Chapter 29

 

Coast guard cutters and yachts from the harbor turned out to sweep the water with searchlights once word spread. The sheriff called in off-duty officers, and the state police walked the storm-ravaged shore.

Cleo refused to leave the beach. Jared wrapped her in blankets, sat her down on the sand, and curled his arms around her to protect her from the cool wind off the water. Nothing stopped her shudders.

If he could rip his heart from his chest to ease her sorrow, he would, but he was helpless. He'd thought he'd grown up a little these past weeks, but nothing had taught him how to deal with tragedy. Cleo had shown him how to look outside himself, how to accept responsibility for others, even how to use all his advantages for good cause, but what good did that do when he couldn't change the wrongs that needed righting?

So he held Cleo, and cherished her, and vowed he would turn the world upside down before he let it hurt her again.

One by one the searchers gave up, promising to return in daylight. By the time the last searchlight switched off and the sheriff stopped to offer stilted condolences, Cleo had fallen asleep in Jared's arms.

"Sometimes, life don't make no sense, boy," the burly man said, shaking his head. "It ain't gonna be any easier for her tomorrow. Take her home."

Jared wished he could. Home for him was in Miami, in his sunlit apartment overlooking the water. He'd tuck Cleo between satin sheets, lock the doors, and open the windows to the sound of surf and laughter.

He'd known Cleo would never share that with him, but the full implications were just starting to sink in. He couldn't push Cleo. He had to wait—patiently—until she was ready. He'd never possessed a large store of patience.

She stirred as he carried her to the car and tried to settle her into the seat, but she apparently didn't want to wake any more than he wanted to think. She was unconscious again by the time the Jeep purred to life.

He had a few hours before dawn to lay awake and plan his next action. He'd need more than a few hours to figure out what to do with the rest of his life now that he'd blown his career to smithereens.

* * *

Cleo woke the instant Jared climbed from the bed in the morning. Her head pounded, her eyes were too groggy to open, but she sensed his absence. He'd been a part of her all night, like blood flowing through her, keeping her alive, and his departure emptied her as brutally as a cut artery.

She squeezed her eyes tight as she listened to him dress, trying to remember if she'd opened those beers she'd bought. She'd had some notion that she might as well enjoy her last few hours of freedom. What would it matter if she poured poison into her system when she would be soul dead soon enough? But she'd wanted to pack Matty's things before she sought oblivion, and then Jared had come home.

Home. This wasn't his home. But he'd come back. And he'd held her all night, this man from another world, the gilded world she'd never known.

Jared sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through her hair, then kissed her cheek. She must look like warmed over death.

"Cleo, hon? I've got to go into town to take care of a few things. Why don't I just call Axell and look into a good lawyer for you? I can drive into Charleston, interview them, find you and Gene someone willing to fight for you. I'll be back as soon as I can. You just stay here and get some rest."

Like hell, she would. She wasn't a baby to be coddled and cooed at.

But it was nice of him to try. She wouldn't bite his head off for that. She thought it might hurt her as much as him if she tried.

That was the damnedest part of this sharing business. She couldn't yell or snap at him any more that she could at Matty.

"My address book is in the desk," she said wearily, accepting this part of the reality awaiting her. She still couldn't face the glaring emptiness that was Kismet's place in the world. Some as yet undefeated part of her couldn't believe Kismet would take her own life.

"Lawyers are listed under 'L,' for liars," she told him, curling up in a tight ball around her pillow. "The page under 'A' for assholes was full. Most of them know me, but they'll not thank you for your business."

She thought he chuckled understandingly. She'd harassed every lawyer she'd ever come across—and she'd come across plenty. Lawyers were all asses looking for the easy way out, even when it meant costing a person their spouse, their kids, their career, or their home. If she'd had any brains at all, she should have gone to law school. She'd never had any brains.

He wandered off, and she tried summoning the energy to get up. Her hair felt stiff and matted from the salt air. Jared had apparently removed her clothes before tucking her into bed, but he hadn't been brave enough to remove her T-shirt and panties. She hoped it was a sign that she still tempted him. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd be better off developing a disgust of her and getting the hell out of here.

She'd bled enough for now. She would cut that artery some other time. Wrapping the sheet around her shoulders, she sat up and rubbed her eyes against the light from the window. They'd be out on the beach again, searching. She didn't want to know how often the bodies of drowning victims returned to shore. Matty's discovery of the old skeleton seemed somehow prophetic. The sheriff had said it had probably been some long-ago drowning casualty.

Katy from the B&B, of course, had declared the skeleton a victim of pirates and had demanded excavation. Cleo supposed rumors of buried treasure were already whispering through town, and the beach would be inundated with curiosity-seekers.

No manner of diversion could hide the fact that she'd failed Kismet. She'd enjoyed her weekend with Matty and family and hadn't looked hard enough to find her. She'd assumed the sheriff had arrested Lonnie and everything would be all right. She'd assumed too damned much. Just like Jared.

So, that's where optimism took one. To hell and back.

Or not.

If Kismet had heard the sheriff's theory about the skeleton, what were the chances her active imagination had led her to plant those items on the beach so no one would look for her? Did she dare hope?

Jared returned with the address book and a pad of rough sketches. "What are these? I found them on your desk. It doesn't look like Kismet's stuff."

Sitting on the bed's edge, Cleo looked around for her jeans without glancing at what he held. "I tried to show Axell how gears work together to make motion. I've been studying the courthouse clock with Ed, and I had some stupid idea I could fix that cog. Now I know how DaVinci must have felt when he tried to explain flying machines. Except he could draw and I can't."

"You need to learn computer drafting. It's easier." He threw the sketchpad on the bed. "I'm taking your address book with me. It's easier than copying everything down."

She nodded and pulled a cotton shirt over her tank top. She needed to shower anyway. If he wouldn't mention Kismet, neither would she.

She still felt the stark horror of her mother's untimely death. But she'd been a kid then. Maybe these things got easier with age. Or maybe she didn't really believe in Kismet's death.

"Whatever," she said dismissively. He had to feel useful, so she'd let him. She knew better than to believe a lawyer could help, but people from Jared's world evidently felt better talking to leeches, and that was fine with her. She had better things to do, and she needed to concentrate on them. Before it was too late rang in her mind, but she was denying the inevitable in favor of one step at a time.

Before Cleo realized he'd entered the room instead of leaving it, Jared jerked her from the bed, caught her face between his hands, and kissed her until her head spun. She had to grab his arms for support or her knees would have buckled.

Only then did he release her to meet her eyes with that fiercely determined gaze she'd seen once or twice before.

"You're not going to jail, Cleo. Believe me. I'm taking care of this. You just hang on until I get back. I have things I want to do with you that I haven't dared dream of yet. Think about it."

She collapsed back on the bed, her heart thumping like a wound-up toy drum as she watched his form-fitting polo shirt and khakis stride purposefully from the room. A man like that could almost make her believe in miracles.

Hope had never been part of her nature, so she wasn't certain if she could recognize it now, but something fluttered in her chest besides her pounding heart. Maybe she had gas.

* * *

Marta looked surprised as Cleo stalked in, jaw set and chin tilted in an attempt to maintain her battered pride.

She'd gone down to the beach to see if anyone needed coffee or if she could help in the search, but no one would talk to her. They simply set about their organized plans and left her to stand alone, dying inside. She'd be damned if she'd be treated like that before she was even convicted of anything.

Let them search the ocean. She needed to search elsewhere. Kismet had brains. If she wanted to elude her mother, she would find a way besides suicide. Maybe she was fooling herself, but it was better than waiting uselessly.

"I don't push drugs," Cleo said flat out to her startled clerk. "I stole a teddy bear, for pity's sake. If you're going to look at me as if I'm a two-headed dragon, you can get out now. I don't need you or anyone else." She stalked to the coffee maker and poured some of the strong stuff Marta favored.

"I believe you wouldn't hurt those kids," Marta agreed. "Why don't you return the favor and trust me with the story?"

Cleo didn't like talking about herself. She didn't like her past. She didn't much like herself some days. But Jared had taught her talking could ease the pain, and she was carrying a bag load of grief right now.

She talked.

* * *

Despite the hurricane, business remained slow. Maybe everyone in town was going to Charleston and the big warehouse stores to cut costs. Or already boycotting a drug pusher before she was found guilty. At the sound of the front door opening, Cleo caught herself from jumping up from her computer. Marta could handle a single customer. She didn't need to go out there.

Hand on the phone, ready to call Linda's house again, she couldn't resist listening to the conversation in the front of the store. She'd intended to spend the rest of her life in this town, to raise Matty to be happy and healthy with friends all around him. She'd wanted to be a pillar of the community, sort of. Yesterday had dashed all that. She knew it. She simply couldn't help hoping for a reprieve.

She ought to smack Jared for that stupid thread of optimism.

"I'm here to see Cleo Alyssum," a commanding voice announced at the counter.

She knew that voice. It had the power to strike fear in her heart. Not yet, she pleaded with unseen forces, returning the phone to the cradle and clutching her desk edge. She had to find Kismet first. And get Gene out of jail to safety. Who the hell had called the damned feds? Her supervisor ignored her as long as she attended counseling.

"She's busy," Marta said curtly. "If you'll give me your name and business..."

Marta could smell the law from half a mile away. With Cleo's story fresh on her mind, she'd know the visitor wouldn't be good news. Frantically, Cleo tried to think of all the things she needed to do before they carted her off to jail. She hadn't said good-by to Matty, or called Maya with instructions about what to say to him. And she was the only one Kismet would trust. If she was alive, Cleo had to be there for her.

Jared would be frantic if she wasn't here when he returned.

That was a new and scary thought. She'd only had Matty to worry about in the past. Worrying about Jared in the same way caused her heart to stutter, but it felt right to worry about him. Jared had showered her with more love and concern than any human being on earth. Even Maya thought her a pig-headed fool.

Despite their differences, Jared still managed to see through all her defenses, touch her in ways she hadn't known she could be touched. And he cared. He believed in her. He'd actually left his rich world to come back here to help her. She couldn't let him down, even if he was insane to believe she could be saved.

She hit frantic overload as the deep voice boomed angrily.

"She's violated the terms of her parole. The judge will hear her story when the time comes. For now, I have to take her in."

"She's done absolutely nothing wrong," Marta shouted back. "You can't believe a lying no-good druggie over a decent hardworking store owner, you pig! The whole town will rise up in arms."

Nice thought. Cleo was up and moving before she knew what she intended to do. She had no illusions of the town rising to her defense, but she didn't want to go anywhere until Jared returned, and that was final. She had to know that Gene would be all right, that Kismet lived, that Jared understood, and she didn't cause him pain.

Besides, she was damned sick and tired of being treated like a piece of garbage by the government meant to protect her. She was a human being, and she'd damned well proved she could live as decently as anyone else. She'd earned some respect. Jared was right—it was time she learned to stand up for herself. She deserved it.

Driven by the pure fires of righteous anger instead of the chaos of panic, Cleo stalked into her storage room, grabbed the tools she needed from the shelf where she'd left them a few weeks ago, and stormed out the back door. To hell with the feds. To hell with this damned bloody town. She was making a statement here.

* * *

His cell phone rang as Jared navigated a narrow picturesque street in search of yet another Charleston lawyer. He'd learned to park in New York City. He could park anywhere. He swung the Jeep into a miniscule space between a Rolls and a Jag and only ran one tire onto the crumbled—probably historic—sidewalk.

He snatched the phone from its socket and barked his name into it. He'd left messages with half the lawyers in town, and if they were all like the one he'd just seen, he might as well handle the case on his own. Cleo had been dealing with some pretty smarmy characters.

"Jared?" Marta's voice sounded uncertain and a little scared.

All right, he'd scared her to death yesterday. Maybe she had some right. He just had the ominous feeling that it wasn't him scaring her this time. "I'm here. What's wrong?"

"It's Cleo."

Hell, he'd known that. He was getting a handle on this panic mode though. If he bit his tongue hard enough, he didn't yell as loudly. "What's happened?" Okay, he didn't yell, but he sounded terrified.

"She's on the courthouse roof," Marta whispered.

Jared closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. "The courthouse roof?" he asked. He didn't even want to imagine where this was leading.

"She said she knows how to repair the clock up there. She took her tools and climbed up and moved the ladder on the steeple so no one could follow her. And she's chained herself to it so they have to take down the clock to get at her."

He damned well could see where this was leading now. Well, he'd told her to fight. He just hadn't told her how, and Cleo didn't know "appropriate" from a hole in the wall. "Why?" he asked, in brave hope that his theory was wrong.

"Because the feds came to pick her up," Marta whispered, as if fearful the officer could haul her away for just mentioning it. "The clock weighs two tons," she added, as if that helped.

He almost chuckled. If it wasn't so serious and so painful, he could almost see the humor in this. He'd already drawn the entire scene in his mind. He'd have his audience rolling in the aisles. Damn, he loved her wicked mind.

"Is she safe up there?" he demanded.

Marta hesitated. "I suppose so. She's been up there before with Ed. She can't stay up there."

"Knowing Cleo, she'll stay up there until the gulls pick her bones clean if we don't do something. That's one stubborn woman. I'll make a few phone calls and see what I can do. I've got an idea."

He hung up, threw aside Cleo's list of sleazy lawyers, and dialed Axell. "Give me the name of the best, the most charismatic, the loudest, most publicity-hungry lawyer you know," he shouted into the phone.

Axell did.