Carolina Girl

by Patricia Rice

  “Cissy couldn’t even tell us what kind of car drove her off the road. I’m thinking that one followed us all the way from the Monkey.”

  “So someone left at the same time as we did. It’s late, a lot of people were leaving.”

  “How many of the Monkey’s patrons drive Lincolns?” Clay asked.

  He had her there. “Tourists might. And maybe someone wanted to do a quick business deal over a drink. Not everyone does that at the country club.”

  “And that’s why he’s out here cruising the island in the dark?” His cynical tone said what he thought of that.

  “Maybe he had to run back to his office for some papers and now he’s on his way home.”

  “Then maybe the papers were hanging on his office door so he could grab them fast enough to be back on the road already, and his home is in town, because he’s behind us again.” Shadows sharpened the wide ridge of Clay’s nose as he joined the traffic on the bridge and checked the mirror again.

  She glanced over her shoulder, but all she could see were headlights. “Why would anyone follow us? It’s not as if we’ll lead them to buried treasure.” Why would anyone run Cissy off the road? Or break into Clay’s cottage? None of this made sense, but he was scaring her.

  Clay unclipped his cell phone, punched a few buttons, and handed it to her. “Let’s find out. Tell TJ what I’m telling you.”

  The reception in town was better than on the island. TJ’s deep voice came through loud and clear. Embarrassed, Rory tried to think of a simple greeting. “Hello, TJ. This is Aurora Jenkins. I’m with Clay.”

  “We’re leaving the bridge and driving down the highway going west toward the interstate,” Clay instructed her.

  She repeated that information to the quiet man on the other end of the phone line. He took Clay’s dictation without any sign of agitation.

  “Tell him to take his hulking SUV and wait in the lot at the bottom of the bridge. I’ll be returning here in ten minutes. If he can rouse Jared, tell him we’ll be heading his way.”

  TJ thanked Rory gravely and hung up. She stared at the phone and wondered if she’d stepped into a TV program without knowing it.

  When Clay double-parked in front of the Monkey, she handed him the phone. She knew what he wanted her to do, but she wasn’t buying it.

  “I’m not getting out. It’s very possible that if anyone is following us—and I’m not saying that I believe they are—they could be after me. I feel safer with you.”

  Without streetlights, she couldn’t read Clay’s expression, but she could see his hands tighten on the wheel and knew he was thinking furiously. She checked her seat belt and didn’t budge.

  He pulled back the shift and stepped on the gas. “Hold on to your hair, then, and let’s see what this baby can do.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Jag could take sharp corners with astonishing swiftness, Rory learned. She couldn’t say that Clay drove recklessly, but she’d never taken the tight corners and narrow brick streets of the old part of town at high speed either.

  They’d maneuvered only a few dark blocks when a squeal of brakes and Clay’s grunt of satisfaction said their tail hadn’t navigated the last turn. She checked behind them and couldn’t see any headlights. She hadn’t heard a crash, so no one was hurt. Sighing in relief, she leaned back against the comfortable leather and stretched her legs, letting the tension flow out of her. “Well, if you wanted to generate a little additional excitement out of the evening, you’ve succeeded.”

  “Depends on how dumb they are.” Letting out the clutch, Clay smoothly took the machine through its paces down the highway. Then, checking his watch, he swung the Jag around in a neat three-point turn.

  “No Lincoln could corner like this car. They can’t still be following,” she insisted.

  “Not in that land yacht, for sure, and if they’re car thieves, we’ve lost them. But think about it: If they knew who they were following, why should they bother endangering life and limb doing what we just did?”

  “To see where we’re going?” Although why anyone would care was beyond her.

  “And if we kept on going, into Charleston or somewhere, they’d be cursing now that we’ve lost them. But I’m wagering they let us have our little joyride because they figure they know where to catch up with us.”

  “You think it’s the police?” She definitely wasn’t getting this. In the movies, wasn’t it the FBI or private detectives who tailed cars? “The state and a few others are probably pretty riled at us about now, but it’s hardly a police matter.”

  “We’ve ‘riled’ the state, the tourist commission, the bank, and probably half the developers within a hundred miles of us by delaying the zoning. You’ve told the bank we’re building a multimillion-dollar business. Cissy has told the developer to piss off. No, I don’t think it’s the police out there.”

  Rory rubbed the goose bumps rising on her arms. She gaped as he drove straight toward the bridge and home. “If they’re dangerous, you’re driving right into their hands.”

  “Something like that.” At a sedate rate of speed, he drove the Jag past the parking lot at the base of the bridge.

  He was deliberately steering right into trouble! Wasn’t he supposed to be avoiding it? Maybe those were car thieves out to carjack a Jag. If their followers knew they had to cross the bridge to go home... The man was insane. Reckless. Taking risks...

  Risks that she wouldn’t take. That didn’t mean they shouldn’t be taken. Biting her thumb, she watched out the windshield. She didn’t see any sign of TJ’s white SUV. The convertible with its top down left her feeling overexposed. Nervously, she checked over her shoulder again. A long black car pulled out of the parking lot and followed at a cautious distance.

  “I thought your brother was driving a white car.”

  “He should be.” In the light of the dashboard, even Clay’s jaw looked tense.

  It relaxed a minute later as the headlights of a tall vehicle hidden in the shadows of a tree lumbered onto the highway at the last minute, falling in line behind the black one.

  Feeling conspicuous, Rory quit looking. Holding her elbows and trying not to shake, she stared straight ahead. “This is not at all how I anticipated ending this evening.”

  Clay chuckled. Chuckled!

  “I’m good at games,” he reminded her. “I have the controller in my hands and all the points are on my side. Unless there’s a trap that I haven’t encountered on my other trips through gameland, the sorcerer wins.”

  She wanted to smack him. He was playing games with their lives. “You’re certifiable, really, truly certifiable. This Viking princess wants a sword and shield before she plays any more.”

  She’d hate to see the antique Jag bubbling in the marsh. She’d hate worse to be inside when it did.

  “It’s brains that beat the evildoers, not swords,” he declared.

  “He could have killed Cissy,” she whispered. That was the fear that had her skin crawling. Cissy had been forced off the road by a black car. And while Rory might not want to concede the implications of the accident, she couldn’t ignore them either.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. For an optimist, you sure see the worst side of everything.” He glanced over at her. “Give the guy a thrill. Lift your hair and stretch as if you’re enjoying the evening.”

  She kept her arms crossed. “The guy back there won’t be the one getting the thrill, will he?”

  “Nah, he can barely see you. But I can. How often does a real hot babe step off the screen and into my life?”

  The comment was so jarring that she immediately reacted with fury. There was the difference between them. Cheap thrills made her miserable. She wanted certainties and safety. Whatever had she been thinking to even get in the same car with this unpredictable man?

  She’d been thinking that he had a sound head on his shoulders. And she was just learning to accept that he was utterly predictable in some things... like when someone needed protecting. “Y
ou’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”

  And it was working. There for all of half a minute she’d wanted to bop him over the head instead of worry about flying headfirst into the marsh. Another piece of her heart melted at the idea of Clay trying to ease her fears.

  Clay swung the Jag in another of his sharp turns, taking them off the highway and down the lane to Cleo’s. As they slowed to bump over the ruts of Cleo’s sandy lane, the black Lincoln turned off its headlights and rolled into the shadows of the overhanging trees.

  Clay’s cell phone rang. Stopping the Jag in the middle of the lane, he picked it up. “Where are you?” he asked over the static.

  “Blocking his escape. Jared should be pulling across the lane as soon as you pass him.”

  Satisfied, Clay glanced at Aurora. Clutching her elbows, she looked ready to bolt as he steered the car forward, past Jared’s drive. It was too late to calm her nerves by explaining his intentions. He was too used to operating alone. His communication skills could use some polishing.

  Cleo’s battered pickup pulled out to park across the lane behind them. To avoid scratching the polished paint of the Jag on the bushes on either side, Clay simply stopped in the road.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, opening the driver’s door. “Or better yet, go inside with Cleo and the kids.”

  He climbed out and noted in satisfaction that the driver of the Lincoln had recognized the trap. The big car tried to turn around in the soft sand of the road’s shoulder but sank its rear wheels up to its hubcaps. The car wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

  “That’s the reason no one out here drives land yachts,” a soft voice said from behind him. Rory.

  Gritting his teeth, Clay waited for her to catch up with him. “I’m not speaking the same language as you, am I?”

  “Nope. You’re talking male gorilla. If you’re not afraid to walk out here, then neither am I. I always feel better when I know what’s happening.” Rory didn’t halt but continued toward the pickup.

  “Some sorcerer I make. I can’t even talk hot babes into behaving,” he muttered, falling into step with her. Manipulating game figures was much simpler than real life. Game figures could explode and come back to play again. In real life, a stray bullet could rob him of the precious gift that was Aurora.

  Real life responsibility added a level of tension that had his molars clenched.

  “What if they have guns?” he demanded. “How am I supposed to save the day if you insist on taking the controller away from me?” Maybe if he made a joke of this, she’d walk off and go to Cleo.

  Rory shot him one of her lifted-eyebrow looks as Jared stepped out of the truck to save Clay from himself.

  “Cleo won’t like a Lincoln for a lawn ornament.” Jared nodded in the direction of the vehicle spinning its back tires. “Think TJ’s hulking vehicle can pull him out?”

  “TJ can pull it out once we take the lead weights out of the front seat.” Clay watched as the tall silhouette of his oldest brother emerged from the darkness of the trees lining the lane on the far side of the Lincoln. “I don’t suppose you know the magic words to keep Aurora out of the way, do you? They may have guns.”

  “They’d be shooting by now if they did,” Rory said pragmatically. But Clay noticed she stayed out of the moonlight so she didn’t make an easy target—although that white halter top sure drew his eye.

  Apparently without a concern in the world, TJ walked up to the Lincoln and opened the driver’s door. Not to be outdone, Clay leaned over and opened the passenger side. “Good evening, gentlemen. Lost?”

  He noticed Aurora’s gasp before he paid much attention to the man emerging. He studied the passenger’s bland good looks and sheepish expression before identifying the banker she’d once dated. He glanced over the roof of the car to the balding skinny driver, and it took a moment before he recognized the wimp who ran the tourist commission—the one who had greeted Aurora at the bar tonight.

  “Jeff! Terry! What in the world?” Aurora propped her hands on her hips, and Clay’s gaze diverted instantly to her bare curves. For a moment, he couldn’t remember why on earth they were standing out here in the road instead of falling into his bed.

  “I told you the McClouds were in this together,” Terry said with anger. “I did the research. Between them they have millions to blow on the swamp.”

  TJ crossed his arms and stared over the Lincoln’s top at his brothers. “You guys holding out on me? Or maybe he thinks it’s our wives with the riches?”

  Jared shrugged. “Maybe he means baby brother’s millions, and his sources are old.”

  Terry nearly turned purple. “Cissy would never have rejected our offer unless someone made her a better one! And Rora would be out of town by now if it hadn’t been for you. Rich Yankees have bought up enough land down here. I don’t see why you should have what little is left.”

  Clay contemplated straightening out the half dozen kinks in this logic, but glancing at the fury in Aurora’s lovely face, he figured this was where he accentuated the positive and let her tear the morons into raw meat.

  “What did you think following us would accomplish?” she asked in tones of utter disbelief that almost disguised her rage.

  Jeff shrugged indifferently. “That was Terry’s half-baked idea. He thought maybe you’d lead us to a meeting with the Binghams and that we could go in and speak for ourselves. Once he gets a few beers in him, it’s easier to play along.”

  “That’s bullhockey, Jeffrey Elmont Spencer. You always egged Terry on. What did Terry do—run right over to the country club to tattle about seeing Clay and me together? He probably thought we were celebrating a deal with the Binghams. And then the two of you sat there pouring alcohol down your throats, wondering where the poor white trash Jenkinses could have found enough money to pay off their mortgage, and you concluded it belonged to rich Yankees. You thought Clay was paying me? For what? Services rendered?”

  Clay watched as Jared and TJ pretty much imitated him, backing off, crossing their arms, and staying the hell out of Aurora’s way. He felt a confusing but comfortable camaraderie with his brothers as the three of them stood guard while Aurora ripped off heads. He had a feeling she’d just unleashed her inner rebel.

  “It wasn’t like that, Rora!” Terry protested. “I just told Jeff I saw you having a good time at the Monkey with McCloud, and someone mentioned that his family had money, and I was mad because he quit the state job and used the Bingham list against us, and one thing just led to another.”

  “Don’t give me that, Terry. Was it you who drove Cissy off the road the other night and smashed my car to pieces? Cissy could have been killed! Crippled for life. What were you doing following her then?”

  “I wasn’t!” Talbert looked terrified. “After the zoning meeting, I just went out to check the survey stakes. I saw your car and didn’t want you knowing I was there, so I got panicky and hit the gas. It spun in the sand, and kind of jerked out to the road. I didn’t even see her go off, I swear. I’d never... If I’d known...” He started stumbling over his tongue and shut up.

  “You’re supposed to be working with the state to build a park for the public good, Terry. Why would you want to steal the Bingham land? What possible use could you have for a swamp?” Aurora demanded with escalating rage.

  “You’re not the only person in the world who wants to make something of themselves!” Terry shouted back. “The state park plum just fell in my lap. My construction company could be on the ground floor of something really big.”

  Aurora advanced on him like a prizefighter about to throw the finishing punch. “You endangered my sister, set fire to an entire neighborhood, threatened a way of life and the ecology just so you could throw up a few cheap condos that will get wiped out in the next hurricane—”

  Figuring that sentence might never end, Clay finally intervened. “I suppose you were just checking up on me to see if I’d finished my project when you walked into my house in the middle of the n
ight?”

  Almost gratefully, Talbert turned away from Aurora’s fury. “I was jogging the beach and saw your place and just thought to stop and see how you were doing.” Sullenly, Terry glanced around at Clay’s brothers and left Aurora’s charges unanswered.

  “Breaking and entering, reckless driving, leaving the scene of an accident,” TJ began reciting stoically. “I’d have to look up the statutes on invasion of privacy, and there may be a case for threatening behavior.”

  “If there’s any way of nailing him for the fire, Cleo will do a war dance, round up the natives, and have him hanged,” Jared added helpfully.

  “Oh, leave the jerk alone,” Jeff said while Terry tried to unknot his tongue. “We’ve got everything we own tied up in making something out of this useless land. A man’s got a right to look after himself. Aurora, I thought you told me you were with us on the zoning. If the McClouds are buying off the Binghams, did they buy you off, too? Where else could you get the money to pay the mortgage?”

  “Go on, Jeff, say it again—you can’t believe I’m siding with swamp rats and derelicts. I should be cheering on the rich white guys willing to cheat the poor out of their land so they can turn a swamp into a profit base.”

  Clay shot his gaze to her, fascinated. An MBA banker saying profit base as if it were a curse. It looked good on her. He’d known the rebel in her would have to come out sometime.

  “Swamp rats—I can use that,” Jared mused, leaning against the Lincoln’s trunk and contemplating the moon. “We come crawling out of the murky waters to snap off the tails of what...toads? No, they don’t have tails.”

  “Lizards,” Clay suggested helpfully. “Now shut up and let’s figure out how we can make these slimy lizards pay for the harm they’ve done.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Jeff protested. “I was just along for the ride.”

  “You didn’t call in Cissy’s loan?” Aurora demanded. “You didn’t sic your real estate vulture on her? And I bet anything that even if I refused to sell after she signed, it never occurred to you that you could auction off my mama’s property through the court, just like the state threatened to do with the Binghams.”