Carolina Heat (3 page)

CHAPTER TWO

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for taking me on this excursion?” Annabelle asked. The official carriage tour had ended upon their return to Market Street, where several other horse-drawn carriages were rapidly filling with tourists. Although flattering, it seemed a tad strange that Mark would give up what promised to be a lucrative afternoon simply to escort her through the city.

“It all depends.” He led her down the street with one big hand nestled at the curve of her back. “I imagine if you aren’t sufficiently cooled and refreshed, I’ll be in trouble, all right. But I’m confident that won’t be the case.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she said, her tone dry as dust. “But I meant with the tour company. Won’t they mind you taking the afternoon off?”

Deftly, he steered her through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds watching the basket weavers at the Old Market. “I don’t work for a company. The rig is privately owned. What you might call a one-man show. I’m just filling in today.”

“Sounds like an even worse scenario. If you want to stop and call in, I really don’t mind waiting.” Annabelle was starting to have second thoughts about this burst of spontaneity. If he were fired, she’d feel terrible.

“Why, that’s downright kind of you, ma’am.” Mark’s accent thickened a bit. “I appreciate the offer mightily, but it’s not necessary.”

“Chalk it up to generations of a Puritan work ethic. I worry about tiny details like unemployment.”

“The only thing you need to worry your pretty head about right now is if you can last for two more blocks.”

She set her teeth as she noticed he was more than a little amused at her discomfiture. “What are you; a throwback to Rhett Butler?”

“Pardon me?”

Annabelle dug her heels in and glared at him. This man was a living, breathing Southern stereotype. He needed a healthy dose of twenty-first-century reality. “My
pretty little head
will worry about whatever it wants. The Civil War ended a long time ago, and along with it the misconception that women can’t think for themselves.”

“The War Between the States,” Mark corrected in a gentle tone. His accent was now thick enough to cut with a knife. “We here in the South consider it a much more genteel way to refer to the whole unpleasantness.” With a flick of his wrist, he indicated she should resume walking. Annabelle grudgingly fell into step beside him.

“Oh yes, bloodshed, fires, raids, slavery….terribly unpleasant business. As a matter of fact, the mere thought of it has so upset me I believe I might swoon.” She fanned herself dramatically.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. I don’t believe for a second you could faint even if you tried. It takes our debutantes years of careful practice to master the art of a good swoon.”

The man was insufferable. And even worse, her body betrayed her with a noticeable flutter in her pulse one hundred percent attributable to his sexy accent. Hard to concentrate on what he was saying when every word out of his mouth dripped with dark honey. Annabelle drew a deep breath in preparation for a verbal assault on behalf of all womankind when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

Try as he might to disguise it, the corners of Mark’s mouth twitched upward in what was obviously an earnest attempt not to smile. The rotten man was laughing at her. Perhaps he’d been laughing all along at her expense. Amusing himself by toying with a gullible tourist. Preying on her plainly biased opinion of Southerners.

Or maybe…he drew on the fact she so easily bought into the Southern stereotype. With an almost audible click, everything fell into place. Maybe Annabelle was on the well-deserved receiving end of a lesson on snap judgments. She’d been a jerk. Time to make a u-turn with this conversation and start over.

“I jumped to completely unfounded conclusions, didn’t I?” Annabelle looked up at him, repentant. “You’ve been teasing me this whole time.”

“Guilty as charged.” He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I wondered how long it would take you to catch on. Perpetuating the myth of Johnny Reb is hard work. I wasn’t sure I could keep a straight face much longer.”

To her dismay, his accent had now all but disappeared. “I’m sorry I was so rude,” she said. “I don’t know what to make of you, Mark, and you’ve been nothing but kind. It truly is sweet of you to show me around.” She broke into a fit of giggles.

Mark gave her a bemused stare. “Annabelle? What is it?”

“It’s just...those things you said in that exaggerated accent...” She giggled helplessly again, and put a hand on his biceps to steady herself. His hand covered hers a moment later. “About swooning; you made it sound like a subject women minor in at college.”

“Does this mean you won’t believe me if I mention the ‘airs and graces’ scholarship my cousin received from the College of Charleston?” He grinned back at her. It was a wide, easy grin that made her feel a part of the joke, rather than the butt of it. One flash of white teeth against his killer tan was all it took to remind her it had been a while since she’d laughed like this with a man. In Annabelle’s experience, any man confronted with one of her admittedly feminist rants ran immediately in the opposite direction. Mark’s roll-with-the-punches attitude was a refreshing change.

“At this point, I’m not sure I’d believe it if you told me America has fifty states.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started. Puerto Rico pays taxes, but they don’t get a star on the flag? Lucky for you, there’s no time to get into it now.” Mark gestured grandly with both hands. “We’ve arrived at our destination.”

They were at a plaza on the edge of the harbor. A long pier jutted out into the ocean, lined with quaint gliders big enough to hold six people. Immediately in front of them a whimsical modern fountain spouted water out of brightly colored tiles as people stepped on them.

“Welcome to Charleston Harbor.”

“Mmm—this is wonderful. I can feel the ocean breeze.” She lifted her hair off the back of her neck. “I’m cooler already.”

“This is nothing. Wait until we get to the water’s edge.”

Annabelle’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She made an apologetic face at Mark and answered.

“Sorry I had to cut you off last night, Carlyle. Thought the stewardess was about to rip the phone right out of my hand.”

About time he called. Also, the worst possible time. “Ralph, I’m in a very public place. Can I call you back?”

“No need. Let me lay all my cards on the table. I’m asking you to go way out on a limb here, and I need you to do it all by yourself.”

A tingle of intrigue shivered up her spine. “You’ve got my attention.” She took a few steps away from Mark, careful to keep her expression blank.

“Last month, my brother-in-law took a little vacation down in South Carolina. Tad’s a huge Civil War buff. He was on a pilgrimage to see Fort Sumter and everything else remotely connected with the war. But after a week he disappeared.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened in spite of herself. She waited for further elaboration. Ralph must’ve put her on speakerphone, because she could hear leather creak as he got up from his chair and began to pace.

“Tad’s a curator up in Boston. He was scheduled to only be gone five days because of a gala at his museum the next week. When he didn’t show up the day he was due back, his staff started calling around. My wife panicked immediately,” he snorted in disgust, “and I ignored her. Told her he was probably camped out on some battlefield. Thanks to my idiocy, we wasted two whole days before we started to look for him.”

“How responsible is your brother-in-law?” Annabelle asked delicately. His muffled footsteps drew to a halt.

“Tad’s incredibly protective of his museum. It’s like his child. The thought of all those people coming for the gala, not to mention the press invading, would be enough to have him working twenty hour days to make sure everything was ready. You can see why we were worried.”

“What happened next?” Annabelle tried to steer Ralph back on track. It was obvious this alleged disappearance disturbed him greatly.

“Called the hotel, of course. Left a slew of messages. After three days of it, the desk clerk told us Tad checked out. The next day a telegram arrived. It said he needed a vacation and would be in touch. Haven’t heard a word since.”

Annabelle watched the lively harbor scene while she tried to think of a diplomatic approach. First of all, she was already fixated on the problem of her own semi-missing person, her friend Vanessa. Second, there wasn’t really a story here for her to pursue. Tricky, since Ralph seemed too upset to react without bias.

“I’m sorry, Ralph, but I don’t see how I can help. Sometimes people need a break.” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. “You could reach out to his friends, but you don’t need my investigative skills for that. You’d waste your money if you hired me.”

“Damn it, Carlyle, I’m not finished!”

Her cell phone beeped and went dead. So stupid – in her haze of jet lag, she’d forgotten to charge it last night. The timing was probably for the best, though. Ralph needed to calm down. Tad’s disappearance, although hard on his family, was a matter for the police, not for her. What had Jack been thinking, sending her down here?

Unless there was more to it. There must be, she realized, or Jack wouldn’t have ordered her to help Ralph. Guilt nagged at her, but there was no way to finish the conversation at the water’s edge. She’d wrap up with Mark, and call Ralph from her room.

“Everything all right?” Mark asked.

“The usual work crisis,” she said, in a deliberately light tone. “Thanks for being patient.”

“I have a feeling you might be worth the wait. Now, as your tour guide, I’d be remiss to bring you here without indicating the obligatory points of interest. We’ll start with Patriot’s Point.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know, Mark. I think I’ve reached my fill of history for the day.”

He tugged at his hair and looked down at the ground. “Sorry about that. I lean towards overkill when I do these tours. But give me two more minutes. It’ll be worth it.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Chances were it was a well-rehearsed move, but he was so cute she couldn’t resist. “Where is Patriot’s Point?”

“Look all the way across the harbor. If you scoot to your left, you’ll be able to catch a glimpse.”

Annabelle obediently shuffled over a few steps. “It would be much easier if I knew exactly what it is I’m supposed to be - oh!” Mark’s directions led her to step on one of the colored squares which triggered the fountain. A spray of water gushed upwards, and in her attempts to avoid it, she stepped on several other triggers. It was like dancing through a minefield of water. By the time she escaped the boundaries of the fountain, every inch of her clothes and hair dripped steadily.

Mark, on the other hand, was totally dry. And doing a crappy job of smothering his laughter. He walked around to meet her on the other side.

“Cooler now?” In a gallant gesture, he offered his handkerchief as a makeshift towel.

Annabelle took it wordlessly and blotted her face. Then she returned his handkerchief, much damper but neatly folded. Tilting her head to counter the sun she asked, “Is Patriot’s Point over there, jutting out a bit?”

“Yup. Where you see the two big ships docked.” Mark spoke slowly. He sounded confused by her apparent choice to completely ignore the occurrences of the past five minutes, but fell into step beside her as she left the plaza.

“I wish I could get a better look. The glare off the ocean is fierce. Must be almost noon.” Annabelle picked her way across the rocky strip of land which passed for a beach, squinting determinedly at the ships.

“The one in front is an aircraft carrier from World War II; the USS Yorktown.”

“Mmm, now I see it.” She stopped at the water’s edge and slowly raised an arm to shield her eyes from the sun. Mark moved closer to point out the second carrier. A moment later, Annabelle abruptly pushed against his chest with all her might. She was rewarded by a tremendous splash as over six strapping feet of man toppled backwards directly into a breaking wave.

“Damn it!” Mark spluttered.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Annabelle murmured in a saccharine tone. She was not sorry at all. She was, in fact, quite satisfied with the results of her ploy. “Did you get wet?”

“No - I mean, yes, of course I’m wet, but it’s not why I cussed.” Mark shot her a glare. He sat in the light surf pulling strands of seaweed off his legs. “You pushed me onto a pile of rocks. Intentionally!”

“Oh no, I really don’t believe that’s what happened,” she replied, shaking her head from side to side. “I
intentionally
pushed you into the water. The fact you landed on a few pebbles is simply not my fault.”

“Sharp, pointy, painful rocks.”

“So get up already!” Annabelle didn’t even try to keep a straight face. He made quite the picture, sodden shorts clinging to his tanned, well-muscled thighs.

A deep chuckle let her know she hadn’t gone too far with her revenge. “You certainly got the best of me. You win this round, Miss Annabelle.” Dripping and covered with sand, Mark stood and solemnly extended his right hand.