McCloud's Woman (24 page)

He refused to think of Martin on an empty stomach.
Reaching for a pizza slice, TJ shrugged and took the other stool. He
really didn’t want to talk. He’d much rather carry her to the couch and
find better things to do. It was easier to see her naked in his mind
than think about boxes and loyalty and scandal. That skimpy top of hers
wouldn’t resist a determined tug. He wondered what kind of contraption
she wore under it to disguise her cupcakes as melons.

“Until we solve this problem of ours, we’re not going to bed,” she told him firmly, popping his bubble.

TJ glared at her and ripped off a bite of pizza instead of answering. Patsy’s honesty never had any limits.

She shoved her notepad across the counter to him. “Sid
fired me. I’ve lost the film because of you. The ratfink promised I
could use the profits from the film to buy out the company, but there
won’t be any profits if Sid and his creative bookkeeping take over. I
gave up my share of the house for this opportunity, and you’ve cost me a
fortune. Normally, I’d tear you into shreds and spit you out like bad
meat, but I think you’ve got as many problems as I do.”

He glanced down at her sketch and took a swig of Coke. If
he was reading the plan correctly, Cleo would hate having her big bushes
ripped out. It could destroy the delicate ecological balance out there.
On the other hand, it might work.

“Why save the film if you’ve been fired?” He shoved the sketch back at her.

“Because it’s
my
film,” she all but shouted.

Okay, he should have figured rationality wouldn’t last.
She still operated on nervous energy. She just covered it up better
these days.

The phone rang.

Mara stared at him, waiting. He reached for more pizza.

“You have to talk to him sometime,” she said softly.

“What do you know?” he growled.

“The Intimidator I remember never backed down from a problem.”

“I’m not backing down. I’m protecting a friend.” If he
talked to Martin, should he tell him about the boxes? Should he say he
had read what was in them? Or promise to destroy them or turn them over
to the authorities? If he didn’t talk to Martin, he could ponder his
choices a while longer.

“If he’s your friend, then you ought to tell him so,” she chided. “The question is, is he really your friend?”

Cursing rabidly, TJ grabbed the phone and instead of ripping it off the wall, he answered it.

“McCloud?”

The gruff voice sounded as commanding as ever. Standing
beside his desk, TJ relaxed his grinding back teeth enough to respond.
“Colonel. I’m a little short-handed down here, but my new assistant said
you called.”

He ignored the wadded paper napkin Mara flung at him from the worktable.

“Your family told me where to find you. What in hell are
you doing in that back hole? I thought you were in Africa until I saw
you on the news the other night.”

Well, that explained why the colonel hadn’t called until
TJ’s little contretemps with Mara hit the television news. Grimacing, TJ
flung the napkin back. “A little R&R, visiting the family. Needed a
little time off.”

“Can’t say I blame you. I’d like a little of the same if I
could get these damned media hounds off my back. Saw you’ve got some
movie set down there, so you must know what they’re like. Anything for a
story. They’ve been on my doorstep night and day.”

The colonel was never this loquacious. TJ tensed again. “The film crew brings them in,” he agreed cautiously.

“None of them bothering you about me, are they? I’d hate to see a friend dragged into this.”

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a little mess,” TJ answered evasively. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not that I know of, boy. Stay out of it, if you can. Go back to Africa where they can’t find you. It will all blow over soon.”

“Right. I’m considering a Mexican contract, down in
Yucatan, so I’ll be out of touch. Let me know if I can do anything
before I leave.”

TJ let the colonel hang up first, then slowly lowered the
receiver. Concentrating on his thoughts, he almost jumped when Mara
covered his hand with a warm palm.

“Is he still your friend?” she whispered anxiously.

TJ wrapped his callused fingers around her manicured ones,
glad to have a real friend to help him through this. Mara might have
changed physically, but he trusted her innate honesty. Perhaps he’d gone
ballistic over the court order, but once he’d calmed down, he’d
believed that it was her ex’s fault, not hers.

Filling his lungs, he processed his conversation with the
colonel a second time. Confirming what he’d thought the first round, he
shook his head. “He was telling me to get out of town.”

“That means he’s protecting you, doesn’t it?”

Gad, even after all these years, she was still a cock-eyed
optimist. He didn’t want her involved in this. But he’d never been less
than honest with her, either. “No, that means he’s protecting his ass. A
few months ago, he ordered me to destroy boxes that might contain
evidence against him, and he doesn’t want me testifying to that.”

He’d trusted Martin, admired him, followed him into the
hell of war zones. He still couldn’t believe the man had been using the
power of his position to rake money out of the pockets of rapists and
murderers, but the possibility that criminals had gone free because of
him had become one step closer to real.

He exhaled the air he’d taken in.

Mara’s arms circled his waist, and her soft curls brushed
his chin. “I’m sorry, TJ. It’s my fault, isn’t it? He saw that tiff we
had in front of the TV reporters, didn’t he?”

“Tiff?” He gathered her against him, luxuriating in the
feel of supple curves and exotic scents and mindless arousal. He didn’t
let down his guard often, but Mara had a way of stealing under and
around it.

She had a career of her own to save. He couldn’t involve
her. He hadn’t fully read the material in all the boxes, but if the rest
was as incendiary as what he’d read so far, he could go up in flames
along with Martin once the press found out. If she was just starting a
new career, she didn’t need her name connected to him and the scandal.
Reluctantly, he set her aside and returned to the pizza box. “You said
Sid fired you. Was that a tiff, too?”

She didn’t protest but returned to her stool and her
pizza—no clinging vine , Mara Simon. He’d do well to watch his back if
he really ticked her off. TJ chomped into his pizza crust.

“Yeah, Sid and I tiffed ourselves right out of marriage,”
she said dryly. “I learned from Irving, but I take my lessons to
extremes. After Irving, the passive-aggressive whiner who never argued, I
thought my screaming fights with Sid were refreshing.”

“All of which is avoiding the point. What happens if he’s
kicked you off the film?” Solving Mara’s problems seemed immensely more
appealing than solving his own.

“What happens if your colonel discovers you have that
box?” she countered, nodding at the neat stacks of notebooks she’d
evidently been reading before he entered.

“I can’t get fired. If I talk Cleo into your plan”—TJ pointed at the sketch— “will you be hired again?”

“Probably not. If I know Sid, he’s planned this all along.
Ian’s probably in his pocket. They’ll pad the expenses, pocket the
difference, and tell the investors we broke even. He’s about bankrupted
the company with those tactics. Baby girlfriends and his nose snort a
lot of cash.”

“Damn, Pats, you sure can pick ’em.” TJ slammed his
plastic cup down and tried not to picture her with some old Hollywood
fart who snorted Coke and fondled kids. He wanted to rub his eyes to
erase the image.

“Yeah, and you can’t pick
any
,” she retorted. “At least I’ve lived. What have you got to show for all your genius?”

Had him there. Truth and justice were pretty ephemeral at
the best of times. What good had all his work in the Balkans done if
Martin was letting the criminals go after TJ identified them? “Okay,
let’s get back to the problem. How do we get your job back?”

She wrinkled her pert little nose, and TJ had to admit it was a damned attractive nose.

“Get Ian drunk and pour him on a ship to China?” she suggested.

“Works for me. You find the ship, I’ll find the bar.” A
good stiff drink would do him good, but then he’d have to go home and
decide what to do about those boxes. Planning the demise of an evil
little producer appealed to his more primitive instincts.

“Would you do that for me, even though I sicced the media on you?”

She sounded wistful, tugging at strings he resented having
tugged, but no matter how hard he resisted her, he always succumbed
sooner or later. Denying Mara was akin to denying himself.

He knew that if he were wise, he would stay out of her
vicinity, but when had he ever been wise? He walked minefields for a
living.

Deciding the box of evidence was no longer safe in his
custody, TJ tucked it under his arm, caught Mara’s shoulder, and nudged
her toward the door.
Minimal contact
, his superego screamed,
while his libido conjured visions of showers and comforting arms and
naked breasts. “C’mon. You can’t spend the night here. Let’s play Bounce
Ian Against the Wall and see what happens.”

“This isn’t high school, TJ,” she warned, falling into
step with him as he left the office, waiting patiently while he locked
up and stored the box in his trunk. “You can’t bully Ian and Sid into
behaving.”

“They’re bullying you, aren’t they?” he asked matter-of-factly, without a trace of anger.

Mara watched as TJ pocketed his keys and strode
confidently toward the inn, his broad shoulders and tight ass swinging
in the easy momentum of a born athlete. He’d been crushed and distraught
two minutes ago but had switched into warrior mode in the blink of an
eye. That’s what confidence and never failing did for a person, she
decided.

She’d never have that kind of confidence, but she damned
well wouldn’t let him run her life for her. She ran after him to catch
up. “You’re not my big brother, TJ.”

It wasn’t quite dark yet, and she could see his scarred
eyebrow arch in wry humor that had her squirming in embarrassment. She
flushed and tried to wriggle out of it. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I’d better not be your big brother.” He picked up his pace. “So, what am I?”

“What
are
you?” She skipped a step and caught his
arm before he had her running out of her shoes. The warmth generated
where she touched his bare arm and the heated look he slanted her
clarified the question, and she descended from embarrassment to
smoldering desire.

“Not boring, for certain.” She dropped his arm like a hot
potato. They didn’t need sex confusing the issue here. They weren’t
officially lovers, but she certainly didn’t regard him as a
brother
.

“Right. Not your brother and not boring,” he agreed as if
that settled an argument. “But a bully,” he reminded her, soliciting her
opinion with a facsimile of intellectual interest.

“Probably. But a
good
bully,” she amended,
uncertain where he was going with this. “You just think that because
you’re bigger, that you can take charge.”

“Is that what I do? Take charge?” he asked without any
hint of distress, as if merely acquiring evidential information and not
steamrolling down the hill toward Ian.

“Yes, you do, you know you do.” Hurriedly, she tried to
explain before he pitched Ian out a window. “This is my problem, and I
have to solve it.”

He seemed to mull that over a while, and she breathed
easier. Stepping briskly she started down the drive to the inn at his
side.

“All right, you get first chance at him. Then it’s my turn,” he said in satisfaction, as if they had similar goals in mind.

“TJ, you can’t—”

But he could. She caught and tugged his arm, but he
stalked up the steps as if she weighed no more than a shopping bag. She
skipped a step to keep up, dropped his arm, and hurried to get ahead of
him. Politely, he opened the door for her.

Still frantically trying to avoid bloodshed, Mara tripped
over a suitcase as she entered. Overcorrecting, she nearly staggered
into another before TJ caught her arm and helped her regain her balance.
His ominous silence warned her even before she realized that the
suitcases belonged to
her
.

Digging her fingernails into TJ’s supportive arm, she looked up.

Irving was trundling his overnight bag down the stairs,
and Ian stood at the bottom, directing the placement of her pillows and
boxes of photos. Somewhere overhead, Constantina screamed Italian
curses.

Icy terror momentarily froze her lungs, but TJ’s locked
jaw warned he’d already switched to battle mode, and he didn’t even know
what was happening here.

Neither did she. “We’re moving locations?” she inquired casually.

Ian quit speaking into his cell phone, gestured for Jim to
place her box of favorite books beside the photos, and stepped over her
pillows to greet her. “Sorry, Mara. We need space. Now that you’re off
the job, I figured we could use your room. Irving offered to see your
stuff back home. I need Jim and the car here.”

Her stomach dissolved in terror. Here it was, the moment she’d dreaded.
Homeless
.

She didn’t bother looking at her ex. Five years of living
with him had taught her his underhanded tactics well. Ian was the one
she wanted nailed to the wall. She thought fast and furiously, searching
for her producer’s vulnerabilities, refusing to sink into crisis mode
yet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said calmly enough. TJ would
probably have scars where her nails dug into him. True to his word, he
let her speak first and remained blessedly silent, although she sensed
her ex darting him nervous looks. Good, keep him occupied. “This is my
project, and I’m here to see it stays under budget.”