Mara snatched it from his hands. “Call him, TJ. Explain what happened. If he’s innocent, you owe him that.”
He regarded her over the top of his cup. “I can only take care of so many innocents at one time. Martin can take care of himself.”
She didn’t want to read more into his words than was there. If he spoke of the child, she wouldn’t listen.
But she knew he’d never forgiven himself for not listening to Brad. She didn’t want another friend of his destroyed, didn’t want to heap more guilt on his overworked conscience—as she was doing. Unable to consider that thought, she stuck out her hand. “Give me his number and I’ll call.”
Clay dropped the phone message into her palm. “Maybe you’ll want to call Dad, too. This is the first time in my recollection that he’s taken his nose out of a book long enough to pick up a phone.”
“He called once from the hospital when you were born,” TJ offered without inflection, grabbing the message and tucking it into his pocket. “I didn’t recognize his voice until he yelled at me for answering the phone improperly. You haven’t missed much.”
Clay laughed and crossed the room again to watch Katy feed coffee beans to the espresso machine, leaving them to their privacy.
“Okay, so wealthy doesn’t mean functional.” Mara interpreted TJ’s meaning this time. Enigmatic had nothing on Tim. “But your parents are at least minimally sane.”
A smile cocked one corner of his mouth. “Define ‘sane.’”
She was as much into avoidance as TJ this morning. “Not in this lifetime. Are you going to the dig? I want to see how the production is coming, then I thought I’d double-check the library to see if I missed anything and go back to the courthouse to look up the names of the landowners on the island. I hate giving up on your bones.”
“I’m packing up the site and the office, shipping everything to the storage unit in Charleston until someone claims them. Stop by the dig and tell me when you leave for the courthouse, and I can join you if I’m done.”
She loved talking about mundane daily tasks with TJ. It established a balance of order she could learn to enjoy. He didn’t complain if she neglected him to follow her own pursuits. He even offered to help. For the first time in her life, a man made her feel important.
She was dreaming again. TJ would despise her once he understood she was serious about not having babies. Keep this strictly professional, Patsy Amara. “I thought I’d dig deeper into the mayor’s family. Something the librarian said made me curious. I doubt there’s any relationship, but—”
“You never could resist curiosity. Got it.” TJ polished his reading glasses while watching from across the table. “Would you rather I stayed with you today?”
Shoot. Darn. Effing— Mara fought back tears at his concern. “I’ll be okay. Just don’t remind me, all right?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. “I’ll try. Just keep talking to me. I need to know what’s happening inside your head or I’ll panic and pull a Hulk again.”
She hated what she was doing to him. Underneath all that muscle was a man who genuinely cared and worried about her, but she couldn’t help smiling at the image his words summoned. “You’re not green, but I like the idea of you bursting out of your shirt. Instead of talking, can I tease you once in a while?”
“Not right now. I’m walking a wire so thin, I can’t see it.” Abruptly, he stood and walked away from the table without a word of farewell or a kiss to ease the parting.
Mara understood. Sometimes, this sharing business left the skin thin and tender to the touch. He’d already pierced her in a thousand places this morning, without even trying.
She’d hate to see what damage he could wreak when he really worked at it.
***
“Did I show you pictures of my nephew, Miss Simon? He’s only nine months old and already walking. My sister says he calls for auntie all the time.” The young assistant librarian brought out a string of plastic-covered snapshots and spread them across the counter for Mara’s perusal.
The precocious child in the pictures had black hair the color of TJ’s.
Mara choked out some senseless sentiment, gathered up her papers, and fled the quiet library. So much for the peace of research.
She’d run away from the set when one of the locals brought his twin toddlers to the beach to show off. She’d escaped the B&B when friends of Katy’s brought their children to play in the private pool. Everywhere she turned, adorable babies smiled and cooed at her, promising love and laughter and hope for the future.
She’d get her tubes tied. She was too old to change her ways or to endure this indecision any longer. She liked her freedom. For the first time in her life, she was on the brink of having her own life, supporting herself, and enjoying it. In a year or two, perhaps she could have a house of her own, and her mother could stay with her. That ought to kill any annoying hormonal need to nurture.
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 clo
uds 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.
Chapter Thirty
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.
McCloud's Woman Page 28