Imperfect Rebel

by Patricia Rice

  Cleo gazed at him in wonder and disbelief. The concern in his eyes was too real to ignore. She smoothed his creased, bronzed cheek with her palm, wishing she could wipe away the worry, knowing she wasn't worth his concern. "Axell would shout and yell. I'll call a lawyer tomorrow. I doubt I'd find one at this time of day. Go to Linda's, but be careful. I'll check Kismet's hiding places."

  He didn't look happy, but there wasn't much she could do about that. "Why did you come back?" she asked in curiosity. "You could have just called someone about Kismet."

  He looked grim glaring at her like that—Superman in a tantrum. "Cleo, when this is all over, I'm going to shake you until your teeth rattle." He walked out again, as if afraid he might do it now.

  Well, that was an interesting reaction to stress. She'd have to try it sometime. Meanwhile, she had to find Kismet.

  As Jared roared the Jeep from the drive, Cleo set out down the mangled paths the kids had made through the overgrowth between the houses. The hurricane had ripped trees and bushes out by the roots, and in the growing dusk, it was hard to see where she was going. Mosquitoes buzzed and bit, and she had to be wary of snakes and sandtraps. Kismet's favorite hide-outs might be gone. She may have found new ones.

  Gene had been arrested at school this morning. The sheriff had interviewed Linda in town, so she must have taken him to the mainland.

  But not Kismet. That did not bode well. Had the sheriff arrested Lonnie as promised?

  Kismet had called Jared. She was safe somewhere. Cleo had to believe that or lose what remained of her mind.

  Not finding any sign of the girl in the tangle of brush, Cleo turned toward the beach.

  * * *

  Cleo's screams hit Jared the instant he switched off the Jeep's ignition outside her house. He couldn't tell exactly where they came from, but the logical place was the beach. He'd already exhausted all the fear in him and had reached numbness some time ago. Cleo's screams induced terror, more because they were heart-rending wails than cries of pain.

  Hitting the ignition again, he floored the Jeep's gas pedal and careened down the narrow lane toward the beach. He'd searched Linda's filthy shack but hadn't found Kismet or anyone else. Something told him Cleo had found what he hadn't.

  The debris barrier blocked his way. Someone had been back to dig around the graveyard Matty had uncovered, but they hadn't opened the road. Leaping out of the car, he raced up the tangle of roots and limbs and sand. He used muscles he hadn't known he possessed to reach the top, and skidded all the way to the bottom on the other side.

  Cleo's screams sounded closer now, and bordered on hysteria.

  The sun had set, but enough light remained to see her slight figure silhouetted against the backdrop of shimmering waves. He could see no one threatening her, no ominous figures or vicious animals. She seemed to be holding something, but the shape wasn't recognizable.

  Adrenaline drove him. The sand dune had shifted, but what sand remained was loose and impossible to navigate smoothly. He nearly fell once, then tripped on driftwood and went sprawling. Picking himself up, he proceeded with even less caution.

  She quieted as she saw him running, but she was shaking all over by the time Jared reached her. Clasping her against him, ignoring the article of clothing she clutched in her fists, he gasped for breath and held her tight, taking her shudders into him as she sobbed and beat her head against his shoulder.

  "Cleo, don't," he pleaded. "You're scaring me. What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?"

  "Kismet," she gasped. "It's her sweater. Her things. Her drawing pad. She's..." She couldn't finish but wept harder.

  He'd thought Cleo had drained him of all feeling, but sorrow deeper than anything he had ever known permeated his bones. Disbelief followed close behind, then rage. Never in his life had he been through something like this. He'd never lost a loved one. Cleo had lost both parents. He'd never suffered grief, and given the cold competitiveness of his family, had never recognized love. She was putting him through every emotional wringer in existence, and he simply didn't have the experience to handle it.

  He held her, let her weep, and had absolutely no idea what to do except weep with her. He despised this feeling of helplessness.

  Waves washed against the shore, and struck against the rocks she'd warned him about the first day he'd arrived. He watched the rising moon against the tide, expecting to see a dark head of curls emerge from the water as it would in the movies. No such image appeared.

  "We'll call the police," he murmured. "They'll send out boats. We can look for her." Her body, at least. He couldn't imagine gentle Kismet battling an undertow to swim away to safety and happiness.

  He mourned the loss of all that talent, of a child on the brink of life who had so much to see and do ahead of her. It didn't seem fair. Why would evil creatures like Linda survive and gentle ones die?

  He rocked Cleo until she ran out of sobs.

  Together, they gathered Kismet's favorite possessions and walked back to the car.

  Chapter 29

  Coast guard cutters and yachts from the harbor turned out to sweep the water with searchlights once word spread. The sheriff called in off-duty officers, and the state police walked the storm-ravaged shore.

  Cleo refused to leave the beach. Jared wrapped her in blankets, sat her down on the sand, and curled his arms around her to protect her from the cool wind off the water. Nothing stopped her shudders.

  If he could rip his heart from his chest to ease her sorrow, he would, but he was helpless. He'd thought he'd grown up a little these past weeks, but nothing had taught him how to deal with tragedy. Cleo had shown him how to look outside himself, how to accept responsibility for others, even how to use all his advantages for good cause, but what good did that do when he couldn't change the wrongs that needed righting?

  So he held Cleo, and cherished her, and vowed he would turn the world upside down before he let it hurt her again.

  One by one the searchers gave up, promising to return in daylight. By the time the last searchlight switched off and the sheriff stopped to offer stilted condolences, Cleo had fallen asleep in Jared's arms.

  "Sometimes, life don't make no sense, boy," the burly man said, shaking his head. "It ain't gonna be any easier for her tomorrow. Take her home."

  Jared wished he could. Home for him was in Miami, in his sunlit apartment overlooking the water. He'd tuck Cleo between satin sheets, lock the doors, and open the windows to the sound of surf and laughter.

  He'd known Cleo would never share that with him, but the full implications were just starting to sink in. He couldn't push Cleo. He had to wait—patiently—until she was ready. He'd never possessed a large store of patience.

  She stirred as he carried her to the car and tried to settle her into the seat, but she apparently didn't want to wake any more than he wanted to think. She was unconscious again by the time the Jeep purred to life.

  He had a few hours before dawn to lay awake and plan his next action. He'd need more than a few hours to figure out what to do with the rest of his life now that he'd blown his career to smithereens.

  * * *

  Cleo woke the instant Jared climbed from the bed in the morning. Her head pounded, her eyes were too groggy to open, but she sensed his absence. He'd been a part of her all night, like blood flowing through her, keeping her alive, and his departure emptied her as brutally as a cut artery.

  She squeezed her eyes tight as she listened to him dress, trying to remember if she'd opened those beers she'd bought. She'd had some notion that she might as well enjoy her last few hours of freedom. What would it matter if she poured poison into her system when she would be soul dead soon enough? But she'd wanted to pack Matty's things before she sought oblivion, and then Jared had come home.

  Home. This wasn't his home. But he'd come back. And he'd held her all night, this man from another world, the gilded world she'd never known.

  Jared sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through her
hair, then kissed her cheek. She must look like warmed over death.

  "Cleo, hon? I've got to go into town to take care of a few things. Why don't I just call Axell and look into a good lawyer for you? I can drive into Charleston, interview them, find you and Gene someone willing to fight for you. I'll be back as soon as I can. You just stay here and get some rest."

  Like hell, she would. She wasn't a baby to be coddled and cooed at.

  But it was nice of him to try. She wouldn't bite his head off for that. She thought it might hurt her as much as him if she tried.

  That was the damnedest part of this sharing business. She couldn't yell or snap at him any more that she could at Matty.

  "My address book is in the desk," she said wearily, accepting this part of the reality awaiting her. She still couldn't face the glaring emptiness that was Kismet's place in the world. Some as yet undefeated part of her couldn't believe Kismet would take her own life.

  "Lawyers are listed under 'L,' for liars," she told him, curling up in a tight ball around her pillow. "The page under 'A' for assholes was full. Most of them know me, but they'll not thank you for your business."

  She thought he chuckled understandingly. She'd harassed every lawyer she'd ever come across—and she'd come across plenty. Lawyers were all asses looking for the easy way out, even when it meant costing a person their spouse, their kids, their career, or their home. If she'd had any brains at all, she should have gone to law school. She'd never had any brains.

  He wandered off, and she tried summoning the energy to get up. Her hair felt stiff and matted from the salt air. Jared had apparently removed her clothes before tucking her into bed, but he hadn't been brave enough to remove her T-shirt and panties. She hoped it was a sign that she still tempted him. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd be better off developing a disgust of her and getting the hell out of here.

  She'd bled enough for now. She would cut that artery some other time. Wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, she sat up and rubbed her eyes against the light from the window. They'd be out on the beach again, searching. She didn't want to know how often the bodies of drowning victims returned to shore. Matty's discovery of the old skeleton seemed somehow prophetic. The sheriff had said it had probably been some long-ago drowning casualty.

  Katy from the B&B, of course, had declared the skeleton a victim of pirates and had demanded excavation. Cleo supposed rumors of buried treasure were already whispering through town, and the beach would be inundated with curiosity-seekers.

  No manner of diversion could hide the fact that she'd failed Kismet. She'd enjoyed her weekend with Matty and family and hadn't looked hard enough to find her. She'd assumed the sheriff had arrested Lonnie and everything would be all right. She'd assumed too damned much. Just like Jared.

  So, that's where optimism took one. To hell and back.

  Or not.

  If Kismet had heard the sheriff's theory about the skeleton, what were the chances her active imagination had led her to plant those items on the beach so no one would look for her? Did she dare hope?

  Jared returned with the address book and a pad of rough sketches. "What are these? I found them on your desk. It doesn't look like Kismet's stuff."

  Sitting on the bed's edge, Cleo looked around for her jeans without glancing at what he held. "I tried to show Axell how gears work together to make motion. I've been studying the courthouse clock with Ed, and I had some stupid idea I could fix that cog. Now I know how DaVinci must have felt when he tried to explain flying machines. Except he could draw and I can't."

  "You need to learn computer drafting. It's easier." He threw the sketchpad on the bed. "I'm taking your address book with me. It's easier than copying everything down."

  She nodded and pulled a cotton shirt over her tank top. She needed to shower anyway. If he wouldn't mention Kismet, neither would she.

  She still felt the stark horror of her mother's untimely death. But she'd been a kid then. Maybe these things got easier with age. Or maybe she didn't really believe in Kismet's death.

  "Whatever," she said dismissively. He had to feel useful, so she'd let him. She knew better than to believe a lawyer could help, but people from Jared's world evidently felt better talking to leeches, and that was fine with her. She had better things to do, and she needed to concentrate on them. Before it was too late rang in her mind, but she was denying the inevitable in favor of one step at a time.

  Before Cleo realized he'd entered the room instead of leaving it, Jared jerked her from the bed, caught her face between his hands, and kissed her until her head spun. She had to grab his arms for support or her knees would have buckled.

  Only then did he release her to meet her eyes with that fiercely determined gaze she'd seen once or twice before.

  "You're not going to jail, Cleo. Believe me. I'm taking care of this. You just hang on until I get back. I have things I want to do with you that I haven't dared dream of yet. Think about it."

  She collapsed back on the bed, her heart thumping like a wound-up toy drum as she watched his form-fitting polo shirt and khakis stride purposefully from the room. A man like that could almost make her believe in miracles.

  Hope had never been part of her nature, so she wasn't certain if she could recognize it now, but something fluttered in her chest besides her pounding heart. Maybe she had gas.

  * * *

  Marta looked surprised as Cleo stalked in, jaw set and chin tilted in an attempt to maintain her battered pride.

  She'd gone down to the beach to see if anyone needed coffee or if she could help in the search, but no one would talk to her. They simply set about their organized plans and left her to stand alone, dying inside. She'd be damned if she'd be treated like that before she was even convicted of anything.

  Let them search the ocean. She needed to search elsewhere. Kismet had brains. If she wanted to elude her mother, she would find a way besides suicide. Maybe she was fooling herself, but it was better than waiting uselessly.

  "I don't push drugs," Cleo said flat out to her startled clerk. "I stole a teddy bear, for pity's sake. If you're going to look at me as if I'm a two-headed dragon, you can get out now. I don't need you or anyone else." She stalked to the coffee maker and poured some of the strong stuff Marta favored.

  "I believe you wouldn't hurt those kids," Marta agreed. "Why don't you return the favor and trust me with the story?"

  Cleo didn't like talking about herself. She didn't like her past. She didn't much like herself some days. But Jared had taught her talking could ease the pain, and she was carrying a bag load of grief right now.

  She talked.

  * * *

  Despite the hurricane, business remained slow. Maybe everyone in town was going to Charleston and the big warehouse stores to cut costs. Or already boycotting a drug pusher before she was found guilty. At the sound of the front door opening, Cleo caught herself from jumping up from her computer. Marta could handle a single customer. She didn't need to go out there.

  Hand on the phone, ready to call Linda's house again, she couldn't resist listening to the conversation in the front of the store. She'd intended to spend the rest of her life in this town, to raise Matty to be happy and healthy with friends all around him. She'd wanted to be a pillar of the community, sort of. Yesterday had dashed all that. She knew it. She simply couldn't help hoping for a reprieve.

  She ought to smack Jared for that stupid thread of optimism.

  "I'm here to see Cleo Alyssum," a commanding voice announced at the counter.

  She knew that voice. It had the power to strike fear in her heart. Not yet, she pleaded with unseen forces, returning the phone to the cradle and clutching her desk edge. She had to find Kismet first. And get Gene out of jail to safety. Who the hell had called the damned feds? Her supervisor ignored her as long as she attended counseling.

  "She's busy," Marta said curtly. "If you'll give me your name and business..."

  Marta could smell the law from half a mile away. With Cleo's st
ory fresh on her mind, she'd know the visitor wouldn't be good news. Frantically, Cleo tried to think of all the things she needed to do before they carted her off to jail. She hadn't said good-by to Matty, or called Maya with instructions about what to say to him. And she was the only one Kismet would trust. If she was alive, Cleo had to be there for her.

  Jared would be frantic if she wasn't here when he returned.

  That was a new and scary thought. She'd only had Matty to worry about in the past. Worrying about Jared in the same way caused her heart to stutter, but it felt right to worry about him. Jared had showered her with more love and concern than any human being on earth. Even Maya thought her a pig-headed fool.

  Despite their differences, Jared still managed to see through all her defenses, touch her in ways she hadn't known she could be touched. And he cared. He believed in her. He'd actually left his rich world to come back here to help her. She couldn't let him down, even if he was insane to believe she could be saved.

  She hit frantic overload as the deep voice boomed angrily.

  "She's violated the terms of her parole. The judge will hear her story when the time comes. For now, I have to take her in."

  "She's done absolutely nothing wrong," Marta shouted back. "You can't believe a lying no-good druggie over a decent hardworking store owner, you pig! The whole town will rise up in arms."

  Nice thought. Cleo was up and moving before she knew what she intended to do. She had no illusions of the town rising to her defense, but she didn't want to go anywhere until Jared returned, and that was final. She had to know that Gene would be all right, that Kismet lived, that Jared understood, and she didn't cause him pain.

  Besides, she was damned sick and tired of being treated like a piece of garbage by the government meant to protect her. She was a human being, and she'd damned well proved she could live as decently as anyone else. She'd earned some respect. Jared was right—it was time she learned to stand up for herself. She deserved it.