Imperfect Rebel

by Patricia Rice

  Ash brown hair styled and cut for a minimum of care and a maximum of elegance, tailored suit fitted to a figure maintained by a daily exercise regimen, his mother was everything Cleo was not, Jared noted with interest. Perhaps he ought to get counseling to understand the psychology behind that.

  "I already have, Mom. The apartment is sold and the movers are hauling the furniture off to storage as we speak." He dug into his seafood pasta with a healthy appetite now that he had one less worry. He'd outgrown his need for the Manhattan playboy lifestyle anyway.

  "Well, this is always your home, dear," his mother said doubtfully. "I'm sure if your market losses are that severe—"

  The front door slammed. "Hey, Jared, you here? Mom said you were back." Jared's computer genius younger brother ambled in, his eyes sharp and discerning as he encountered the luncheon tête-à-tête.

  "Your brother has sold his apartment, dear." With an imperturbable air, Virginia gestured toward a chair. "He has some foolish notion of returning to that hovel in the south."

  Instead of sitting, Thomas Clayton McCloud leaned his square shoulders against the door frame, crossed his arms, and lifted his eyebrows in the distinctive family expression. "Couldn't take the ice queens up here any longer, could you, bro? Are the southern belles any hotter?"

  Two years younger than Jared, with their mother's ash-brown hair and their father's gray eyes, Thomas was the fair-haired boy the ladies swooned over. Unfortunately, his overgrown brain had given him a cynicism Jared couldn't maintain if his life depended on it. He figured Doubting Thomas would die a confirmed bachelor before admitting the existence of love and romance.

  "Hot enough for me," Jared said placidly, spearing another shrimp. "Have you patented the graphics program? I can't find a flaw in it."

  Thomas drew up a chair, straddled it, grabbed Jared's salad fork, and helped himself to the pasta on his brother's plate. "Patented and if all goes well, distributed next spring. Get famous in the film industry, old boy. I can use the endorsement."

  Get famous. Right. He should be so lucky.

  "Thomas, stop that. Where did you learn such appalling manners?" Virginia smacked her son's hand and rang for a maid. "Pull your chair up correctly and I'll have a plate brought for you."

  Jared spared his brother an understanding glance. "Congrats, kid. Even if you don't hear it elsewhere, I'm proud of you and think you're a genius. I might even admit we're related upon occasion."

  Thomas hooted, but Jared thought he'd scored points. It was about time someone in this family recognized their personal achievements instead of their public awards.

  After seeing Cleo with her family, he wondered what she would think of his family's inability to relate to each other, but he couldn't picture Cleo even sitting down at a table that harbored his over-achiever mother. They'd despise each other on sight. Well, that could result in some interesting holiday fireworks.

  "Hey, bro, you're drifting away. Surely you're not dreaming of the cute chick with the kids, are you? Those kinds are just looking for an easy meal ticket."

  Miraculously, Jared recognized Thomas's unease for the concern it was and didn't belt him one. He saw no good way to reassure him, especially since he couldn't discern whether Cleo, or Gene and Kismet were Thomas's biggest fear. If he and Cleo married, could they adopt the kids?

  The phone rang in the distance and no one leaped to answer it.

  "If you're talking about the news clip, those weren't Cleo's kids," Jared said absently, toying with his remaining pasta while wondering if he could persuade Cleo to marry him on the basis of adopting the kids.

  "I should hope not," his mother said vehemently. "It's bad enough to have your picture broadcast across the countryside on the roof of a shack, but in the company of—"

  Jared tuned out the static and listened to a maid answering the phone. He'd given his family's phone number to the kids in case they needed him. Not that he could do much from here, but he was learning responsibility carried a lot more worries than he'd anticipated. He had a flight booked for tonight. Idly, he wondered if he could catch an earlier one if he headed for the airport after lunch.

  "Mother, you're a bigot," Thomas was expostulating as the maid appeared in the doorway carrying the cordless receiver. "This is the twenty-first century. In another hundred years we'll be fortunate to find gender differences much less racial ones. I read a book—"

  The maid held out the receiver to Jared rather than interrupt one of Thomas's lectures.

  It could be the movers with a question. He didn't have any reason to panic. He'd meant to call Cleo this morning to make certain the kids had gone off to school all right, but in the chaos of moving, his phone had been disconnected. He'd only reached her machine all weekend. Not talking to her for over two days was about to drive him up a wall. Or maybe his family had already done that.

  Pushing away from the table, Jared slipped away, taking the phone into the hallway. "Yes?"

  "I have those franchise contracts revised, so stop by and initial the changes before you leave." George always spoke abruptly, as if he were doing three things at once. "Where are you on that script? Bring it with you. I have the producer coming in this afternoon and he wants to talk with you about it. Plan on being here by three."

  Jared contorted his face in a grimace he once used on his teachers. Cleo and the kids had him practicing clean language. "I don't have anything in hard copy, George. I want to take this in a different direction than originally planned." There, he'd said it. Impending bankruptcy terrified him, he didn't know how he'd handle it, but he had some weird idea that it wouldn't faze Cleo one iota if he risked pauperdom for creative freedom.

  He could almost see George hitting panic mode as he practically bit off the telephone. "What do you mean, a different direction? You're using the same characters aren't you? We're signing the deal this afternoon for those characters!"

  "They can't print anything until I draw them, George. Keep your ass on. This will be far better. I just may need a little more time." Jared winced at the string of epithets flying over the phone wire. So, he'd better work fast. He'd have to learn better working habits. This wasn't high school anymore. He could do it. "I'm on my way. We'll talk."

  He hit the Off button, his mind racing over all the things he needed to gather before leaving. He wanted to head for the airport as soon as he left his agent's office. He'd booked the seven o'clock flight, but he might still catch an earlier one.

  His mother called his name as the phone rang again. Mind on other things, figuring it was George again, he hit the Talk button. "Yeah, what is it now?"

  "Jared?" a timid voice inquired.

  Kismet. Panic sprang full blown. "Yeah, Kis, is everything all right?"

  "Gene's in jail," she whispered.

  Keep it cool, boy, he told himself, as his gut clenched in fear. Don't scare her. "All right. I'll see what I can do. Where are you, hon? Have you talked to Cleo?"

  Silence, then a whispered, "Help her, Jared." Gently, the line disconnected.

  Omigod. @#$%!

  Something had happened to Cleo. He knew it with every terrified nerve in his body, and his mind shrieked into overload.

  Career or Cleo.

  His whole life—his career—lay on the line. After the TV flop, he couldn't afford to tick off his agent and the only producer willing to take a chance on him. He had this absolutely fantastic new idea that he really wanted to do—

  Not without Cleo.

  That realization whopped him backward as he dropped the phone in its cradle.

  Not without Cleo, who had inspired him. Who couldn't survive in L.A. Who didn't belong anywhere but where she was.

  Cleo—of the warm heart and prickly exterior, with the cynical green eyes that lit with joy when he held her. The woman who had been knocked down and shoved around and still determinedly scaled the ladder, intent on providing a better life for her son.

  Cleo, who had given him more joy and life than a dozen Jags or three
dozen bachelor pads.

  Cleo.

  Ignoring his mother's increasingly strident tones, Jared returned to the dining room and smacked his brother on the shoulder.

  "Got your car? I need to get to the airport, asap."

  Thomas lifted a cynical eyebrow. "Hollywood calls?"

  Jared preferred to think he acted on sound instinct and not impulse as he threw his career down the toilet in exchange for the doubtful hope of building something good with an evil genius like Cleo. It no longer mattered if he made a right or wrong decision. It was the only one.

  He shrugged. "Hollywood be damned. This is my life."

  Eying him with a measure of respect, ignoring their mother's cries of annoyance, Thomas stood and reached for the keys in his pockets. "Maybe you've got the right idea, big brother. Who needs fortune and fame anyway?"

  He walked toward the front door without further explanation, and Jared didn't demand any. He'd ask what was eating his little brother some other time.

  Right now, he had Cleo on his mind.

  Chapter 28

  "Where the hell is she?" Jared refrained from leaping over the counter to strangle a strangely taciturn Marta. Even the store seemed silent, although a few people quietly browsed the counters, throwing him surreptitious glances.

  He'd caught a departing flight by the skin of his teeth, and repeatedly called Cleo from the plane, but he'd only reached her answering machines. Terror had become permanently embedded in his back teeth. And now he was here, and no one would tell him anything.

  "Haven't seen her," Marta said stiffly.

  "Kismet called." He tried not to shout. He was known for his good humor and laid back manner. He wanted to scream the roof down now. "She said Gene's in jail. What do you know about that?"

  Marta nervously wadded a corner of her shop apron and stepped back. "They caught him with an ounce of crack over by the school this morning."

  Inhale, Jared. He gulped air and thought frantically. "He wouldn't do that," he said in decision. But what would that do to Cleo? She'd have nightmares.

  "Gene's mother says Cleo gave it to him. Word is, she's been arrested before for possession. Know anything about that?" Marta asked a little too casually.

  "Dadblame it, woman!" he exploded. At least he'd managed to control his choice of words. One did not swear at women down here. He knew everyone behind him was listening intently, but panic laced his blood, and he didn't give a damn. "What do you think? You think Cleo would give those kids crack? Are you out of your friggin' mind?"

  Perhaps he raised his voice a little too much. Marta took another step backward—and this was a woman who looked like she could bench press a sumo wrestler. Jared forced his voice down to a dull roar. "You'll have to ask Cleo about her past. That's not for me to say. But I can tell you this, Linda's lying through her pointy black teeth. Think, woman. Would the Cleo you know do anything at all to hurt those kids?"

  Marta's shoulders slumped, and she wiped her eyes with her apron. "Cleo's the one who found my brother-in-law a job after he got sober," she muttered. "He has three kids to support, and they would have all been evicted." Dropping the apron, she set her chin. "She never says anything. She just goes to work and does it. I couldn't believe the gossip, but it's all over town. There's not a soul here who'll enter the store of a known dealer. Not in this town. I didn't know what to say."

  All right. Give him something he could do, and he was okay. It was the helplessness that made him crazy. "Linda wants revenge." He didn't lower his voice. Let everyone hear him. "She's out to get even with Cleo for calling Social Services about the kids. You call every damned soul Cleo ever helped and you tell them that. And you tell them to get their rear ends over here and let Cleo know they're behind her, one hundred percent. That's what friends are about."

  He stormed out, glaring at anyone who dared meet his eye. No more Mr. Nice Guy. People occasionally needed a good kick in the derriere to prompt them to do the right thing. SuperGoof could play Mr. Asskicker just fine when the occasion warranted.

  His fury carried him half way to the island, and fear took over from there. Would they have arrested her yet? Or would she be turning the house into a bonfire in a fit of self-destruction? Any normal person would be hunting Linda down with an ax, but not Cleo. She'd hack off her own hand first.

  He knew her entirely too well, and that made him very afraid.

  No witch or skeleton interfered with his progress. No Cleo sat on the roof, pounding out her rage. The house sat ominously silent, waiting.

  He crossed the weathered soft gray of the porch. Cleo hadn't painted it, but she'd used treated lumber for repairs, making it stronger than the original. He could see Cleo reflected in this house, a sturdy gracious lady who scorned useless adornment but who would weather any storm and shelter those she loved.

  She would be protecting Matty.

  He strode in without knocking. All the pieces of sheet metal and cogs and gears had disappeared, but she'd done most of that earlier to give the kids room. Dropping his duffel and laptop on the armchair, he followed instinct, knowing she was here.

  He found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a scrapbook of photos and mementos. Beside her she'd heaped children's toys and collections of shells and stones, apparently in preparation for packing. The floor was littered with carefully sealed and labeled boxes.

  Her eyes were dry when she looked up, but he could see tear tracks in the dust on her cheeks. She didn't look pleased to see him. She simply turned back to what she was doing.

  "Have you called a lawyer?" he demanded. He had no patience left for sloppy sentimentality. Someone around here had to keep their heads.

  She shrugged. "What for? A public defender can handle Gene's case. He'll plead innocent; it's his first offense; they'll let him go."

  "And you?" That sounded too easy. Something was wrong here.

  "Gene won't testify against his mother," she said flatly.

  She left him to figure it out. Linda claimed the drugs came from Cleo. Gene wouldn't deny it. Cleo would return to jail.

  "And you're sitting here packing up Matty's stuff and not even trying to fight it?" he asked incredulously, anger escalating.

  She shot him a look of curiosity. "It's not as if I have any say in the matter. Just being involved with anyone who deals in drugs is a violation of my parole."

  "You're not even going to fight?" he yelled. "What the hell do you think lawyers are for? You're not guilty this time, Cleo! You've got a case. You don't have to go through this." He wanted to pick her up and shake her, but she'd had enough violence in her life. He turned and slammed his fist into the wall instead.

  "I trust that made you feel better," she said dryly.

  Shaken by the extent of his fury, not ready to deal with the source of it, Jared nursed his bruised fist and glared at her. "Sometimes, it pays to get angry. Have you called Axell? Have you heard from Kismet?"

  He thought he saw concern finally awaken in her eyes. The fool woman wouldn't fight for herself, but she'd fight for someone else. All right, so he was in a relationship with a schizoid. He damned well had no intention of sacrificing his career for a woman who would spend the next year or two in jail rather than fight for her rights.

  He'd make her fight. Thinking of Cleo behind bars would unhinge him.

  "I assumed the kids were with their mother," she answered. "They haven't been here all weekend. Wasn't she in school today?" Alarm danced across her features as she realized how far she'd sunk into that depressed state she used as self-defense.

  Jared wanted to reach out and comfort her, but Cleo had to learn things the hard way. He could see that right now. He was far more relieved to see the alarm and anger building than the sad, defeated expression he'd seen when he entered. "She called me in New York. I don't think it was from school. I'll call Liz and find out."

  Cleo clutched the scrapbook to her chest as Jared spun around and walked out. He'd looked harried and exhausted, with tau
t lines drawn about his mouth, not at all the smiling, charming man who'd left here. Had she done that to him?

  Thoughts chased madly in circles in her head as she heard his low voice on the phone in the kitchen hall. She was so used to being alone that she hadn't thought of anyone but Matty. Jared was a grown man and could take care of himself.

  Of course, she hadn't thought Jared would return. She'd figured someone would tell him she'd been shipped off to prison, and he'd shrug and get on with his life, if she'd thought about it at all. She'd tried hard not to. She must have blocked out Kismet completely in some subconscious attempt for sanity. Now that Jared was here, the block dissipated, and all the emotions tumbled out: fear and anger and guilt and all those things that caused her to lose control.

  She didn't want to go back to being that insane woman she'd been in the past, the woman who needed drugs and alcohol to cope. The desperate craving for oblivion sang through her veins, whispered temptingly at the back of her mind, promised freedom from the panic freezing her thoughts. She was going to jail again. The clickety-clack of the train rumbling closer while she lay immobilized on the track obliterated any plan of action.

  She would lose Matty, her house, her store...

  Kismet could be sold into drugs and prostitution. Gene would have a record. They already had two strikes against them. The law would never give them a chance—just as it had never given her a chance.

  She watched in wide-eyed terror as Jared returned looking grim.

  "She wasn't at school. No one knows where she is."

  The social worker must have shown up and set Linda off on this trip. Kismet must have run away. Had Lonnie hurt her?

  Cleo bit her lip and tried to think through the chaos in her head. "I'll go back to her house. I know a couple of her hiding places." She dropped the scrapbook and swung her feet to the floor. She couldn't go to jail until she found Kismet. She'd focus on that.

  Jared caught her arms before she could go a step farther. "I'll go to Linda's. You call Axell. Get the name of a lawyer. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me and Gene and Kismet. I'll lose my mind worrying about you behind bars. Don't put me through that."