Surrender To Temptation (The Glenn Jackson Saga Book 3) Read online

But I didn’t care now. I hadn’t worked my ass off to be talked to like I was a six-year-old kid who’d been caught hiding in the pantry and eating cookies instead of doing his homework.

  “You want to say that again, Jackson?”

  “You’ve been sitting on your ass the past eight hours,” I snapped. “You want to take a piss, you put the assistant director in your chair. You get hungry, somebody brings you food or coffee. We haven’t had food or coffee and we haven’t had a chance to take a piss or even sit since we started filming. You want our best, maybe you shouldn’t run us down until we’re on nothing but fumes.”

  Crawford’s eyes bulged and he opened his mouth, flapping his jaw as he glared at me. Finally, he moved in closer, narrowing his eyes until they were slits in his puffy face.

  “You arrogant shit,” he said, breathing out fumes in my face that smelled of coffee laced with whiskey, garlic and the cigar he’d been puffing on. “Your manager came begging me to give you this role. You think you’re something special?”

  “No.” It was harder than hell to stand there in the face of his foul breath and not back away or gag. But I did it. “I think I’m human, just like everybody else on this set—and if you want our best work, you need to let us have a break.”

  He rocked back on his heels, studying me.

  “Um…excuse me…” The hesitant voice came from behind him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crawford, but you wanted to know when it almost six, sir.”

  He continued to watch me, almost as if he hadn’t heard the woman behind him speaking.

  Finally, he turned away and looked at her. “Thank you, Darla.”

  As she hurried out of the area, he spoke to the room in general. “You lucked out. I’ve got a meeting with the producers in twenty minutes. Now I’ve got to figure out a way to convince them they aren’t wasting their time—or money.”

  He left without another word, and once he was gone a sigh of relief seemed to escape all of us.

  I glanced at Alice once more. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She gave a nod and managed a wobbly smile. “I’ll just go home, go eat…collapse…”

  I was going to do the same, and was about to tell her as much when somebody shouted my name.

  “Glenn!”

  I looked up and saw Peter bearing down on me. Dread filled me. We’d been at odds for the past couple of weeks—ever since Maya had come back. Sooner or later, we’d have to have it out, but I wasn’t ready to do that.

  The wounds were too raw.

  “I'm not in the mood for this,” I said. “We can fight about Maya some other time. We're not talking right now, so that should make you happy.”

  “It's not that.” He stopped in front of me and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “I’ve called three times in the past hour, and couldn’t get anybody to get you on the phone.”

  “You…what?”

  He slashed a hand through the air. “Crawford. You know how he is. Didn’t matter that it was an emergency. You need to call Astor. Something’s happened.”

  Ten

  Maya

  I could still smell smoke.

  Staring out the window toward Watts, I tried not to think about what could’ve happened if I’d still been in the area that day.

  The library had been damaged. So many people had been hurt.

  I could’ve been one of them. The baby…

  My mind kept gravitating toward it, and each time, it pulled back.

  I couldn’t think about any of this just now, yet I couldn’t stop. That awful revulsion/attraction carousel a woman can find herself on, like staring at a speeding train, knowing the wreck is going to be awful, but unable to look away.

  Finally, knowing I couldn’t keep standing there, I dragged myself back to the table where the newspaper was spread open before me.

  The classifieds had become the bulk of my daily reading. I didn’t have many books now. I’d been looking forward to the library job for that, if nothing else, and now even that avenue of escape was gone. Whatever job I found had to be close. I didn’t have a car, and although there was a public transportation system, I didn’t want to spend too many hours a day riding the bus.

  Earlier, I’d gotten roughly halfway down the third column and I picked up my pen, drawing my notepad closer so I could make notes as I read.

  I had two possibilities down. One was a job for a secretary at a vet. The other was working at a lawyer’s office. I was probably being hopeful, but maybe I’d luck out. They required excellent typing skills, and I had those, although life without autocorrect wasn’t going to be fun.

  At the end of the column, the phone rang. I eyed it for a long moment before picking it up.

  “Hello?”

  Almost immediately, I wished I’d ignored it.

  “It’s Glenn.”

  Covering my eyes with my hand, I said, “I told you it was best we stop talking, Glenn.”

  “It’s not personal,” he said, voice gruff. “Astor couldn’t remember your number. He asked me to call. It’s…it’s about Florence. She was in a wreck, Maya.”

  My heart stopped beating.

  For what felt like an eternity, I sat there frozen and unable to move. Unable to breathe.

  “What?”

  A cynical laugh escaped him. “What, future girl doesn’t know this already?”

  My temper snapped. Shoving back from the chair, I tightened my hand around the phone and shouted into it, “You son of a bitch! She’s the only person who’s been decent to me the entire time I’ve been here! If you called to jerk me around, then just stop it. Otherwise, talk to me.”

  Taut seconds ticked away. Finally, he cleared his throat.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. Look, I know you’re friends. That’s why I told him I’d call. I’m on my way over to the hospital. I’ll come by and pick you up.”

  “No. Just tell me where she is. I’ll find my own way.” Smoothing a hand down my skirt, I eyed the clock and tried to remember how much money I had on me. I wasn’t used to keeping track of cash, even now. But there were no banks open, and it wasn’t like ATMs dotted every corner in 1965.

  “Don’t be stubborn, Maya. I can be there and pick you up in less time than you can figure out which busses you’ll need. Be ready in a half hour.”

  He hung up.

  I eyed the phone and considered calling him back to tell him to fuck off.

  Then I decided Florence was more important than my pride.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  Glenn’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles pressed white against his skin. After a moment, they relaxed and he shot me a look. “No. Astor was too upset to say much.”

  “Of course.” Twisting my hands in my lap, I stared out the window. Palm trees swayed in the air, but the heavy smog made the sky look dingy and gray. Closing my eyes, I told myself not to worry. She’d live another fifty years. She was going to be fine.

  But it wasn’t just Florence that had me on edge.

  Glenn kept shooting me looks. From time to time, his right hand would relax, and I’d seen him go to pull it off the wheel like he was going to touch me.

  Then he’d stop and adjust his grip the steering wheel all over again.

  Sitting in the car next to him was madness.

  Not be able to touch him was hell.

  I wanted to lean into him and hold tight, assure us both that everything was going to be fine.

  But nothing was fine.

  Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing and tried to meditate like one of my college instructors had taught. She’d been big into yoga and the whole spiritual thing, spending a few minutes each day extolling the virtues of it, then before a big test, she’d give us five minutes to decompress.

  I’d thought it was hokey then.

  Now…?

  I wished I’d paid more attention to what she’d been dealing us. Trying to feel the air moving in and out of my lungs was about as easy a
s trying to feel the surface of the moon.

  “We’re here.” The car came to a rough stop and I opened my eyes, feeling a little off-kilter. Looking around, I saw cars surrounding us and shook my head to clear it.

  Glenn met me at the back of the car and looked me up and down. “You don’t look like you’ve slept.”

  Vanity stung, I fought the urge to fuss with my hair and clothes. Instead, I shrugged it off and cut around him. “I’m pregnant. It goes with the territory.”

  “Are you…” He stopped, hesitating. After a moment, he fell into step next to me and asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine.” And I wasn’t talking about this with him. “Come on. Let’s go see Florence.”

  Eleven

  Glenn

  “Astor.”

  Maya rushed into the waiting room ahead of me and I lingered, watching as she caught him in a hug. Whatever he’d been about to say faded away as he closed his eyes and sank into her hug like he barely had the strength to stand.

  After a moment, he shuddered, then eased away from her.

  “How is she?” Maya asked the question both of us had been thinking.

  Astor kissed her cheek before glancing up to nod at me. “She’s in surgery.” Then he sighed and shook his head. “A nurse was out here. They are worried about internal bleeding. She’s got a broken leg. She wasn’t conscious when they brought her in.”

  His voice stayed low and steady, but it didn’t reflect what I saw in his eyes.

  Nothing steady in those eyes.

  His mouth twitched a bit and he looked away from us.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure. The police…” Astor blew out a breath. “She was coming to see you, Maya. She wanted to...she wanted to make sure you were doing okay. The guy who hit her ran a red light. He didn’t make it.”

  Maya’s gasp was stifled by her hands and Astor reached out to rub at her shoulder.

  “I haven’t heard anything else.” He looked over at the clock, then at the door. There was something about the way he did it that made it clear he’d spent a lot of time checking out the clock, a lot of time watching and waiting for somebody to come inside and give him the news, tell him something.

  But the door stayed shut.

  The clock’s hands moved interminably slow.

  “She’ll be okay,” Maya said. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  Astor nodded. “Of course, of course.”

  She sat down next to him on the couch and I took the chair closest, but Maya barely even looked at me. Astor met my eyes and said, “Thanks for coming.”

  “Where else would we be?”

  He responded with a smile. And looked back at the clock.

  “Where’s Harrison?” Maya asked, drawing his attention back to her.

  “At the house.” His lips compressed into a flat line and he shook his head. “I’ll keep him updated, but things are still rather unsettled. I’m worried about him being out driving right now. Too many people still have their tempers on edge after the riots.”

  “It’s probably best.” Maya took his hand.

  They talked quietly.

  I felt isolated, like I wasn’t even in the room with them, and after a while, I got up to pace, the walls of the room closing and caging me in. It was enough to drive me mad, but the only way to deal with it was to leave and I needed to know what was going on with Florence before I could do that.

  Sick with worry, I found myself eying the clock and the doors the same way Astor had, and my gaze roamed over to discover that Maya was doing the same.

  I didn't know what brought it on, but the sight of her staring at the clock as she clutched Astor’s hand ignited a rage inside me. It started slow, but as she leaned over to murmur to Astor and he offered her a sad smile, it grew. I tried to catch her eyes and she stared right through me, and that just made it worse.

  Moving over to a chair, I dropped down and closed my eyes. Fisting my hands, I raised them up to either side of my head, blocking out the whole world as I fought with that anger.

  I couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t get lost in the rage.

  But even as I tried to convince myself of that, the anger grew, spiraling hotter and brighter. This didn’t feel like my old rages, either. It was different. It had a focus.

  And when she looked at the clock, it made things worse.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Maya said, her voice pulling me out of the dark, ugly morass I’d sunken into. “I just need to visit the ladies room, get a drink. Do you need anything?”

  “No.” Astor sounded tired, but even my sympathy for him wasn’t enough to distract me.

  She didn’t even look at me on her way out of the waiting room.

  I was on my feet a second later.

  Although she had to have heard my boots echoing on the tile floor, she didn’t look back.

  That was fine.

  I’d just wait.

  She disappeared into the restroom, and I leaned against the hall, crossing my arms over my chest as I waited.

  When she emerged, she paused at the sight of me, conflict warring on her face.

  “We might as well stay out here. Astor doesn’t need to see us arguing,” I said.

  “What do we have to argue about?” She smoothed her hands down her skirt.

  “I don’t understand why you’re sitting in there, looking half sick with worry.”

  Her mouth parted, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Stalking over to her, I aimed a finger at her face. “All this shit you’ve told me, all these lies…you’re from the future, right? And yet, here’s Florence going through surgery, and you look as scared as we are. Why is that?”

  “Because I am! I didn’t know about this!”

  “Why not, future girl?” I demanded. “You threw it in my face how you knew she was going to kill herself, but you didn’t know about this?”

  “That’s because this didn’t happen before!” Her face paling, she wrapped her arms around her mid-section and looked away. “I don’t know how all of this works, you stupid bastard. I don’t have control over this and I don’t…I don’t understand it. After I saved her, I changed things—she ended up living a full life in my timeline. She’d only died a year before I…went back.”

  She lapsed into silence for a few seconds, her breathing unsteady.

  It wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear. I wanted to hear her break under the stress, or offer some outlandish excuse—lies. I wanted something that sounded like lies. Anything to explain away the insanity of the stories she’d told me.

  I didn’t want…this.

  “Look…believe me or not, but I’m tired. I’m scared. And I’m not going to fight with you about this. Not here. Not now.”

  The look on her face haunted me.

  I’m tired. I’m scared.

  Such naked honesty.

  I sat out in the hallway, back to the wall and legs stretched out in front of me. Why couldn’t she have just offered more lies? Something that sounded even more ridiculous?

  I wanted to find a way to convince myself that she was just making all of this up. Or a way to convince myself once and for all that she was crazy, that she needed to be locked up at the nuthouse.I couldn’t do it.

  I didn't know how much time passed as I sat out there.

  The door to the waiting room opened, and I went rigid, but when I glanced over and saw that it was Astor, the tension faded away.

  That didn’t last long.

  He came over and crouched down in front of me, his eyes resting steadily on my face.

  “The two of you are either going to be the best thing that ever happened to each other or the worst. I don’t know which one it is, but if you can’t stop hurting her, you need to just leave her be, Glenn. She’s pregnant, she’s alone, and she’s scared.”

  He gripped my shoulder and squeezed gently, then got up.

  He walked away, turning
a corner, and I slammed my head back against the wall. Once, twice, three times. It left me with a resounding headache, but did nothing to ease the misery—or the guilt.

  Finally, I pushed myself up onto my feet, eying the doors to the waiting room.

  I needed to go in there.

  I needed to tell her I was sorry.

  Whether she was lying…or crazy…did it matter?

  Astor was right. She was pregnant, alone, scared. Whoever the father of the baby was, she was still handling things alone, and that made everything she was facing even harder.

  I needed to fix this.

  I’m tired. I’m scared.

  Those words hung in my mind, heavy.

  Was there any way to fix this?

  Did I just leave her alone?

  Blowing out a hard breath, I returned to the waiting room. She was curled up in a chair, facing away. Astor had taken off the sweater he wore, and she had it draped over her.

  Even when Astor returned, she didn’t move.

  Hair hiding her face, she was perfectly still and quiet.

  I returned to the chair I’d used earlier, guilt filling the empty reservoir where my anger had been.

  Astor gave me a cup of coffee without speaking, then went back to Maya. Before he had a chance to take his seat, the door opened.

  Astor glanced back, then spun, his dark eyes widening. “Dr. Ridgefield.”

  “Hello, Dr. Conde.” He glanced at me, then at Maya who was already on her feet, clutching the sweater in her arms now. “Your wife is in recovery. We found some internal bleeding, which we stabilized. She’s got several broken bones and might need some additional surgery, but I think she’ll make a full recovery.”

  Twelve

  Maya

  “Maya.”

  I came awake to the gentle sound of Astor’s voice.

  Blinking against the brightness of the light, I straightened up in the chair, only to groan at the tightness in my back—and everywhere else.

  “Oh, man…”

  Grimacing as the various aches and pains made themselves known, I met Astor’s eyes. “Has there been any more news?”