Undercover Heat (6 page)

He wasn’t
the only one with acting chops.

After a long moment, she stood up from the table and headed for the stairs. “If you grab your bags, I’ll show you to your room.”

“I’m fine on the couch.”

“You might be, but I’m getting up early, and from what I’ve heard you’ve turned nocturnal. I don’t want to tip-toe around the house in the middle of the day worrying about waking you up.”

The insult hit him just fine. At least she cared enough to bother. Ty lugged his bag up the front staircase and found the light burning at the far end of the hall. Following the oriental runner, he made his way to the last door on the right. It wasn’t lost on him that the bedroom was the furthest point in the house from hers.

He lingered in the doorway, and watched Carrie replace the linens on the bed. Her robe had loosened around her, giving him a decent flash of her breasts. A silver cross on a thin chain slipped out, sticking in her damp strawberry loc
ks.

“Carrie Ann, I want you to go dry your hair. It isn’t right to run around this drafty house with a wet head. You’ll catch your death.”

“Didn’t I just finish telling you I don’t need your two cents?”

He rolled h
is eyes. “Fine, get pneumonia.”

While Carrie fussed with the bathroom towels, he walked around the room, checking out the accommodations. Carrie was a stickler for detail, and he remembered when she’d conceived the place that she wanted each room to have a theme. This must have been the music room. A music box, with a tiny ballerina on top, sat on the dresser, and the ceiling border had black and white dancing silhouettes in mid-pirouette. Even the desk had a glass inlay with yellowed sheet music displayed underneath. He smiled when he saw the title. Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” He used to play it for her all the time on the downstairs piano.

The sleigh bed, large and soft, was almost a replica of Carrie’s, with intricate designs carved on the oak headboard. He ran his hand over the velvet comforter. It was thick and rich, and the deep burgundy color seemed to suit
her
per
sonality. Warm. Inviting. Soft.

Perfect.

A framed black and white photo of a young ballerina mid leap hung on the wall beside the window. He walked to it and smiled. “This was always one of my favorite pictures of you.”

She stepped out of the bathroom and squinted across the room at the picture. “Thanks. That was from when I was in ‘The Nutcracker.’ I think it has the New York City Ballet emblem at the bottom of the picture.”

“I know. It used to be downstairs by the piano.”

“I thought it worked better up here.” She shrugged. “I put some of our publicity pictures downstairs instead. The guests really like them.”

“Really? I didn’t see them.”

“I took a lot of them down to dust. Not a small project by the way, there’s a lot of them.”

“You don’t have to remind me. I moaned and groaned through every single one.”

“You know, I never understood why you didn’t like them,” she said, walking around the bed toward him. “I thought it was fun getting all dressed up and having our pictures taken. Easier than memorizing lines and blocking.”

“Dressed up? Undressed is more like it. It took all my self-control not to break the freakin’ camera.” He looked down at her, remembering how they used to doll her up in negligees and paint her with makeup. He preferred her natural. Pure. Just like this. With a slow and careful step, he went to her. The light cast gold highlights in her hair, her eyes the lightest shade of blue. “You’re beautiful
,
Carrie Ann, you know that?”

The question didn’t warrant an answer, and he didn’t wait for one. Instead he closed the distance between them, and slowly brought his mouth to hers.

Her cherry lips were as soft as he’d remembered. She tasted sweet, like the finest wine he ever sampled, and the rush it brought to him was just as intoxicating. He cupped her face, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. Desire teased him, taunted him, urged him to search her mouth with his tongue, but when he felt her push against his chest, he reluctantly broke the kiss and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

Her back was to him now, and her shoulders hunche
d over in a shrug. “It’s okay
.
”

“Carrie-
”

“Okay, I guess that’s it,” she said and moved around him toward the bathroom. “Towels are on the sink, and you know where everything else is.”

“Carrie-
”

“And if you need an extra blanket, closet at the end of the hall.”

“Carrie Ann.” She had to still know that when he used her full name he meant business. Not in a menacing kind of way, but one that indicated he needed to be heard.
Sh
e had a way of shutting others out, and in the past he’d mostly let her have her way. He reserved his battles for times when it really mattered, like insisting she eat when she hadn’t in days, or times like this when he’d done something stupid and n
eeded her to know he was sorry.

He sat down on the bed and shook his head. “That was inappropriate. I promise you it won’t happen again. It’s just been a long day and all. And seeing you
…
”

“I under
stand.”

The words were obligatory. He could see confusion in her eyes, and maybe a little sadness that he felt himself.

He wished the smile back.

“What about tomorrow?”

She raised her brow
. “What do you mean ‘tomorrow’?
”

“I figured besides that barn roof, you could find something to keep me occupied. A walk in the woo
ds or ice skating on the pond.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know about that,” she said. “From what I’ve heard recently, this place might be a little low-key for you. No exotic dancers or blackjack tables for a good hundred miles.”

She said it with the disgust of any good, little, Irish-Catholic girl, and he felt the dutiful shame. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Mercifully, she slid out the door. The scent of fresh lilacs lingered in her place, and the warmth of the space dispersed to a chill. He sat on the bed and stared at the door,
her taste still on his lips.

***

Harvey Tillman tossed his piece of shit camera into the empty passenger seat. You get what you fucking pay for. What he really needed on an assignment like this was one of those high-powered lens jobs that all the good paparazzi sported. But east L.A pawn shops weren’t known for their high-tech equipment, and he told Layla he had the scratch to invest in this gig. So far he had gotten by just fine. He got his ass to
New York
, even took some choice shots of the duo in the diner. Not bad for a guy whose only experience in a job like this was advice he got in city lockup, from a psycho who set his girlfriend’s beauty salon on fire.

But Tillman was a bullshit artist, and, thankfully, Layla was as stupid as she was crazy. The perfect combination, in his opinion, to make a hell of a lot of money and get crazy laid. But the money and the perks were only half of it. He had his own agenda, and if all w
ent to plan...

He squinted through the darkness, at the glow in the upstairs window. They were in there. Probably doing it. He closed his eyes, picturing Ty on top of her, giving it to her good.
Harvey
loved small women, and Carrie Ann was as sexy as they came. Petite, but built in all the right places. She was probably tight, too. He could tell. He imagined himself slipping in to her. Jesus, did Hollis
ter know how to pick his women.

He opened one eye and again looked up at the window. Not a damn thing to see. He wished he could figure a way to plant a camera in there. Like the ones they used on those news shows, like “How to Nail a Nanny” or some shit like that. Christ, a freaking sex tape of Ty and Carrie. That would really blow Layla’s mind, and he’d bet his piece of shit camera that she’d be more than happy to show her gratitude. Her and Marcy both.

The bedroom light turned off just as flurries
dotted his windshield. Fucking figured. The place was winter hell, and he’d head back to the city if he wasn’t driving a decade old Dodge Shadow with bald tires and half a muffler. Nah, he was better off camping out right here in his car. There had to be a parking lot around where no one would hassle him. Maybe across the way at the ski resort. He could get a few hours shut eye and probably
pick up some coffee there, too.

He checked his watched then looked into the darkness in front of him. The wind whistled around his car, blowing clouds of snow across the pavement. The plow had just gone through minutes ago, and the cops would be on him if they figured him for a disabled car on the side of the road. But before he did anything, he’d have to check in. Staying on the boss’s good side was the key to his success. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pushed two on the speed dial.

Chapter Four

Carrie rolled away from the morning sun, pouring through her bedroom window. Yesterday, when she was inspired to take down the Venetian blinds to dust, she didn’t think she’d have the sun to contend with. It was November in the
North Country
after all. The job probably would have been a whole lot easier if she had just left the stupid things up in the first place. But that’s how most of her life went. A search and discover mission all her own, that sometimes taught her les
sons the hard way.

Ty Hollister case in point.

Last night she tossed and turned, her bed feeling larger than usual. Lonely. More than once she had closed her eyes and imagined Ty lying beside her. Holding her, touching her. Dragging his lips down the nape of her neck, ki
ssing her softly on the mouth...

A muffled sound of an ax striking wood snapped her out of her thoughts. Blinking back tears, she went to the window. Ty stood in the middle of the yard over a pile of wood, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a tan Carhar
t
t jacket. God, he was handsome. Big and solid, but soft and gentle. At least that’s what she remembered. Back then they were inseparable. Friends first, then much later lovers, secretly holding tight to each other while the wild ride of fame tossed them about. No one had a clue about their relationship. Not even Earl, and especially not her parents. They were already mad that she’d left the New York City Ballet to work on “
Undercover Heat.
” And for people who considered eight o’clock network television pornographic, they would never have understood her relationship with a poor southern boy, who in their eyes could never measur
e up to their perfect daughter.

Ty was thrilled when she told him she was pregnant, and she was too, until the fear overtook her. It would affect the show, expose their relationship, and no way would Archbishop award a high-up position to a man with a notori
ously, illegitimate grandchild.

Somehow, her terror had manifested in a strange sort of contest of how little she could eat, and how much weight she could lose. A game she played casually as a dancer, but at five months pregnant mastered. She didn’t recall the tumble down the stairs, but she imagined the physical pain was far less than the emotional agony that followed. Pulling through it was no small feat, but she came out okay. Even through her mother’s death, she managed. Yes, Carrie Ann Langley was a new person, and this one didn’t need Ty Hollister in her life. In a few weeks, a month tops, she wouldn’t ever have to lay eyes on him again.

“You want me to get a towel to mop up the drool?”

Carrie clutched her chest and spun around. Lizzie stared back at her in the doorway. Her arms folded as if she was angry, but the smirk told her Lizzie was more amused than anything else. “Shut up, Lizzie.”

“What? My sister is gawking at the Sexiest Man Alive four years run
ning, and I can’t make a joke?”

Lizzie wasn’t naturally funny. Carrie was actually the family comedian, not a hard fought title, considering the stoics her parents had been, but a quality she was proud of none the less. This was Lizzie’s attempt to let her know she was here for her, and Carrie appreciated the gesture.

“So I’m sure you didn’t miss me when I slipped out of here last night.” Lizzie came up next to her and leaned on the windowsill. “That was pretty gutsy of him to drive all the way up here. Did he say anything to you? I mean, about why he’s here?”

Carrie ran her hands down her arms, feeling the chill from the window through her white cotton gown. “Not really
.
”
S
he shrugged. “Just small talk. Earl probably sent him. Make sure I don’t jump ship on this whole publicity thing.”

“Are you thinking of doing that?”

Carrie looked across the way at the dilapidated roof on the East barn. When her mother got sick, most of her savings from the show went for her care. Of course, she didn’t regret spending it. She just wished she had a little left. “I can’t. The money is too good to pass up.”

“I guess you have to make the best of it then.” Lizzie’s lips bent into a smirk, and her eyes twinkled with laughter. “You didn’t ‘make the best of it’ last night did you?”

“Lizzie! Of course not!” Carrie made a point of staring at her, before waiting a beat and turning away. She learned that from Ty when they were running lines once. It was his “how-dare-you-question-my-conviction
”
look. She had tweaked it and kept it for her own.

“I had to ask. It’s not like you to sleep past eight.”

Carrie looked at her watch, but realized she hadn’t put it on yet. “Past eight? Wow, I must have been tired.”

“Well I hope you’re rested now, because I’m leaving at noon. Russ is coming home, and I want to spend some quiet time with him while I still can.”

Carrie didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on Ty. His agile body, the soft grunt he made when the ax struck the wood. She breathed deep to steady herself. The man could be jumping around like a monkey, and she b
et he’d still be sexy doing it.

“Please don’t tell me you require a chaperone.”

“Of course not
,
” Carrie answered, too quickly for even her ears, then pulled the curtain closed. “Listen, I thought I’d run into town, before the snow starts again. You need anything? Maybe some sparkling grape juice for your little tryst.” She winked. “Russ is probably going to be very happy to see you.”

“Don’t you worry about me, baby sister. You keep your mind on your own dramas. That guy out there is red hot, and if he gets too close, he’ll burn you like he did before.” Lizzie squeezed her shoulder, her face softened to a motherly smile. “By the way. Daddy is due home in a few days. I don’t know how long Ty’
s staying, but if he sees him-”

“I know,” Carrie said, the thought of last night’s kiss passing through her brain. “Don’t worry. It won’t be an issue.”

The loud crack startled them both as a large log tumbled to the ground. Ty picked up another and set it up, positioning his ax over his shoulder, and took a swing.

“Tell you what
,
” Lizzie said, heading out the door. “I’ll make a list of things we need in town, but before that, we should take him some water. He’s been at that wood pile since I got here an hour and a half ago. He’s probably parched.”

“I’ll do it,
” Carrie called after her. She pulled on a flannel shirt and overalls and hastily threw her hair up in a pony tail. When she was down stairs ten minutes later, Lizzie had a thermos of ice water waiting.

“You should ask him about breakfast, too
,
” Lizzie said. “I have a batch of peanut butter cookies in the oven if he wants some.”

“I’ll let him know.” Not bothering with a jacket, Carrie pulled on her gloves and jogged out the door with the thermos tucked under her arm.

**
*

Ty picked up another log and set it up on the stump. With one swift swing, it split in half and tumbled into the snow in a cloud of powder.

Lizzie seemed impressed when she pulled in at six thirty, and he was already shoveling the walk. Truth was he actually missed this kind of work. Funny, because when it meant his survival, it felt like torture. After his father died in the
Kentucky
coal mines, and before his mother passed, he supported her by working as a farm hand outside
Birmingham
,
Alabama
. He was at a Mall hardware store buying pliers when a talent scout discovered him at age
23. A
year later, he landed the role of Jax on “
Undercover Heat.
” A year after that he won his first Emmy.

He always thought having loads of money would make life cake, but so far it had done nothing but complicate it. Someone always wanted a piece of the pie. He missed the simple existence, where people were genuine and time passed slowly. Like the time he’d spent here at Whisper Grove. Some of his happiest memories were just laying on the porch swing, watching the grass grow, with Carrie asleep in his arms.

“Ty?”

He stopped mid swing, her soft voice stealing his strength. When he set the ax down, she stepped closer, her delicate stature barely denting the fresh snow. “Carrie Ann, how long have you been standing there without a jacket?” His thick Southern accent startled him. He noticed it last night too. Where the hell did that come from all of a sudden?

“Not long, I just didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed to be on a roll.” She pointed to the pile of freshly split wood. “You really got through that cord in a hurry.”

“Yeah well, I could use the upper body workout.” Her hair looked even redder against the white landscape; the breeze blew strands across her pale face. He brushed one aside, and tucked it behind her ear. He wished his hand wasn’t gloved, so he coul
d feel her skin. “That for me?”

“Huh?”

He nodded toward the thermos tucked under her arm.

“Oh yeah. It’s ice water. Liz
zie thought you might like it.”

He unscrewed the cap and took a long gulp. When he was done, he smiled down at her. “Did you have a good night sleep?”

“Sure, I love a cool night.”

He remembered. Ten degrees outside, she’d crack a window. “It was still dark when I got up. I was careful not to make too much noise stumbling around.”

“Wow, when was the last time you saw a sunrise?”

“I see it all the time. Usually I haven’t been to bed yet, though.”

The porch door swung open, and Lizzie appeared. From fifty feet away, Ty saw the panic on her face. “Carrie! We’re out of chocolate chips.”

Carrie laughed. Ty loved it when she laughed. The way her cheeks reddened, how her lips curled at the sides. Something stirred inside him, and he brought the thermos back to his lips.

“So you’re telling me, you’d like me to head into town sooner rather than later
,
” Carrie called back.

“It’d be nice.”

“Can I tag along?”

Carrie looked at him, with deep wrinkles creasing her forehead. He recognized the expression. It was the one she gave when she sized him up or questioned his motives. And rightly so. After kissing her last night, all he could think of was how he wanted to do it again. “Get your jacket, and I’ll start the Hummer.”

“Fine, you can go, but we’re taking my truck. If people see me in that monstrosity of yours, I’ll be the talk of the town.” She felt around her overall pockets before pulling out the keys. “I’ll be right back.”

Carrie disappeared into the house, but Lizzie lingered. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her swollen belly. Ty felt the daggers from her eyes clear across the lawn. Sensing she had something to say, he jogged up to the porch, but stopped on the second step when she lifte
d her hand in front of her. “Um...
is there anything else you want us to get?”

“Cut the nice guy crap.”

He looked past her on into the house. When he didn’t see Carrie, he took a step closer. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Plenty if you’re not careful with her. You know, you’re not the only one who can swing an ax around here, Hollister. Watch your step.”

This wasn’t the first time he had angered a woman enough to threaten his life. This was, however, the first time he absolutely believed it. With a growl that reminded Ty of an angry pit bull, Lizzie pulled a folded piece of stationery out of her apron and shoved it into his chest. “See you two in a bit.”

Carrie stepped out the door and patted her sister’s shoulder on her way by. “If you think of anything else, call my cell,” she said. “And remember, no lifting.”

Ty followed Carrie out to the truck.
She
sat at the wheel, rubbing her ungloved hands together to warm them. He knocked on the frosted glass and motioned for her to roll the window down. “How about you move over,” he said. “The roads are bad, and I’d feel better if I was the one behind the wheel.”

“Excuse me, but who’s the native New Yorker here
?
I’m driving.”

“But, Carrie.”

“Get in.”

The power window hummed to a close, and just like that, the conversation ended. He took a step back, not so much in compliance, but at the shock of her words. Carrie Ann had just given him an order. It had been a while since anyone had told him what to do, except a director of course, but even then, Ty ultimately held their fate in his hands. It was refreshing and strangely arousing.
She
was taking control, and God damn, he was happy to let her have it.

He jumped in the passenger side and pulled off his work gloves. Warmer ones would have been his choice, but as he rubbed them together, he was beginning to think they felt better frozen. His palms burned, heralding the bloom of blisters. He looked at them and scowled. A decade of easy living had dulled his calluses.

“Are your hands okay?”

“Yeah,” he said and blew into his palms. “I guess I should have worn better gloves.”

“You should have used ones like mine. I rarely get a blister.”