McCloud's Woman (22 page)

“The store is doing nicely.” Irving helped himself to the coffee, then grimaced when he sipped it. “It’s cold.”

“Don’t drink it,” she advised wittily, taking a swig of her own. She desperately needed a caffeine infusion.

“I’m thinking of opening two more stores, in better locations.”

“Franchise them.” Swell, she needed her nose rubbed in how well she could have been doing if she’d stayed with him.

She could never have stayed with him. Unconsciously, she
rubbed the nose he had smashed and let the misery build. No matter how
much she’d learned in the process, she’d failed at every damned thing
she’d done.

At least this time, she recognized the breaking point
where desperation drove her to do something foolish—like running off to
Hollywood. Only this time, she had nowhere left to run.

Irving looked interested in her suggestion. “Franchising
involves more than I can handle on my own. I need to hire more staff for
the branches as it is. I’ve got to get back today. Why don’t you come
with me? Your family wants to see you.”

“My family wants me to shoulder their burdens.” Maybe she should just get up and walk away. It wasn’t as if
Irving
could fire her.

Irving had the tenacity of poison ivy. He’d never leave until she heard him out.

“Your mother really needs to be institutionalized,” he
said soothingly. “They’ve found an excellent home where she can have her
own apartment. She’ll be fine. These places aren’t like what you see in
the movies.”

She heard the disapproval in his voice. Irving never had
liked going to the movies. There had been a time when she’d practically
lived in them rather than go home at night.

“Unless Aunt Miriam or Uncle David intend to move in with
her, Mom will be terrified.” She squelched that hope with as much force
as her shattered psyche could manage. “Besides, I can’t afford it.”

“I’m doing very well,” Irving replied suggestively. “You
were young and foolish, and I didn’t handle things well. We could try
again. With your connections—”

That did it. The frayed rubber band that kept her motor
running snapped. Tires squealed. Mechanical parts flew. The engine
cracked and spewed steam. Mara lifted the cold coffeepot and swung.

Black liquid splattered across Irving’s smug face. Before
he could react, Mara smacked the empty glass pot upside-down on his
professionally styled and colored hair, shoved back her chair, and
marched away.

She dared them to lock her in the psycho ward with her mother.

***

TJ wiped the sweat from his forehead, stuck his shovel in
the pile of rain-sodden sand he’d dug this morning, and dropped down to
sit on the box he’d locked his tools in. “What now?” he demanded of the
visitor he found waiting at the top of the pit.

Jared looked up from the collection of artifacts
representing the morning’s work. “Rib bones and Nazi insignia?” he asked
in curiosity, holding up the gold buttons.

Despite his laid-back attitude, Jared worked as hard as he
played, so TJ knew he hadn’t come out here to poke through garbage. But
at the moment, TJ wasn’t in any humor to figure out what he wanted.
They’d learned non-communication at their parents’ knees.

The security guard had already notified TJ that three
reporters had camped out on the road and several others were trespassing
on Cleo’s property, trying to circumvent the barriers. How many were
actually interested in Mara’s story and which ones had sniffed out
Colonel Martin’s?

He’d retrieved another box from storage and opened it last
night. This one contained account books that made no sense to him but
showed odd expenditures an accountant might be able to follow. It was
becoming increasingly obvious that he made a lousy judge and jury. He’d
have to decide soon who should get the boxes.

Burning them would be easier.

Taking the gold button Jared held out, TJ turned it over
in his palm. “Tell Cleo there may be more to Ed’s tales of subs than we
suspected.”

“Nazi spies instead of pirates,” Jared mused, shaking his
head. “Guess I should have listened in history class. I didn’t think the
Germans ever touched American soil.”

“Ed gave me a book on U-boats. Besides the subs with
torpedoes, several carrying spies landed on the East Coast, but there’s
no record of any in the Carolinas. Spies needed metropolitan areas where
the men could blend in with the population. They’d stand out like sore
thumbs in a small town like this.” TJ took a long cold gulp of water.

Jared shrugged, losing interest. He eyed TJ instead. “You look like hell. I thought you won this round.”

“I did.” Of course, he’d also lost any hope of ever
meeting Mara on amicable grounds again, but that was just the beginning
of the story. She was better off out of his life right now. He’d
survived on his own for a long, long time. He’d do it again—once he
forgot the awe in her eyes after he’d punched her ex. Or the look of
amazement that night he’d lost it and driven them both out of their
minds. Or...

The picture wasn’t pretty. He knew how to focus on the immediate. “Is Cleo going to throw me out?”

“She’s pissed, but she hasn’t started heaving your worldly
goods out the window yet. She did dump Gene’s black snakes on the
driveway, and when I left, she was muttering about gators. She doesn’t
have anything against reporters personally, but she resents anyone
messing with family. You know how it is.”

Yeah, TJ knew how it was. Good thing he believed in gun
control or he’d be hauling iron by now, taking out a few of the nosy
bastards. He dried his face on a towel and wondered if all this was
worth it. “Tell Cleo I’ll cut line the instant she tells me to. This is
her hideaway, and I know what it means to both of you.”

Jared snorted. “The minute you’re out of here, the film
crew moves in, so you’re safe enough. I won’t say the same for the
reporters.”

TJ threw the towel down. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe
they’ll leave once they see there’s no story.” He knew better, but for a
little while, he could pretend this was just entertainment news and not
the beginning of the end—for Cleo’s sake. He never left a job undone,
but for Cleo and Jared and the safe world they’d built, he would walk
away.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Jared helped himself to a
soft drink from the ice chest and dropped down on the rickety lounge
chair. “I’ve seen how Hollywood operates. You forget, I’m part of the
media.”

TJ grimaced. “How could I forget?” Comic-strip artists
weren’t precisely reporters, but they were all in the business of
attracting a mass audience.

Jared popped the can top and didn’t immediately reply. TJ
recognized that as a danger sign. His younger brother did surface charm
well but had to work harder at real communication. Cleo’s stormy nature
had taught Jared a lot, but the people skills of the McCloud family left
a lot to be desired.

“Cleo’s pregnant.”

Pow
. That shook the stuffing out of him. TJ ran the
cold water bottle over his forehead and tried to think how to respond.
He was about to become an uncle. What did one do? Matty was big enough
to talk to, but an infant?

Imagining his younger brother as the father of a baby
staggered the imagination. Jared had been the middle brother whose zany
antics as a child had irritated TJ’s too-mature sensibilities, but
without Jared, he might never have learned to laugh.

He respected what Jared had done with his life, but it
didn’t seem logical that of the three brothers, the clown was the first
one to grow up, settle down, and have
children
.

“Congratulations,” was the only reply immediately coming to mind as TJ struggled to rearrange his thinking.

Jared grinned at his confusion. “I’ve been told women do
that occasionally, you know—pop out squealing little monsters to make
our lives interesting.”

TJ’s mind drifted to Mara popping out little monsters, and
his head spun with delirium. He obviously had far too many changes in
his life to digest another easily.

But now that he’d had time to grasp this latest shift in
his world, TJ accepted it. “You’ve always had a way with kids. You’re
great with Matty. You’ll make a good father.”

Jared seemed to relax a little at TJ’s approval. “Thanks.
I’m hoping so. It’s kind of scary to think about, so I try not to think
about it too hard.”

TJ grunted at this typical Jared reaction. If nothing
else, this time out of his life had taught him to better appreciate his
family. “You told me this for a reason?”

His brother returned to staring at his soft drink can. Not
a good sign. TJ let his mind roam over the possibilities while Jared
looked for words to explain. Now that he had time to get past the
surprise, TJ knew that Cleo was a great mother, far better than their
own despite the differences in their upbringing. Whatever Jared’s
shortcomings, Cleo would overcome them, and vice versa. Working
together, they balanced each other out.

TJ wondered if he’d ever find someone who could balance the huge scale of his own faults.

“Cleo freaks out if anyone threatens her kid,” Jared said slowly, frowning as he tried to explain. “I mean, really freaks.”

Recalling the memorable episode when Cleo had commandeered
the courthouse roof to get her point across, TJ nodded agreement.
“That’s what she’s got you for,” he reminded Jared. “You can stand
between her and any perceived danger.”
Perceived danger
. TJ’s eyes narrowed. “What’s she afraid of?”

Jared helplessly lifted his arms. “Authority? Hurricanes. Anything she can’t handle. She needs to feel in control.”

Well, TJ could relate to that. “So, she can’t control reporters?”

“She can’t control authority. A Colonel Martin called
asking for you. Since your contacts know how to reach your business
phone, she thinks this is related to us. She’s terrified we’ll have a
military outpost on the beach next.” He looked apologetic. “I think it’s
hormones.”

TJ barely registered that last nonsensical statement. Cleo
had excellent people instincts. Colonel Martin and hurricanes had a lot
in common. Why the devil had the colonel waited until now to call him?
And why hadn’t he used official channels? Did he think TJ’s phone line
had been tapped?

Damn.
He had far too much on his plate right now.
He didn’t want to talk to Martin on top of everything else. He had
reporters crawling up his ass. If he read any more of the material in
those boxes, he’d have to act on it, one way or the other.

He hated lying—to the reporters or to the colonel. Maybe
if he didn’t talk to Martin and didn’t read more of the material, he
could safely say he knew nothing should a reporter be so perspicacious
as to ask about his connection to Martin’s mounting problems.

Not reading the material was the coward’s way out.

What could the colonel want? Martin thought TJ had
destroyed the boxes, so he couldn’t be after them. Although Martin was
an old family friend and had acted as TJ’s mentor, their business
relationship was strictly professional. He seldom called unless they
were on assignment, and then he used his work phone. If the colonel was
innocent, surely he didn’t need to influence TJ’s testimony, should it
come to that.

TJ dragged to his feet and swigged the last drop of water
before giving Jared the reply he wanted. “The colonel’s a friend of
mine. Tell Cleo this has nothing to do with the dig site. She can rig
maniacal witches in the roadway with a clear conscience.”

Jared looked relieved. “She has some warped idea that
you’re harboring a problem you’re not telling us about, and she was
afraid the colonel might be it. She’ll be relieved to hear she was
wrong.”

Oh, shit. TJ crushed the plastic bottle and heaved it at the trash bin. It bounced off the rim and fell in.

That Mexico job he’d been offered was sounding more
promising by the minute. “Take her on a vacation while you still can,”
he advised his younger brother, out of caution as well as concern.
“Rugrats are cute, but they eat up all your privacy.”

Jared bounded up from the chair, full of enthusiasm.
“That’s a great idea. We’ll take Matty to Disney World.” He halted and
gave TJ a shrewd look. “You might want to go with us. Invite Pats. Cleo
likes her. Maybe the two of you can settle your differences over the Mad
Hatter’s teacups.”

Oh, damn, he longed to do just such a commonplace thing as
that. It sounded so simple, so normal, and TJ could hear Mara’s
laughter as the cups spun and fireworks blossomed. He wanted that some
day. He wanted his own kids to shout with joy and surprise at the things
he could show them. He wanted to be their hero.

“Carry a barf bag if you take Cleo on the cups,” TJ
admonished, grabbing his shovel and driving it into the hole. Maybe he
could solve the mystery of the bones before the rest of his life tumbled
in on him.

She would lose everything.

After bolting from the B&B, Mara paced up a shaded
back street, broad-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses firmly in place to
hide the tears streaking her cheeks. There had to be some way out of
this, but the child crying inside her just wanted to run and hide. Or
find Tim.

She couldn’t believe after all these years she was
reverting to that anxiety-riddled adolescent who saw Tim and her big
brother as the security she craved. She knew better. Brad was dead. And
Tim wasn’t really part of her life, no matter how much she’d like to
pretend she was a film heroine and he was the hero riding out of the
storm to save her. In his own stubborn, noncommunicative way, Tim was as
much a pain in the ass as any film star, and she wanted him for far
different reasons than security.

Sid had told her she needed a shrink. For a change, he might be right.

She hugged herself, hoping to hold it all in, but she
thought she might burst from the power of her fury and terror. She
couldn’t do it; she couldn’t lose it all. She would do anything,
anything
, to save her film. Her entire future rested on it.