The Survivors Club (16 page)

But this was the age of credit cards, and she had no cash on her.

The man who accepted her credit card didn’t look at her. Didn’t smile. Hardly said a word.

Her room was cool despite the floor-to-ceiling expanse of window.

She set her suitcase on the floor. Felt exhilaration but also guilt, mixed equally.

She’d paid for the room herself.

Bonny had given her a voucher. What would she do now? Give it back to him? Already she was screwing up.

She was no femme fatale. If she’d had a scarf and dark glasses, she would have had to turn them in on the spot.

Tess didn’t think Bonny suspected. He was a straightforward man and he expected his people to be straightforward.

But Tess knew what she was doing was unprofessional. It might even get her in hot water, if it was found out. Ethically: Did she really need to stay here overnight? Could she have concluded her business in one day? If she’d put her case first?

But there was the animal sanctuary. She had to follow that path and see where it led. The idea of the place lodged in the back of her mind, part savior, part mystery.

She’d go looking for the animal sanctuary later this afternoon. And if she found anything, if there was anything to find—she’d follow it to the end of the trail.

But first, she made her phone call, and settled down to wait.

A motorcycle pulled in to the parking lot. Tess looked out the window. A man swung off and removed his helmet.

The man’s hair was short and looked like it had been cut by one of those places you just walk in to, like Supercuts—the cut was simple and kind of dorky. He wore faded jeans that somehow made him look chunky (how did he do that?) and the jeans were boot-cut over scuffed desert boots. His knit polo shirt, untucked, was horizontally striped. He hooked the helmet on the motorcycle and headed her way, elbows slightly out from his body, as if he was used
to lifting grain sacks all day—just kind of stumped along. She noted a clunky turquoise-loaded sandcast Navajo bracelet and a watch that looked cheap even from here. His wallet made a huge square in his back pocket, and a cheap duffel bag, old and used, was slung over his shoulder. He could have been a construction worker on his day off.

She opened the door. Max Conroy leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a cute blue-collar grin and said, “Hello, sweetness.”

The first time it was two people tearing off each other’s clothes, urgent—no, more than that, lunatic
crazy,
two lovers caught up in some fevered hallucination, desperate to rid themselves of the boundaries between them.

As if they could not be apart for one more moment. Nothing mattered but the need to join together, to try as people had for centuries to somehow become one.

The sweetness was painful. A starburst that took a long way to burn down.

They lay tangled, legs wound together, hips touching, and Tess felt the beating of his heart.

At that moment, she wanted so much to never leave. Never be apart. Never ever pull away.

Maybe on an island somewhere. Alone together. Castaways.

The yearning was so deep at that moment that she discounted everything else about her life. Who she was, what she was, where she was going.

His chin rubbed against her face.

Five o’clock shadow.

His voice against her neck. “I miss you.”

They lay there, sated. Until they weren’t.

Slowly, the urge came back.

She tilted her head up toward him and looked into his eyes. They were the color of the ocean at sunrise—teal green.

She felt his strength, in the broad wings of his chest, in the crook of his neck.

Moving. Tingling warmth. She melted like an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

Love for him seemed to grow under her solar plexus and spread out all over.

It was great.

Tess’s mind drifted. Max was asleep. She looked at him, feeling the smile inside. Max was good at disguise. He could melt into any crowd.

They had stolen this moment.

He was in the middle of shooting the TV series. He was off for the week, but shooting of the next episode would start back again in Tustin on Saturday. It had worked out perfectly—this tiny window of opportunity.

She tried to tell herself that the tiny window was enough.

CHAPTER 28

They were getting ready to go out for dinner—there was a steak house that looked pretty good—when Max’s phone sounded. His ringtone was “Gangnam Style,” no lyrics.

He put the phone to his ear and turned away.

Tess had a bad feeling.

Max sat down on the bed, bending forward, listening. He said, “I canceled that.”

Tess watched him. Out of the blue she had the feeling he would be leaving soon. Which she could understand—he was busy; he was both the co-producer and star of the show—but she’d hoped they could spend some more time together.

She’d certainly made her own life more complicated by meeting him here.

“I thought we’d worked this out.” Max looked at her. His look said everything. “I can be there in,” he checked his watch. “Forty minutes, if the traffic isn’t too bad. Yes, I know how they are. All right, yeah, okay. I’ll see you then.” He looked at Tess. “Shit.”

“You have to go.”

“It’s unavoidable. So much going on with this production, and something…” He looked in her eyes. “Fell through the cracks. I have to do an appearance. I don’t know if I can make it back. Maybe late tonight.”

“A late dinner?”

God, she hated the way she said that.

“It’s too far, I’d never make it back here—unless you want to eat at eleven o’clock at night.”

Tess realized that he was used to eating at eleven o’clock at night.

She also realized that she didn’t really know what his lifestyle entailed. That she didn’t know much about his life in California as she should.

“I can wait that long,” she said. Inwardly wincing as she said it.

She’d compromised herself by meeting him when she should be on the clock, and this was the result.

He ran a hand through his badly styled hair.

“There’s so much crap going on. I don’t even know if we’re gonna get another season. There’s just so much that’s undecided—the nature of the game. You’re all in until the next roadblock. It isn’t fair to you.” He came up behind her and held her in his arms. “I shouldn’t have wasted your time.”

“It’s not a waste of time.” But even when she said it, she thought of the last time she’d come out. It had been the same way. It was his job. He was busy, she was busy. She had her own life and he had his.

But it seemed that she was always the one to make accommodations.

The joy she’d felt—the
rightness
of the day—evaporated.

“I have to make this appearance tonight. I thought I’d gotten out of it, but they’re holding me to it, and I don’t think they’re all that thrilled with how things are going.” He broke away from her, sat down on the bed, and rubbed his eyes.

Stressed.
Maybe he’d dressed to look chunky, but Tess noticed that he had gained a little weight.

This in itself could be disastrous for a leading man.

The thought crept in, catching her unawares. Maybe he was drinking and using again…but the one thing the madman who ran the Desert Oasis Healing Center had done was break Max’s habit in two.

There was no evidence at all that this was the case, and she sensed that he was all right, at least in that regard. But even that momentary distrust…what was that all about?

He looked up at her as if he’d read her mind, and grinned. The patented trademark Max Conroy grin. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you have something you can do.”

“It’s okay, really.”

Liar.

Just when had she lost her honesty?

He called her late at night. Apologized again.

“It’s okay,” Tess said. Not feeling it was okay and hating herself for saying it. Max was not to blame. She knew that. “You’re busy. I’m busy. Which reminds me, I’m going to try and wrap this thing up quickly and get an earlier flight.”

Wondering why she said it. Did she think it would hurt him?

“That’s probably good. I won’t be able to shake loose tomorrow.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

There was a pause. “Look, I’m sorry that it didn’t work out. I tried.”

“I know you did.”

“If you lived out here—”

“We’ve discussed this. I just started up with Santa Cruz County. It’s my career we’re talking about here.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Look,” she said, hating herself while she said it. “We’ll work it out. Maybe you can come out when…”
When
was the issue. He was constantly working.

Tess heard voices in the background.

Max said, “Hey, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon.”

Disconnected.

Tess sat on the bed, looking at the mirror opposite.

Stared at her reflection for a long moment.

“Dumb-ass,” she said.

CHAPTER 29

When Jaimie landed back in Tucson she didn’t drive straight home from the airport—she was too unsettled for that.

Everything was going south. It was like she was in the back of a car going faster and faster on a narrow road, and the driver wouldn’t stop no matter how much she begged. She was in that car to the end of the road.

She saw her ex-lover’s chopper parked in front of the Buckboard Saloon. She turned into the parking lot. She’d taken a miserable trip down memory lane at the beach house in Laguna—Chad had really messed the place up, it smelled like a goat pen—and now all she wanted was to forget. Maybe her ex would help her to do that.

Gloomy as she felt, when she opened the door to the dark saloon, she suddenly felt beautiful and sexy. Every man in the place—and most of them knew her—still marveled at her good looks. Many men tried with her, but few had the goods. She had her favorites, the guys she’d sleep with once in a while if the mood took her, but the rest could just hang out their tongues like slavering out-of-luck dogs. Today, though, her first goal was to get so drunk she could forget about her little brother.

Joe—the bartender, his name really was Joe, and she always called him “Set ’em Up Joe,” was her boyfriend in high school. Now he was a part-time welder and part-time bartender and full-time husband.

“How you doin’ today, darlin’?” He polished off the bar with a towel and set down a glass and poured a liberal supply of whiskey in it. She knocked it back like she always did, and said, “Fine.” The first one was always free. His daughter, Kayla, rode free at Jaimie’s place in return for cleaning the stalls, so really, it was an exchange. He kept her old ranch truck running and had done some nice ironwork around her place, beautiful stuff that she could put on her business cards and brochures. If she ever got around to it.

He repeated the question. “How’s it goin’?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” He had hazel eyes and they were sexy, but damn he was actually one of those men who were faithful to their wives, plus, she already had her eye on the one she wanted to pick out of the herd—Harley Cawdle. He was playing pool and watching her like a dog watches a can of Alpo on the counter.

She held out her glass for another shot. Joe poured another.

“You don’t know about what happened? To my brother?”

“Michael?”

“No, the one in Laguna Beach.”

“So what about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“You don’t seem that upset.”

“He was a dumb-ass.”

“I don’t know as I ever met him.”

“You wouldn’t. He hasn’t lived out here in, like, ten years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wanna know what happened to him?”

Joe Shively looked troubled. She knew he didn’t want to hear it, but she said it anyway. She slammed the shot glass down on the counter and said, “Somebody choked him to death, that’s what happened.”

Joe just stared at her. Opened his mouth. Almost said something. Closed it again.

She started to cry. She didn’t want to cry because it would mess up her makeup, and she really did want to get laid by Harley, but all of a sudden she wasn’t just crying, she was braying. Braying like a fucking donkey! And she couldn’t stop.

Through her tears she looked over at Harley. He was watching. His pool cue standing next to him, his hand frozen on it. Then he looked away.

Like she was embarrassing herself.

“What are you looking at, Harley?” she yelled.

He shook his head and turned away, tried to make a shot, and the pool cue shot over the ball and the ball jumped a little. His back was to her.

“Hey, Harley, you know you want it!” she yelled at him.

He studiously avoided her gaze, lining up his shot.

“You’re gonna blow it, Harley. You’re going to screw the fuck up.”

And he did. His pool cue rammed into the felt and banged against the side of the table.

Likely be the only satisfaction she’d get tonight.

She paid for two more shots and got the hell out of there.

Jaimie turned under the sign and drove down to the stables to check on the horses. Her eyes were red and she knew she didn’t look good. She’d repaired her makeup in the little cubicle they called a bathroom at the Buckboard. Coming out had run right smack into Harley. The bathroom was in a narrow hallway that led out past the kitchen—the back way out, and he’d been headed that way. She said again, “What are you lookin’ at?”

He’d mumbled something. She thought it was about her brother, but she was so angry, so embarrassed—humiliated by the weakness she’d shown—that she stomped hard on his instep. He banged against the cheap veneered wood paneling of the hallway, and she charged past him out into the night.

It was a nice night, and the stars had turned the sky blue roan, the color of her first pony a thousand years ago. The horses were all in good shape. It was sweater weather at night, and she was wearing a slinky tank top, so she rubbed her arms.

She was pretty bad off. All the crying and all the whiskey. So she let herself in, and followed by a crowd of dogs, went off to bed.