McCloud's Woman (37 page)

She wouldn’t think about the bundle of chromosomes growing inside her.

She stalked into the courthouse, and a curly-haired toddler beamed at her from behind a giant red lollipop. Instant anguish.

Get over it.
Get on, get moving, keep busy. Don’t stop now.

Biting back tears, cursing rampaging hormones, Mara
located the property tax office and asked for deed listings. With a list
of addresses in hand, she dug through aging deed books, spreading them
out on the table provided. She loved research. Dead, lifeless tomes
could reveal secrets of the living. How had the mayor’s family acquired
half the property in town? Were they really German, as the librarian had
mentioned?

It was a fascinating puzzle that should have kept her occupied for hours, but she couldn’t concentrate.

Dead, lifeless tomes were just that. Dead and lifeless.

Tears trickling down her cheeks, Mara abandoned the books,
fled the courthouse, and ran directly into the object of her research.

***

Tired, dirty, and disgusted with himself and life in
general, TJ trudged into the B&B in search of Mara. The film crew
had said she’d left the beach early. She hadn’t stopped at the dig as
she’d promised. He didn’t want to think about why she hadn’t. He didn’t
want to think about her wandering the streets of New York homeless,
either, but she’d done it.

Did he really want to spend the rest of his life worrying if she’d gone off the deep end?

Even as irritated and world-weary as he was now, TJ knew
the answer to that one. Mara was precious enough to protect until his
last, dying breath. He’d take her anyway he could have her. He needed to
hear her singing
Do-wah-diddy-diddy
for the rest of his life. He needed her upbeat to balance his downbeat.

How could he trust himself to protect her? He’d done a damned lousy job of it so far.

Trudging upstairs, he found no sign that she’d returned to
her room. No one claimed to have seen her. The library or courthouse,
then.

He took a quick shower and changed into fresh clothes he’d
brought from the cottage. He’d tried calling the number Clay had given
him for the colonel, but he’d received no answer. He hated having Martin
think of him as a traitor, but he had to remember this wasn’t about him
anymore. This was about truth and justice.

He was tired of truth and justice. He wanted home and
Mara. And their child. He’d never once given thought to having children.
They died as easily as adults in the war-torn zones he’d traveled .
Tragedy had a way of blocking out life, numbing the senses. Dying seemed
easy, living too hard.

But if Mara would only give him reason to live, he’d do
whatever it took. The thought of Mara and a home opened his life up to a
giant toy store full of endless possibilities.

He’d never tried out for the debate team, had no
particular talent for words, but he would somehow persuade Mara to keep
their child. Medicine had cures for everything on the horizon. He could
handle the responsibility of whatever happened. But for them to live
together, he would have to convince her to give up her career.

Right, like that was going to happen.

Leaving the inn to head for the library, TJ almost walked
straight into Roger Curtis. The reporter caught his arm and prevented
the crash.

“Have you seen Colonel Martin?” Roger demanded, without preface.

TJ scowled. “Hardly. He left a scathing diatribe on my brother’s machine, but I can’t reach him.”

“One of the guys swore he saw him at the airport in
Charleston. I figured he was heading here. He has to know the evidence
came from those boxes he told you to destroy. You might want to take
that Mexican job.”

At the moment, TJ was glad he couldn’t take the job. He
wanted to stay with Mara and not dig up the bones of still another
guerilla massacre, or drug war—he couldn’t remember which. “I’ll talk to
Martin if I see him. I can’t believe the man is a violent criminal.
You’re getting paranoid in your old age, Rog.”

The reporter shrugged. “I owe you a favor. I’m just trying to help out.”

TJ had never stayed in one place long enough to make many
friends. It was nice to know he had at least one. He pounded Roger on
the back, causing the other man to wince. “I appreciate it. I’d buy you a
drink, but I’m in search of an elusive butterfly. Some other time,
maybe?”

“Your butterfly was flitting around the courthouse last
time I saw her. She didn’t look too happy being cornered by the mayor,
so I stayed out of the way. Figured she could handle him better than I
could.”

TJ glanced at his watch. “Courthouse is closed. Maybe they went for drinks somewhere. I’ll keep looking.”

The mayor. He didn’t know why, but TJ didn’t like the idea
of Mara hanging around the mayor. He didn’t like jovial politicians,
maybe. How could a man trust someone who smiled all the time?

He ran into Ian next. The town had more bars than coffee
shops, and Ian knew every one of them. He’d give the little producer
credit for knowing his limits, though. He didn’t appear the least drunk
as TJ stopped him in the street. “Have you seen Mara?”

“I thought she was with you. I need her to sign these
liability releases for the bulldozer.” Ian scowled, patted his pocket to
make certain the papers were still there, and sidestepped TJ’s looming
form. “Tell her we’ll be ready to open that road first thing in the
morning if she’ll sign these.”

TJ hated the idea of bulldozing the dune, but it really
wasn’t a dune. Truth was, it was more of a public hazard than anything
else. He supposed what he really hated was not solving the mystery.
“I’ll give the papers to her when I find her, if you want.”

“Not on your life.” Obviously not trusting him, Ian spun around and started back for the inn.

Well, he wouldn’t trust him, either, as things stood.
Wishing for a good cold beer, TJ marched toward the courthouse. He
needed Cleo here to tell him where the best places to hunt a mayor were.

On a weeknight, everything shut down early, especially
away from the tourist part of town. The courthouse and all the small
shops and restaurants that catered to courthouse clientele had closed by
the time TJ reached them.

Daylight lingered, though long shadows crossed the street.
He hoped Mara wasn’t wandering out here alone. The town center was
surrounded by quiet residential streets lined with fading mansions in
various degrees of restoration. They seemed safe enough, but beautiful
women ought to be wary of walking dark streets alone.

Not that the idiot thought she was beautiful, he grumbled
to himself. Mara had spent too much time looking at the outside and not
enough looking on the inside. He supposed in places like Hollywood,
appearance was all that counted.

He wished he could persuade her to give up that shallow
life. She deserved better, but he figured that would be the same as
asking him to give up forensics. Of course, with the military and the
press reducing his career to shambles, that was a distinct possibility.
Maybe he could move to Hollywood with her.

Exhaustion subsiding as worry increased, TJ stalked back to the inn. Where could she have gone?

He wouldn’t think of Brad’s fiery death. Mara was strong.
She wouldn’t do that to herself. Or to him. The conviction that she
would protect him from pain grew stronger with every passing step. Mara
would never devastate him as Brad had.

He trusted Mara.

That was a revelation in itself. After Brad’s death, he’d
quit letting anyone close, but he had to believe Mara knew how much it
would hurt him if she hurt herself. Mara was the only person alive who
understood he wasn’t made of steel.

He’d almost decided he was an idiot for worrying when he encountered the mayor coming out of the B&B.

“Dr. McCloud!”

TJ refrained from rolling his eyes at the title. “Mayor.
You’ll be pleased to know the lane to the beach will be bulldozed in the
morning.”

The mayor beamed. “Good to hear that, sir. Very good to
hear that. That’s a load off my mind, I’ll tell you. The little lady
didn’t seem certain about the schedule. Give her my apologies if I
offended her, will you?”

Mara towered over the old goat, and he still called her
“little.” TJ would like to hear Mara’s comments on the subject, but he’d
have to find the damned woman first. “Did you speak with her?”

“Just came looking for her to extend my apologies. Saw her
earlier and she seemed a mite distressed, so thought I’d try again.
They say she’s gone back to the island to set up some night scene.”

Ian should have known that, the miserable bastard.

“Your brother is inside,” the mayor continued. “Handy man,
that. He’s taking apart Katy’s kitchen and putting it back together
again better than new. Need to set him to fixing the courthouse clock.”

Cleo had tried that once. TJ would rather not think about
his younger brother going up there on that roof after her. Shaking his
head, he left the mayor to see what kind of damage Clay was creating
now. He distinctly remembered a time when his brother had dismantled the
kitchen gas stove, run a pipe to the backyard, and launched his own
space missile.

Their father had patted Clay on the head and wandered back
to his library. Their mother had thrown a benefit to appease the
firefighters and policemen who’d spent the night calming the crowds and
overseeing the gas-main repairs.

And Mara thought
her
family was crazy?

He found Clay under the counter with the stove burners, or
he found his brother’s legs, anyway. His head was buried in the wiring
inside the cabinet. Katy’s cook was hacking raw vegetables so brutally,
TJ feared a finger would fly.

“Did you tell the lady you’d have that done by mealtime?” TJ inquired without really wanting to hear the answer.

“Yeah, I’ll be done in just a minute,” echoed from beneath the counter.

The cook glanced significantly at the clock.

“Mealtime is here, little brother, and I believe it’s
written somewhere that meals need to be cooked before they can be
served.”

“Oh, right, microwaves aren’t good enough.” Clay inched
out from under the counter, a smear of dirt across his nose, and another
across his cheek after he wiped it. “It’s connected. I need to buy some
stronger wiring before I can do more.”

The two-hundred pound cook shoved TJ out of the way in her hurry to reach the stove. Clay, she stepped over.

Scooting out of her way, Clay clambered up. Sun-bleached
hair fell across his bronzed forehead as he wiped his hands on a rag.
“Did you and the colonel resolve your differences?”

The colonel? Where? Here? The bottom fell out of TJ’s
stomach, but he struggled for calm. “I couldn’t reach him on the phone.”
He prayed that was what Clay meant, but Roger’s warning had set his
interior alarms on alert. He’d just been too worried about Mara to
listen.

Clay shoved the hair from his eyes and frowned. “You
didn’t see him? He was here, talking to Mara. I thought she sent him to
you.”

“She probably sent him to the dig. Did she say where she
was going?” TJ had lived in dangerous situations for years, had
developed a sixth sense for trouble. He could feel the storm clouds
forming without Clay’s answer, and he wanted to fly after Mara and take
her to shelter. He just didn’t know in which direction to fly.

“I only saw them through the window,” Clay answered,
watching him with growing concern. “His family knows ours. They would
have said something if he was dangerous, wouldn’t they?”

He must be giving off bad vibrations if even the oblivious
genius picked up on them. TJ sought calm in logic, but logic failed
when it came to Mara. “Did she go with him?”

“She’d have to, to show him the dig, wouldn’t she? I haven’t seen her around since.”

TJ was out the door before the last words emerged from Clay’s mouth.

TJ found Mara’s chauffeur in the drive, waxing the limo.
If she didn’t have her car, she must have gone in the colonel’s. Was the
woman crazy?

He grimaced and vowed to sever that word from his vocabulary before Mara heard him use it. “Jim, did you see where Mara went?”

“Said she needed to check on something at the set, and she
was leading some friend of yours down to the island. Your keys were in
the Taurus, so she took it.” The chauffeur’s tone gave away his opinion
of her choice of vehicle.

TJ would kill Clay for leaving the keys in the car, but he
refused to let paranoia get the best of him. “She does know how to
drive?” he asked stoically, revealing only one of his many fears.

Jim shrugged. “In theory. The road to the island should be safe enough this time of day.”

Mara had his car—he couldn’t follow her. Shit. Clay had a damned
helicopter.
No wonder he was idling about, tinkering with the kitchen. He couldn’t leave until the car returned.

TJ couldn’t stand it. He had to go after her. “Give me the
keys.” He stuck out his hand to the chauffeur, expecting his command to
be obeyed.

The driver merely looked at his upturned palm with incredulity. “No way, man. You want to go after her, I take you.”

“Not unless you know how to do ninety in sand.”

“Damned well better than you can.” Throwing aside his rag, Jim jumped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine.

To hell with riding in the back. TJ took the front passenger side and snapped his seat belt in place. “Move it.”

The powerful car surged forward, taking the turn out of
the drive with a squeal. It wasn’t exactly the fastest vehicle on the
road, but the Lincoln had been built for power as well as luxury. It
flew right over potholes.

“I’m supposed to be her bodyguard, but she said she didn’t need me,” Jim complained. “Is she in trouble?”

“Mara’s always in trouble. It’s knowing when she needs
help that’s the problem.” TJ hated sitting still. He needed his foot on
the gas and his hands on the wheel. His pent-up frustration threatened
to explode as the car glided onto the causeway and the beam from the
lighthouse struck through the open sky ahead. Night had arrived, and
Mara was out there alone with a man who killed for a living.