Aussie Rules (13 page)

“Because I do.”

Al went pale. “Okay, seriously. Give the baby back, Char.”

She just kept cuddling the baby, a secret smile on her face.

“Honey? We're past all this baby stuff, remember,” Al said, sounding a little desperate. “No diapers. No midnight interruptions. Life's good, Char, really good. We're in the home stretch, in the clear, you know?”

“I'm just holding her, Al.”

“Okay,” he said, then nodded. “Okay, then. That's good.” He nodded again, hesitated, then went back into the kitchen.

Char smiled at Mel. “Yeah, I'm just holding her.” She leaned in. “And wanting another one.”

Mel glanced at Al in the kitchen.

“Oh, don't worry about him. I'll promise him sex every night, he'll be fine. He's a great daddy…”

Mel's brain had caught and snagged on
sex every night
. She imagined herself with someone, making love every night, and before she could stop the thought, her brain plugged Bo into that equation.

Whoa
.

Momentarily struck by that image, she had to shake it off, but it took her an embarrassingly long time to do so.

“Mel? What's the matter?” Char asked.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” Mel fanned air in front of her face.
Sheesh
. “Gotta go.” And she took herself and her letter to the post office. Unfortunately, it was lunchtime, and the rest of the free world was there, too. She had to park around the block, and by the time she got inside she was panting from the heat, sweating unattractively, and felt like her heart no longer fit inside her chest.

The same guy was behind the counter and he looked as unhappy at his job today as he had yesterday. He glanced at her and sighed. “He's got the flu, lady. You'll have to come back.”

“Are you kidding me? No one else can run the machine? How hard can it be?”

“Hard.”

“Look, can I see the manager?”

“I am the manager.”

Great. Perfect. She drove in the heat back to North Beach and faced yet another unpleasant surprise as she walked in the door.

“Line one,” Dimi called out. “Attorney.”

Their eyes met. Mel's heart stopped. “I'll take it in the office,” she said as if her world hadn't just stopped spinning. She ran down the hall, skidded to a stop in front of her desk, then stared at the phone as if it were a spitting cobra. “Grow up,” she told herself, and picked up the phone.

“Got news,” Greg said.

Mel couldn't breathe and her legs felt like rubber. “Okay.”

“You should probably sit.”

Right. She fell into her chair. “Sitting. Go.”

“The deed Bo Black has in his possession is legit.”

Dimi burst into the office, took one look at Mel's face, and sank to a chair.

“Sally deeded North Beach,” Greg continued, “and all its possessions, except for what's in the individually rented hangars, to Eddie Black. When Eddie Black died, everything he owned went to his sole beneficiary—Bo Black.”

“How long ago?” Mel asked.

“Ten years.”

She'd been working for Bo for ten years. Worse, Sally had known all this time…Every time she'd called, she'd known. Every time she'd drained the accounts, she'd known. Every time she'd asked Mel how things were, she'd known…“How did you find out?” she asked hoarsely.

“City records. Not that hard to find, actually. In fact, anyone could look this sort of thing up and get answers.”

Mel thought of the e-mail note and the letter she'd received. “Can anyone figure out that
I
went looking?”

“These days, with computer trails and such, yes.”

Mel nodded, then realized he couldn't see her. “Thanks,” she managed, hung up, and thunked her head to the desk. “My God.”

“There has to be a reason,” Dimi said. “He threatened her.
Something
.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

Bo was still away on his flight, but Mel knew she'd have to face him eventually. Knowing it felt like torture. For the next few hours, her pulse beat unevenly, and she kept breaking out into a sweat.

The deed was legit
.

Life as she knew it had changed forever, but she was nothing if not a survivor. She had plenty of smiles in her arsenal, and she pulled them out now, pasting on the “I'm Fine” smile for everyone who looked her way. And she'd leave it there until she knew for sure what the hell had happened, and why.

 

The next e-mail came in just before closing. Mel stared at it: BackOffOrElse. As before, the body of the e-mail was blank, but this time there was a subject line.

 

I mean it.

 

Mel felt the tingle go down her spine and knew she was getting close. To what, she had no clue.

M
el waited for Bo until 5:30, then couldn't handle it anymore. She grabbed her things and left her office. Dimi was gone, she'd left much earlier, without a word, making Mel's chest tighten with worry. Mel had loved Sally, but Dimi had positively worshipped the woman, and so for her, this would be harder.

Mel's brain had been racing since Greg's call, pounding with what if's—if Bo hadn't gone into the military, if he'd gone through his father's things sooner, if, if, if…

In any of those scenarios, she and everyone here would have been gone years ago.

The implications of that staggered her. All this time she'd
never
been in charge, not of her life, not of this place…

Ernest was in the parking lot, and as she came out he looked at his watch. “You're punching out early.”

“It's five thirty.”

“Early for you.”

“I wasn't the one who wasted two hours this afternoon napping in the storage closet.”

“Maybe you've been napping with your eyes open.”

A more real truth had never been spoken. “You ever trace that e-mail?”

He took off his cap, scratched his greasy head, then narrowed his beady eyes on her. “I told you I was working on it. Why?”

“I got another one.”

“Hmmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm glad I'm not you,” he said.

“Can you trace it or not?”

“I'll look,” he said, and hitching up his pants, moved toward the building. “But it'd be helpful if you stopped doing whatever you're doing to get them mad in the first place.”

Yeah, she'd just stop what she was doing—except she didn't know what that was.

Then it hit her—she did know. It was that she was tracing the deed—looking for Sally.

Feeling more fragile than fine china, she got into her car. She picked up a pizza, then drove to Dimi's.

Dimi opened her door, took one look at the box, and blew out a breath. “You know how I feel about carbs.”

“It's thin crust.”

“Well, all right, then.” She made a show of looking around Mel. “At least you didn't bring him.”

“Who?”

“
Him
. You know, bastard Bo.”

“Dimi—”

“Sorry.” But she didn't sound like it.

Dimi wore a pale, pale yellow sundress that revealed her willowy lean form. They sat on the beach, bare toes in the sand, watching the waves pound the surf while they consumed the pizza and a beer each.

Light for Dimi.

Not light for Mel.

Dimi daintily sipped her beer as if this was high tea, the bracelets on her wrists jangling, a frown on her mouth. She brushed the nonexistent crumbs from her fingers. “Well. The evening is still young. I've got to go live it.”

“We should talk about it, Dimi.”

“Why?”

“It'd be the mature thing to do.”

“Damn. I hate it when you're grown-up.” She played her toes in the sand. “I don't get it, Mel. Why would she do this to us and never say a word about it? Why would she let us think everything was status quo?” Her voice thickened with tears. “Hell, we were sending her money. Money that wasn't even
hers
.”

Mel shook her head. She felt sick about it, too.

“The only thing I can think is, she somehow lost the deed to him in an unfair bet or something, and by letting us send her money, she was trying to get back what Eddie had stolen from her.” Dimi looked up at her, hopeful once more. “That has to be it, Mel.”

“Then why didn't she return my call? Why did she change her number?”

Dimi closed her eyes, shook her head stubbornly. “Something's wrong.”

“I'm afraid so, yes.”

“We have to help her.”

Mel made a pained sound. Help Sally? She'd have loved to. Only Sally didn't want their help and they both knew it. “Dimi—”

“Don't say it.”

“She crossed the line. She stole money. She had
us
steal money.”

“But there's a
reason
.” Her voice shook. “I know it.”

Mel reached for Dimi's hand. “Listen to me. I don't know what's going on. Like you, I want to believe there's been a mistake. Okay? We're together in that. We're together in all of it. No matter what happens.”

Dimi squeezed Mel's fingers. “I know. You're my family, Mel. But things are going to change. It's going to suck. You know that.”

“Maybe Bo won't—”

“Honey, you're the smartest woman I know, don't go stupid on me now.”

Mel blew out a breath. “I'm going to talk to him.”

“Talk to him? Or do him?”

Were Mel's nightly dreams all over her face? It didn't help that she hadn't actually seen Bo since the other night, when she'd had to strip in front of him and let him hose her off. Since she'd let him put his hands all over her…
God
. “I'm not doing him.”

“Uh-huh. And I'm still a virgin.”

“I'm
not
.” But she wanted to be. What did that say about her, that she wanted the man who was poised to tear apart her entire world?

“Okay, maybe not yet, you're not doing him,” Dimi allowed. “But the signs are there.”

Mel pushed up and stalked down to the ocean. “Signs. There are no signs. What signs?”

“Well, that right there,” Dimi pointed out dryly. “The defensiveness is a dead giveaway, hon.”

Mel kicked the wave at her feet. “Damn it.”

“No one can blame you. I mean the guy's a walking, talking fantasy. But honestly, if you're looking to dip your toes into the testosterone pool, then let me help you pick a better one.”

“Uh, no offense, but I've seen your choices.”

“Yeah.” Dimi sighed. “True enough.”

“Look, I'm tired.” So damned tired. “I'm going home to bed.”

“I vote for Madigan's.”

Madigan's was the local bar, where no doubt she'd find Kellan and Ritchie, and a whole host of others looking for a good time. Normally Mel would consider it, for no other reason than to keep Dimi out of trouble, but tonight it seemed exhausting. “Not tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Dimi picked up the box of pizza.

“Dimi? We're going to be okay.”

Dimi's smile didn't meet her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

Mel nodded.

But they were both lying through their teeth.

 

The next day, Mel brought Bo's shirt into North Beach, washed but not ironed, and went in search of him.
Time to face the music
. She passed Kellan and Ritchie in the employee's break room playing darts, then Danny sprawled on a cart beneath the aircraft tow truck in the maintenance hangar, swearing up a storm.

In the back of that hangar Ernest was talking to a spider in the supply closet.

“Where's Bo?” she asked him.

Ernest carefully coaxed the spider into a jar, which Mel knew he'd take outside. “Tie-down.”

Right. He was on the tarmac, either conducting a tie-down or getting ready to. The lingo had been a part of Mel's vocabulary for years, and was second nature. So why she got another image altogether—one of Bo Black physically tied down, possibly naked (okay, definitely naked) shocked her into immobility.

Ernest frowned, peering into her face. “What's with you?”

Her mouth had gone dry. She cleared her throat. “Nothing.” Whirling around, she marched to the tarmac.

Bo stood there doing a preflight check on his plane, consulting a clipboard. Taking a deep breath, she refused to note how good he looked in shorts and a clean white T-shirt. She stalked up to him, slapped his other shirt against his chest, then took a big step back and a bigger mental one.

Bo looked down at the shirt in his hand, then back at Mel. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

He hooked a finger in the neckline of her top and pulled the neck out to take a peek inside.

“Hey!” She batted at his hand.

He stepped back with a smile. “Just checking your skin. No burns.”

“I told you!” In disbelief she felt her nipples harden.

Noticing, he waggled his eyebrows, and still smiling, walked away.

Bastard. “Hey,” she called after him.

He turned back.

“There's, um, something else.”

“What?”

“I heard from my attorney.” God, she hated this. “Your deed is legit.”

“I already knew that.”

“Yeah.” Damn, pride tasted like shit. “So. What now?”

He paused, then walked back to her. “I told you. I want to see Sally. I want to see her face and hear her say she screwed over my father.”

She had to ask, but it took her a moment. She stared at his throat, then lifted her gaze. “Are you going to prosecute?”

“You? No.”

“The others.”

He looked at her for a long moment, making her suffer. “No,” he finally said.

“Sally?”

“I want to talk to her,” he said, making no promises there. “I'll take it from there.”

He still didn't know how long Sally had been gone
. Oh, God. “Bo. Since the deed's legit, and you're now holding it, why do we have to do that and drag Sally and her name through the mud?”

“To clear my father's name.” He said this in a voice of steel and arguing against it would be like butting up against a stone wall.

She let out a shaky breath. “We should tell everyone…”

“What, that I don't hum when we f—”

“You know what I mean.”

“That I don't have a teeny, tiny d—”

“We should tell them that this place is yours now,” she grated out. “That you're their boss.
Our
boss. That our fate here is in your hands.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then looked away and let out a long breath. “I just want what was my father's. I'm not trying to hurt anyone here, you know that.”

When she didn't say anything, he let out a rough sound and turned and walked off the tarmac.

Yeah, she ought to bottle up these incredible people skills of hers. Blowing out her own breath of frustration, she followed him into the lobby. He'd vanished, and she didn't want to face the necessary staff meeting without him, so she wandered toward the café, needing food.

“Hey, good mail news,” Dimi called from her desk, and waved some checks over her head. “I'll run to the bank with the deposit. By tomorrow, Anderson Air will be flush again!”

“Thank God.” She went into the café. There were two customers eating there, with Al entertaining them with the stories of his photos as he hung up some newly framed ones.

“Finally,” Char drawled as she flipped something at the stovetop. She jabbed a spatula in Al's direction. “I've been asking you to get those up forever. Watch it, that right one's crooked—”

“Yes, dear.”

“And that center one should really be on the left—”

“Yes, dear,” Al said again.

“And—”

“Babe.” Al shot her a laughing glance. “You can either ask a man to do something, or tell him how you want it done. Not both.”

“Yes, but—”

“If you already knew how you wanted these arranged, why didn't you do it yourself?”

Char put her hands on her hips. “Because it's the Southern way to simply boss you around.”

Al laughed. “Back off or else, woman.”

Back off or else…Mel blinked as once again an odd sense of déjà vu came over her. Another unfortunate choice of words?

Or something else.

“Fine, I'll just back off,” Char said with a laugh, giving Al a smacking kiss on the cheek. She went for his other cheek as well but he turned so she kissed him right on the lips. He hugged her hard, then patted her ass.

Easy affection. No long, furtive looks, nothing to suggest their words were anything other than easy banter, and Mel told herself to shake it off. “Hey, we're having a staff meeting later, okay?”

“Oh?” Char smiled. “Raises?”

They all laughed, but Mel's was hollow. She accepted a sandwich from Char, and though she'd been hungry, now it stuck in her throat.