Tell it to the Marine (4 page)

“No. It’s fine that you called. I’m on my way. Can you keep him cool until I get there?”

“Think so, sir.”

“I’ll be there in….” He glanced at her. She mouthed,
fifteen
. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

He rang off and mentally searched for an appropriate apology, but she shooed him out of the booth. He offered her a hand. She slid out and reclaimed the flat little purse he’d not seen on the opposite bench.

“I know where it is, so I’ll go with you and that way you can get there as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry about this.” He felt like an ass, but the waitress appeared to take his credit card and a second brought a light wrap that James helped Lauren into. “I can use the GPS in the car.”

“Pfft. GPS. I grew up in Plano. I know exactly where the Fillmore is….” She hesitated, as though taken aback by a thought. “Unless I would be intruding.”

“Not at all. I just don’t know how long it will take and it’s a patient. I need to find out what’s going on.”

“Then I’ll go with you and I’ll wait. We can find breakfast somewhere.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He definitely didn’t want to say goodnight, but without a better idea of what had gone down with Matt, he didn’t want to leave her hanging either.

“Tell you what, Marine. You owe me the rest of the night, but I am assuming you’re the kind of man who’ll let me choose how we spend it.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” His eyes crinkled at the crisp notes her voice adopted.

“Then I want to spend it helping this patient of yours, and I expect you to accommodate me.” The combination of glitz, glamour, and gritty reality gave him his first true glimpse of the kind of woman she was, not just the woman she played in one of her movies. Combining the tough, no nonsense demand with the artless, charming dinner companion and he found it easy to nod.

He really didn’t want the night to end.

He signed the credit card slip and added a generous tip to the waitress’ gratuity. Lauren’s hand rested in the crook of his arm as they ascended the red velvet steps and exited into the cool September evening.

At the valet stand, he hesitated. She’d driven herself, but she plucked his valet ticket from his fingers. “You can bring me back or I can get a cab…just remember, you’ll have me at your mercy and I’m relying on you.”

The grin fighting past his concern won out and he nodded slowly. “You are in good hands and I will do everything in my power to live up to your trust.”

Her luminescent blue eyes warmed his soul. “I have every faith in you.”

He barely noticed the valet taking the slip or returning with his car. Taking care to settle her in the SUV, he slipped the young lady a twenty for bringing the vehicle so fast and paused for a heartbeat to fight the urge to fist pump.

Lauren sat in his car.

She wanted to spend time with him.

What an amazing woman.

“Seatbelt on?” He firmed his grip on self-control and slid into the driver’s seat.

The drive to the Fillmore took less than the fifteen minutes she’d advised, but her expert directions didn’t allow for a single wrong turn. Three black and white Plano police chargers were angled in the mostly empty parking lot, red and blue lights flashing. He spotted Damon first, talking to one police officer, and searched the stray pools of light for a sign of Matt. The younger man sat on a curb next to his car.

His dented-hood, headlight-smashed car.

“I’ll be right back.” James gave her knee a quick squeeze and slid out, pulling his Mike’s Place ID out of his wallet.

“Sorry, Doc.” Damon abandoned the police officer to meet him with a hard handshake. “We just came out for a couple of burgers and beers. It was going fine and then it just wasn’t.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“You’re the doctor?” The officer followed a pace behind Damon, the nameplate pinned to his blue uniform reading Atkins.

“Psychologist.” James held out his credentials. “Mr. McCall is one of my patients. What is he being charged with?”

“At the moment, nothing. It’s his own car that he damaged and no one is hurt. He settled down some when we got here, but we weren’t comfortable letting him drive.” The officer looked over the identification briefly before handing it back. He palmed a standard issue flashlight and shone it at the car.

“A brawl started inside, he wasn’t a part of it, but apparently they plowed into him. He put both men down, but they’re fine outside of some bruises. The bartender and several patrons described the incident and it’s a case of self-defense. He could have done a hell of a lot more damage, but he didn’t.” Respect tinged the officer’s words. “Then he came out here and trashed his car. We were already responding to the incident inside when we found him.”

James nodded once, flicking a brief look to Damon. “And you don’t know why he came out here?”

“No. Like Officer Atkins said, these two guys were arguing, started fighting and they bumped a waitress before they slammed into Matt. I had to hit the latrine or I’d have been right there. As it was, he had one guy down in a chokehold and the other cold cocked on the pool table when I came out. The bartender rounded them up, and the manager rousted them when Matt just walked out of the bar. By the time I got out here, he was kicking the shit out of it.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. Creepiest damn thing I’d ever seen, Doc. It was all surgical strikes, headlights, windshield, side mirrors, tail lights, and then he just beat his fists bloody on the hood. I tried to talk to him when the cops got here. They ordered him to stand down and he did. He’s been sitting on that curb ever since….” Damon’s words trailed off as he pointed and James followed his gaze.

Lauren was out of the SUV and sitting on the dirty cement curb in her filmy, silk dress, hands clasped in her lap, legs extended with one glittery ankle crossed over the other. Her head tilted toward Matt. Matt looked as poleaxed as James felt when he’d first seen her sitting in the restaurant.

“Thanks, Damon.” Worry choked his gut and he headed over. If Matt was unstable, Lauren sat right next to a live powder keg.

Chapter Four

Despite his easy manner, James’ palpable tension filled the vehicle all the way to Plano. A professional demeanor, focused concern, and watchful wariness replaced his charming smile and flirty honesty. The desire quivering in her insides sobered in the Fillmore Pub’s empty parking lot under the harsh reality of red and blue strobes. He spoke to an officer and a second man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, presumably the man who’d called him at the club.

She glanced over the others, settling on the young man sitting on the curb. His wide shoulders were framed by a too tight T-shirt that did little to disguise the muscled physique beneath, jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. The close shave haircut coupled with the empty expression on his face and the way he stared sightlessly at the damaged car to his right told her that was who they had been called to help.

Her chest constricted at the loneliness shimmering in the air around him. Dropping her purse on the floorboard, she opened the passenger door and slipped out. The pavement tilted unevenly, littered with cement cracks and blacktop repairs, but she crossed the open space to the young man before she’d fully thought through the decision.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The night air was warm, cooler than the day, but still comfortable. She wrapped her shawl around her more for comfort than heat, holding it firm with the fold of her arms.

The man glanced up, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “No ma’am, but I don’t really think a dirty curb is going to be kind to your dress.”

She chuckled, teetering down carefully to sit and stretch her legs. “That’s why I use dry cleaners, they’re miracle workers.”

The young man continued to stare at her, his confusion giving way to an open bewilderment. “I’m sorry, ma’am, do I know you?”

“Probably not, you’re way too young and male to be in my demographic.” She extended hand her right hand. “I’m Lauren.”

“Matt McCall, ma’am.” He took her hand so cautiously she forced herself to stay still lest any motion startle him. His knuckles were black, blue, and red. She’d seen freshly ground hamburger meat that was more attractive.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Matt. Are you from Texas?” She considered commenting on his knuckles, but he withdrew his hand far more quickly than he’d offered it and tucked it back down against his leg, out of sight. He wasn’t quite rocking back and forth, but the tension thickened in the stiff set of his spine and rigid lock of his jaw.

“No.” He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Indiana.”

“Really? I’ve only been to Indiana once.” Biting the inside of her lip, she thought back to what James said at the Sybarite Club. People want to be heard. They want someone to listen. And even the most inane piece of trivia can show someone they’ve been heard. Clasping her hands together, she shifted so her butt wasn’t quite perched on the jagged crack in the cement curb. The lazy heat of the day drifted up from warm pavement, chasing away even a hint of chill.

“We were filming a car chase scene that ended in corn fields and then a secondary chase through the fields.” Crossing one ankle over the other, she pretended an interest in her painted toes. “Longest week of my life. Corn hurts when you run through it. No one told me that.”

“It can be razor sharp, ma’am. I used to hang out in the back of one of those fields with some buddies in high school. We could smoke and talk sh—um—talk stuff about girls and stuff. Anyway, we got to wrestling one day and I got a few good slices.”

“So, it’s not just me? My director told me it was because I was a klutz, but it’s not easy to race through a field, looking over your shoulder and not bang into the plants.”

Matt gave her the most peculiar look. “Why was someone chasing you, ma’am?”

“It was in the script. Between you and I, a terrible script. Who runs through cornfields in four-inch heels? I kept losing a shoe or worse, my heel would sink and then I’d trip. But they wouldn’t let me just strip them off and drop them to run.” The director’s high-handed tone still managed to chafe.

“Probably not the best idea to run through a cornfield in bare feet, ma’am. That’s a good way to get snake bit.”

“Snakes?” A shudder rocked through her and she turned wide eyes on Matt. She didn’t have to stretch far to project shock. She hated snakes. Hated them since the episode she’d had to let a python crawl over her when she played Amy Benning, the beloved daughter of Detective Andy. Nasty things.

“Yes, ma’am.” Matt’s wan smile was still a smile. “Snakes like cornfields, lots of mice to eat.”

“Ewww.”

He chuckled. A rusty sound if she’d ever heard one.

“Well, I guess I should thank my snotty director for the shoe advice.”

“Maybe. But I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”

“I appreciate that, very much. But enough about me, what’s a good-looking young man like you doing, killing time on a curb?”

“Not sure. I don’t think they’re going to arrest me.” The lines of tension around his mouth tightened. “But maybe they should.”

“Now why would you say that?” A gamble, she probably shouldn’t push. She didn’t know Matt, she didn’t know his situation, but she knew loneliness when she saw it. She’d seen it in the mirror for twenty years. Isolated, having little contact with her peers and while Hollywood had more than a few child stars, scheduling conflicts and demands left little time for girl talk, mall-hopping or confidences. Add competition for jobs and it just became worse.

“I don’t know if I can put it in words, ma’am.”

“You know, I say that all the time, or I say that’s why I memorize scripts and don’t write them. I’ve been spouting other people’s words for years. But if this were a scene in a movie, I’d tell you just to say it plain and let the chips fall. How often do you get a chance to just spit out what’s on your mind, to hell with any consequences?” She crossed her fingers and hoped for the right thing to say.

“If you want it plain, ma’am, I’m twenty-four and I’m finished. Done. No prospects. I’m fit, but not fit for duty. I’m strong, but not strong enough. My country needs me, my men need me, and my mama needs me, and I’m no good to any of them.” The dull note in his voice worried her more than the statement.

“How are you done, Matt?”

“Inner ear. One little bone. It’s cracked. Can’t even see the stupid thing and it messes me up sometimes…messes me up enough that the docs wouldn’t clear me. The Corps discharged me, honorably, but discharged nonetheless. My guys are still in the sandbox and I’m here, sitting in a bar where a couple of dumbasses get into a fistfight over an order of fries. It’s just so damn stupid.”

Twenty-four had been a banner year for her. Three movies filmed back-to-back with a fourth script waiting to be memorized. She’d been nominated for a People’s Choice at that age.

“It’s hard to be told you’re done. You can’t do what you want to do, what you’re good at because of a little bone or the preconception that you can’t do it anymore, that you aren’t sexy enough or alluring enough to put the butts in the seats. You’re good enough to play mom or teacher or nurse, but not to play the love interest or the lead.”

Matt blinked at her slowly and she blushed. She was supposed to be listening, not bitching about her career.

“I’m sorry. That kind of just poured out.”

“Ma’am, you’re way too sexy to be a teacher or someone’s mom. If you’d been my teacher, I’d have paid a hell of a lot more attention in class.”

“You’re sweet, thank you. But the point I tried to make before I dove off the pier of self-pity is I’ve been judged by preconceptions since I started in this business. I can try to tell myself it was easy all through my twenties and that those lead roles fell in my lap, but they didn’t. First, I had to fight being seen as Amy Benning, and then I had to fight being seen as the quirky romantic comedy lead, and it’s impossible to break out of typecasting in Hollywood. I can blame it on my age because thirty-four is dried and done, or I can prove them wrong and fight for the roles I want to fight for, make my own kind of movies.”