teased. “And early no less.”

  “Too early if you ask me. “ Ty shook his hand, and kissed Carrie on the cheek, before heading for the water pitcher. She watched him pick through the pastries, but in the end he settled on a salt bagel. Her suspicions were confirmed. A salt bagel meant a hellacious hangover.

  “Hey Earl,” Carrie said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind going to see if we’re on time, because I promised my sister I’d be home--”

  “Whatever you need, sweetheart.” Earl ditched his Danish and squeezed her arm a on his way out the door.

  “What’s with him,” Ty asked Carrie. “He looks like you shot his dog.”

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing.” She sat down on the arm of the couch. “So it looks like you had quite a night last night.”

  Ty poured himself a tall glass of ice water and took a gulp. “What makes you say that?”

  “The salt bagel, your red eyes. And you need another layer or two of foundation to hide that cut on your face.”

  “I went out with Manny last night.”

  “And most of the morning it looks like.” She went for her purse and dug through it. “You want a few aspirin. I’m sure I have some.”

  “Carrie Ann, I’m okay. Really.”

  His tone sounded strange. The kind he used in front of others. Friendly, but distant. And completely devoid of his southern accent. He stood at the window, staring out at the city. His shoulders rounded, and his free hand buried in his pocket. “You want to tell me what’s gotten you in this mood?”

  “What mood? I’m not in a mood.”

  “Does it have to do with the bar room brawl you and Manny found last night, or something else?”

  “Oh man, don’t tell me that made the papers already.”

  “Not yet, but the day is young.”

  He rolled his eyes and kissed her on the top of her head. “I’m sorry, maybe I am in a mood. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Carrie stepped away when she heard the door behind her open. A stagehand with a frown and a mouthful of the powdered donut made a bee line to the food. “Shows cancelled,” he said, before swallowing. “Go home.”

  “What?” She looked at Ty. “What do you mean? We’re here and we’re ready.”

  “Emergency plastic surgery in Los Angeles. You’ve been rescheduled for next week in the west coast studio.

  “West coast?” Ty blurted. “What the--”

  The stage hand disappeared out the door, leaving Carrie with her jaw on the floor. “Did I just hear him right? Spending a week in Los Angeles would be impossible. The Inn opens Thanksgiving weekend, and I can’t leave for that long. I could fly out the day of-”

  Ty held his hand up in front of her. “Carrie, you’re staying put. You had prior commitments before you signed on. You’re not obligated to go.”

  “Earl expects me to.”

  “I’ll cover for you, and he’ll understand.”

  “But this is a job. I agreed to do it, and I want to see it through. Lizzie can watch the place for twenty-four hours.”

  “But why bother if you don’t have to.”

  He sat down on the couch, his head in his hands. Something was with him, too. Earl wasn’t the only one acting strange. “You don’t want me to go, do you?”

  “Of course I want you to go, but I just want you to be practical. You have commitments here. Besides, you know LA. You think the paparazzi here are bad, they’re relentless there.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And if I’m out there maybe I can smooth things over with Layla.”

  The mention of his ex-wife startled her. Like he welcomed in an intruder into their little isolated world. It occurred to her that maybe she was the cause of his sudden coldness. “Layla? What does she have to do with anything? Did something more happen?”

  “Look, you read those articles. I don’t know what she’s up to, or what she knows, but maybe it would be easier if you weren’t around. Just let me go, I’ll be back for the gala.”

  Again, the door opened, and this time Manny came in. He headed straight for the coffee and grabbed a handful of sugar packets. “So it looks like this party is moving to LA,” he said with a smile. “Thank God, because my tan is starting to fade. Earl said he was setting up some appearances out there so we should catch a flight ASAP. Carrie Ann, should I call Lizzie and have her pack a bag?”

  “Looks like we’re on our own,” Ty replied. “Carrie is sitting this one out.”

  “Did I miss something?”

  “Nope, not at all.” Ty rubbed her arm and stiffly moved around her. “She has commitments that she can’t get out of, that’s all.”

  “Tyler...”

  “Don’t worry about it, Carrie.”

  Manny frowned. “Okay, well I guess I’ll just make arrangements for the two of us.” His eyes shifted suspiciously between the two of them. “Um…maybe I should do that right now.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Ty closed the door behind Manny and lingered there with his hand on the knob. The way he gnawed on his bottom lip and his extra long blink reminded her of how he used to get into character. “So, I guess I should head out with him.” His voice sounded slightly higher than his own. “Good luck with your opening, and have a nice Thanksgiving. I’ll call you to see how it went.”

  If this was his interpretation of a heartfelt goodbye, it needed work. Carrie stood frozen. For the first time in her life, she realized that at that moment, she couldn’t read him. “So, I guess I’ll see you soon,” she said for lack of anything else.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “Me too.” His eyes held a sadness that didn’t match the smile. She might have asked him about it if he wasn’t already out the door, without so much as a kiss.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ty watched the sun set behind the palm trees that passed outside his Hummer’s tinted window. He couldn’t remember authorizing its purchase, but that didn’t mean much. One of his people dropped it off at the airport straight from the dealership, and Manny jumped at the chance to drive it home. That was fine with Ty. He drank more than his share of average champagne during the six hour flight. The last thing he needed was a DUI charge, and an unflattering mug shot gracing the cover of Newsweek.

  “So you want to stop home first, or should we head out for a bite to eat?” Manny asked, adjusting his Oakleys over his eyes. “I could go for a Pink’s hot dog right about now. How about you?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Ty said through a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind just going to bed.”

  “You just sat through a six hour flight, and now you want to sit some more. God damn, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  Ty lifted the cap from his head, and slid his hands through his matted hair. The industrial-strength gel the stylist used that morning flaked off on his fingers. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not in the mood to hang out.”

  “You’re still weirded-out by Carrie’s father aren’t you? Why? I mean, I know he’s her father and all, but if you want to be with her, and she wants to be with you, you’re adults. What’s the problem?”

  Spoken like a man without a clue.

  Ty shook his head and gazed out at the ocean. He spent all day listening to the jet engines, trying to figure a way he could make it all work. The easy part was being with her, it was living with the guilt that he couldn’t handle. That he was sure of. “The problem is me,” Ty said. “I’m the problem, and if she were smart, she’d run the other direction.”

  “Then it seems to me you’re no better than Deacon Langley. You don’t give her enough credit.”

  “Leave it alone, Manny.”

  “You want to get back together with her, don’t you?” he asked. “Come on man, level with me. You want Carrie Ann back.”

  Why deny it. Talking himself out of it was pointless
. “So what if I do? What could I possibly offer a woman like her anyway?”

  “Anything you want. You’re the highest paid actor in the world.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to Carrie,” he said. “Decency impresses her, and if that were currency, I’d be flat broke.”

  “Jesus.” Manny shook his head. “Remind me to get you some self-esteem for Christmas.”

  Manny pulled into the circular driveway of Ty’s Beverly Hills bungalow. “Cozy” was the word the real estate agent used to describe the place when she sold it to him, evidently because a five bedroom house was considered small on the west coast. It was also built into the side of the cliff, which was why he never spent much time there. A good hard rain and he’d end up ashes on the Valley floor. That’s pretty much how he thought of LA. One minute high and dry, the next, ass end in a mud puddle.

  “Ah shit,” Manny mumbled. “That’s Layla’s car, isn’t it?”

  Ty looked past the three-tiered water fountain. Sure enough, parked next to the pool house sat Layla’s white Maserati. “Looks that way.”

  “What the hell is she thinking? You two are divorced. She just can’t show up at your house unannounced. She’s trespassing.”

  “Right, so I call the police, and tomorrow its front page news. That’s all I need.”

  “You can’t let her get away with this.”

  “Look, I want to talk to her anyway. See what’s up with the whole Carrie thing.”

  Manny shifted the car into park and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Listen man, don’t take this the wrong way, but Carrie was on a hit TV show. Did she really think she’d be immune to the gossip columns? And not to sound totally insensitive, but if she has an eating disorder, or did, is it really that newsworthy? I mean, look at this town, walking skeletons with tits.”

  “That’s really not the point, Manny.”

  “I know her family would be a pissed off if it came out in the press, but for the most part people would sympathize with her. And if Layla was the one who leaked it, she’d be the one who looked bad.”

  Ty rubbed his temples and stared out the windshield. Manny was a good guy. He could tell him about the baby, and he probably would have, if he wasn’t preparing himself for a meeting with his ex-wife. “I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense, but trust me. There’s a lot more to the whole thing than you think.”

  “Layla’s a viper, Ty. You know she’s not into reason. She’s just into money.”

  “Well, fortunately I have some, and if that’s what it takes to cool her down, Carrie is worth it.” He opened the car door and stepped out before Manny had time to talk him out of it. Grabbing his leather carry-on from the back, he headed across the imported limestone path to the front door.

  “Hey? Do you want me to at least wait for you?”

  “Nah. I’ll call your cell if I need you.”

  The scent of the rose gardens greeted Ty, delivered by a healthy swirl of the Santa Anna winds. The petals danced in the breeze, and he thought about picking a few and sending them home to Carrie Ann. Hell, yeah. He could rent a private plane and fly them back to Middle Valley with a love poem so hokey she’d laugh. Her father would love that.

  He tried the knob before bothering with his keys. Like he figured, unlocked, the heavy oak door swung open. But something just inside impeded its path. He heaved a shoulder against it and pushed through. An overstuffed cardboard box skidded across the marble foyer, meeting its counterparts in a pile in front of the stairs.

  The place smelled like it had been closed up for a while. Musty. Along with the boxes, the immediate space in front of him sat a sea of clothes and linens, and other assorted clutter. Most he recognized as his own. He pushed a few aside to deposit his keys on the foyer table, but then realized it wasn’t there. In fact, nothing was there. No brass mirror, no sixty thousand dollar grandfather clock Layla insisted she have imported from Switzerland. Just empty space and the tiny specks of dust that floated in between.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Ty froze at the sound. Nails on a chalk board best described her voice. He looked to the balcony at the top of the stairs. Layla stood there with a cardboard box balanced under her chin. The words “Layla’s Knickknacks” scribbled on the side in purple Sharpie, but he could clearly see the top of his Emmy peeking out of the open flap. “What do you want with my awards?”

  She glanced down at the gold statuette. “Oops, my bad.” She smiled and dropped the box down the stairs where it landed at Ty’s feet.

  “Nice to see you too, dear.”

  Layla pushed her short blond hair behind her ears, and pranced down the steps. Her flimsy tank top did little to support her enormous breasts, but of course it didn’t have to. She’d paid the plastic surgeon enough to ensure they’d support themselves. “So to what do I owe this warm welcome?” Ty asked, his eyes starting to water from her saturation of Chanel. “I figured a lady like you would have the courtesy to call first. That is, if I still have a phone.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here. But since you are, I’ll take this opportunity to tell you that the Maserati needs some body work, and the boat has barnacles.”

  “Since when do I have a boat, and what the hell is a barnacle?”

  “Since I bought one last month, and it’s something that wrecks it if you don’t give me money to get rid of it!” She stomped her foot like an angry child. Ty was reminded he was stone cold sober. Life with Layla was much easier at a two drink minimum.

  He stepped into the great room ahead of her. No furniture, no decorative art. Just the imprints of where the furniture used to be on the one-of-a-kind Persian rug. “So, I suppose you’re going to tell me you had to sell the furniture to support yourself.”

  “How else was I going to decorate the beach house? I don’t even have enough money to pay the gardener. You screwed me over Ty!”

  “I screwed you! Are you fucking kidding me?” He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them from wringing her neck. “Listen Sweetheart, I wasn’t the one who left you for a woman and sold the exclusive to every paper in town.”

  “Oh, please, it’s not like I broke your heart or anything.”

  “Why are you here, Layla? The divorce is final. You’re free to be whatever you are. And I am free to at least have my locks changed.” Ty turned when he heard the panting of a dog on the balcony above him. The burly boxer snarled, then barked when she saw him. “What did you do, convert her, too?”

  She folded her arms against her disproportionate chest and scowled. “If you’re referring to my lifestyle decision to be in an intimate relationship with a woman, I don’t think it’s funny.”

  “Of course not. That would require a sense of humor. So where’s Marcy anyway?”

  “Taking a client’s poodle to the vet. She has worms.”

  “Marcy or the dog?”

  “Jerk.” She picked up a box marked “Ty’s computer” from the stack, and pretended to inspect it before dropping it to the floor. It landed with a thud.

  He walked around her into the kitchen and surveyed the barren space. The glass-front cupboards were void of dishes. Even the appliances had been removed. He chuckled and peered out the sliding glass door at the empty poolside patio. “So what are you doing here besides robbing me blind, Layla?”

  “I told you. I need money.”

  “I can’t help it if you went through twenty million dollars already.”

  “Hey, I don’t intend to live like a pauper, while you're running around buying million dollar jewelry for your little whore.”

  It took a moment before he realized what she was talking about. The sapphire necklace he’d given Carrie. It had a been a hot topic this morning in the gossip columns, but only a few reports dared to make the leap that he’d given it to her.

  “Don’t bother denying it, either. A hillbilly farm girl like her doesn’t have the scratch to buy things like that.”

  In his whole life, he
had never hit a woman. He’d never even been tempted until right this moment. But instead, he took a deep breath and a careful step away.

  “You know Ty, I’m just like the rest of the world. I like to keep up on your exploits. What you’re doing. Who you’re doing.” Layla’s freshly collagened lips twisted in an evil sneer. “Looks like you and Carrie Ann Langley have been spending quite a lot of time together.”

  “And it looks like you’ve been going to great lengths to prevent that,” he said. “I didn’t know you were such a fountain of knowledge when it came to my past history.”

  “Oh please, everyone who worked on that show knew you and Carrie were sneaking around. I didn’t divulge anything that wasn’t old news. I was just “reminding” the public that’s all.”

  “And collecting a finder’s fee,” he added. “Tell me, you haven’t taken it upon yourself to have me followed, have you?”

  Their eyes locked, and Ty swore he saw a hint of a smile.

  “Of course not,” she stammered. “What reason would I have to do something like that?”

  “Oh, I can think of about twenty million of them.”

  “Look, I’m the helpless victim here,” she yelled. “My wayward husband left me destitute, while he’s in the arms of another woman!”

  Ty laughed and shook his head. “Please don’t stand there and paint yourself as a woman scorned. I was nothing to you except your personal bank.”

  “That’s not true! I love you!”

  “You love what I’m worth.”

  “You broke my heart, Ty Hollister. Plain and simple.” Tears meandered down her cheeks, leaving long black streaks in their wake. She brushed them away with a freshly manicured finger. “Okay, so maybe I did help out the reporters a little, but how else was I supposed to get your attention? I never meant to hurt you, Ty. I just don’t think you realized how much you hurt me.”

  He stood there a moment, listening to her sniffle and watching her unstick her hair from her cheek. Nothing about Layla was genuine. She was as fake has her silicon breasts and her acrylic nails. But the fact was, he couldn’t blame her for everything. He had a hand in this mess. So he sucked it up and went to her, folding his outstretched arms around her.