by Ginna Gray
"Evan poses no threat to you, Travis. I divorced him two months ago."
Chapter Three
Travis stared at her, speechless.
If Rebecca noticed his stunned reaction, she chose to ignore it. She gave him another ultra polite smile and eased away a step. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll call it a day. Good night, Travis."
Without waiting for a reply, she walked away. He watched her retreating form fade until she was just a slender, slightly darker shadow moving through the dusky twilight.
So that was it. She had come to the island to lick her wounds. Funny. The idea that Rebecca might be divorced had not occurred to him. Probably because she and that cold-eyed bastard seemed ideally suited. Plus, Rebecca was so detached he couldn't imagine anything getting under her skin to the point that she'd put herself through that kind of gut-wrenching upheaval.
Sticking his fingertips into the back pockets of his jeans, Travis strolled back toward the house. Then again, theirs had probably been one of those "civilized" divorces, all very polite and unemotional.
He wondered who had initiated the split. Odds were, it was Evan. Rebecca wouldn't risk alienating her old man by making a move like that.
Ambling along at the edge of the surf in ankle-deep water, Travis eyed the lighted house thoughtfully. Man, oh man. He bet it had really hit the fan when Rebecca told her father. Old Richard Quinn had probably thrown a vein-popping, fire-breathing, wall-eyed fit. The whole town knew how proud he was of his big shot son-in-law.
Come to think of it, that was probably why Rebecca had taken refuge on the island—not because she was upset, but to escape her father's wrath and give him time to cool down.
When he reached the pier, Travis left the surf and climbed the beach to the house. On the deck he paused to hose the sand off his feet and legs and brace himself to face Rebecca again.
It was her night to use the living room, but when he stepped inside she was nowhere in sight.
He looked toward the right wing. The faint strains of a piano concerto were coming from her room. The music was the kind you played when you were melancholy or upset, and for the first time Travis wondered if beneath that calm exterior Rebecca wasn't more affected than she appeared.
Frowning, he went into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator for the makings of a sandwich. A small ham, a bowl of potato salad and a lemon pie sat on the shelf that Rebecca used. He eyed the items sourly and pulled out a package of bologna and a jar of mustard.
When his makeshift meal was assembled, he carried it and a tumbler of milk into the living room. Dropping onto one of the rattan sofas, he slouched xm his spine with his bare feet propped on the coffee table, the plate balanced on his flat belly. He bit off a fourth of the sandwich and chewed slowly, his unseeing gaze fixed on a wall hanging of sea-shells and driftwood.
So, Rebecca was divorced. Travis's mouth twitched. If she were anyone else, their situation might prove interesting. In his time he'd consoled many a despondent newly single woman and helped just as many other gay divorcees celebrate their freedom.
He sobered at once. Of course, there was no chance at all of anything like that happening in this case.
He took a swallow of milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He should be relieved that Rebecca was divorced. At least he wouldn't have to contend with a jealous husband.
Travis frowned. Somehow, though, he felt even more uneasy than when he'd thought she was married.
* * *
The next morning Rebecca left the house early and walked to the village. There she caught the ferry to the town of San Cristobal, on the main island of Alhaja Verde.
Rebecca had made the trip once, and she had planned to make it again in a day or so for more supplies, but after the encounter on the beach and an almost sleepless night, she was more anxious than usual to avoid Travis. Removing herself from the island before he woke seemed the most certain way of accomplishing that.
The problem was, she felt guilty. She hadn't been completely honest with Travis. She may have obtained a divorce, but she knew perfectly well that would not mean anything to Evan.
If he ever found out that she was sharing a house with Travis he would be livid. It wasn't a matter of jealousy. For that Evan would have to love her,.and Rebecca doubted that he ever had. She didn't think he was capable of loving anyone. But he was a possessive man; what was his, remained his... until he was ready to let it go.
How much of a threat he was to Travis remained to be seen. Brawling with another man, especially one as fit and potentially dangerous as Travis, wasn't Evan's style. He never entered a battle he wasn't certain he could win.
It was unfair of her not to explain the situation to Travis, but she was afraid if she did he might leave, and she didn't want that. Anyway, the very thought of admitting to him that she had been a battered wife made her cringe. God knew, he had a low enough opinion of her as it was! She had no difficulty at all imagining his disgust if he were to learn the truth about her marriage to Evan.
The ferry reached San Cristobal around noon. Hungry, Rebecca headed straight for Pepe's Cantina, which was located on the beach road, a block from the harbor. As usual, during the short walk, small children crowded around, hawking their wares—everything from chewing gum to straw hats and pottery. Before she reached the cantina Rebecca had succumbed to the blandishment of several pairs of pleading brown eyes.
"Ay yi yi! Sefiora Hall, you have done it again," Con-stanza Moralles cried, throwing up her hands when Rebecca entered the cantina loaded down with a serape, two straw hats and a crudely carved wooden statue of a burro. "I told you, you must tell those ninos to go away. You cannot buy something every time you get off the ferry. They take advantage of you, senora."
"I know, Constanza," Rebecca replied sheepishly. "You're right, of course. I promise I won't do it again."
The motherly Mexican woman rolled her eyes and muttered a string of rapid-fire Spanish. "That is what you say the last time." Still shaking her head, she took the purchases from Rebecca and waved her toward the back of the room. "Come. Sit down. I will put these away and bring you something to eat."
"Pepe!" she yelled at her husband. "Wine for the Senora! Pronto! Pronto!"
Constanza bustled away toward the family living quarters at the rear of the cantina, and her scrawny little husband hopped to do her bidding. Stifling a grin, Rebecca settled into a booth.
For a large woman, Constanza moved with amazing speed. Only seconds after Pepe arrived at the table with a bottle of wine and three glasses, she returned carrying a tray loaded down with platters of spicy enchiladas, tacos, rice and beans.
"Ah, Senora Hall," Pepe greeted, smiling broadly. "We are so happy to see you again. Only this morning Senora Delany, she called, asking about you."
"Erin? Called here? About me? But why?"
"Your friend, she was worried." Pepe slid onto the seat across from her and filled the three glasses with red wine. His wife unloaded the tray and sat down on the bench seat next to Rebecca. "The senora, she tried several times to reach you at the beach house but you did not answer, so she called here to see if Pepe and Constanza had seen you."
"Oh. I see. I'm sorry she bothered you. You see, I'm usually out on the beach. I—"
"Ai yi yi! Do not worry about it, senora. It was no bother. Pepe and I, we talk to the sehoras, and to their her-mano, their brother, Senor David and his wife, frecuente-mente. How you say... very off-teen. No es nada."
"Si, senora. I myself told Senora Delany not to worry, Pepe will look after you," the little man said, thumping a fist against his chest dramatically.
Rebecca lifted the glass to her lips to hide another grin. Erin and Elise had told her all about their friends, the Moralleses. Despite his scrawny build, Pepe considered himself to be a muy macho hombre. Apparently so did his wife, though she stood three inches taller than her excitable husband and outweighed him by I at least seventy-five pounds.
Until he had got
ten embroiled with David Blaine and Abigail Stuart in an international intelligence operation the previous month, Pepe had also fancied himself a potential James Bond. According to the twins, however, the hair-raising episode had dulled his enthusiasm for espionage work. Pepe was still fascinated by David's and Travis's tales about their past assignments with the FBI, but he no longer hankered quite so much for a life of living dangerously.
"The senora, she wanted to know if you were getting along with Senor Travis," Constanza added, spooning another helping of rice onto Rebecca's plate.
Rebecca's fork halted halfway to her mouth. So.. .Erin and Elise hadn't forgotten that Travis was staying at the beach house after all.
"I told her that there was no need to worry. Senor Travis, he is a gentleman." Darting a look around, Pepe leaned closer and in a conspiratorial whisper, added, "Besides, what better protection could you have than one of your own government's agents? Eh?"
"He is also muy atractio, this hombre,'' Constanza added with a sly look that made Rebecca uneasy. "Who knows? Perhaps soon you and Senor Travis will be more than just old friends."
Rebecca almost choked on a bit of enchilada. More than friends? Good, Lord. She and Travis had never been even that. She did not tell Constanza and Pepe that, of course, but she did make it clear that there was no possibility of anything developing between herself and Travis, much to the disappointment of the romantic-minded pair.
Still, they continued to extol Travis's virtues and his sexy good looks and hint at what an excellent match the two of them made. Uncomfortable, Rebecca quickly finished her meal and excused herself to finish shopping, leaving her earlier purchases with them to be picked up on her way back to the evening ferry.
Rebecca spent the afternoon wandering through the marketplace, where her senses were swamped by the melange of sights and sounds and smells—the array of colorful wares, the babble of voices speaking in Mexican and English, the bleat of goats and bray of burros, the rattle of vendors' carts, the scents of spices and tortilla and frying meat that hung in the air along with the pungent smells of animals, straw, dust, leather and humans. Blending with it all was the occasional whiff of the island's profusion of wild flowers. Rebecca was enchanted.
By late afternoon she had two carryall bags filled with groceries—vegetables and fruit she had purchased from the street vendors and staples from the town's lone supermarket. She had been so enthralled that time got away from her and it was late when she started back to the harbor. She covered the distance to the beach road at a pace just short of a run.
"Whoa, senora! Slow down, slow down," Pepe urged when she rushed into the cantina. "Here, sit and rest yourself. I will get you something cool to drink."
"I can't, Pepe," she gasped. "No time. I've got to hurry or I'll miss the ferry."
"Ah, but there is no need for you take the ferry, senora. Senor Travis, he is here. See. There, at the other end of the bar. He will take you back to Rincon. I will go tell him that you have arrived."
"Not Wait! Pepe, don't—" Rebecca began, but the wiry little man had already darted toward the opposite end of the bar, calling Travis's name.
"Oh, no," Rebecca moaned.
Travis was talking with the couple sitting next to him. Relaxed and laughing, he tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and washed them down with a swallow of beer.
Rebecca stared, something about the tabloid catching her unawares. This was vintage Travis, she realized with that old familiar pang. The real Travis. The one the rest of the world saw—relaxed, amiable, a charming devil who sauntered through life with a wink and a grin.
He lounged on the bar stool in that loose, boneless way he had, looking somehow indolent and formidable all at once.
He wore faded, holey jeans, disreputable tennis shoes with no socks, and a much-washed T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, revealing the snarling leopard tattoo on his upper right arm. Around his forehead was a folded bandanna tied as a sweatband. His long blond hair hung down his back, almost to his shoulder blades, glittering in the dim light, in sharp contrast to that of the dark-haired patrons all around him. The stubble he had sported the night she arrived had grown into the beginnings of a shaggy, reddish-brown beard.
A slow grin created fine crinkle lines around his eyes, and as he shook his head in response to a comment from one of his companions, the two-inch saber dangling from his ear-lobe swung rakishly. With his chiseled good looks, his scruffy attire and his devil-may-care attitude, he looked like a cross between a movie star, a pirate and a biker bum.
Rebecca watched as Pepe caught his attention and chattered away to him over the bar, arms waving. She saw the subtle stiffening of Travis's body, the frown that replaced his lazy grin. He looked her way, and Rebecca bit her lower lip.
After a moment he hitched himself off the bar stool and headed for her. He walked with that loose-limbed, hip-rolling saunter, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his low-riding jeans, his gray eyes boring into her from beneath half-closed lids. He looked annoyed... and dangerous. Rebecca felt her stomach clench.
"Pepe says you need a lift back to the island," he said in a flat voice.
"No. Really. That won't be necessary. I'll take the ferry. I just stopped by to pick up some packages I left here."
"Nonsense, senora. You cannot want to ride that old rust bucket ferry when you can return in the speedboat with Senor Travis. He insists that you ride with him. Isn't that right, Senor?"
"Yeah, sure," Travis drawled, but Pepe missed the sarcasm in his voice. Rebecca started to protest again, but Travis grasped her elbow and turned her toward the door. "C'mon. Let's go."
"Wait! I have to get my things."
"Here they are, senora." Constanza came hurrying around the bar and handed the bundle to Travis. He slung the straw bag over his shoulder and said good-night to the Moralleses. With a steel grip on Rebecca's elbow, he steered her out the door.
"You can let go," she said the moment they were out of sight of the beaming couple. ''You're off the hook now.''
He snorted. "Oh, yeah, sure. In a pig's eye."
"Travis, you don't have to do this. I can still make the ferry if I hurry."
"You don't get it, do you? Between them, Pepe and Constanza are related to over half the people on this island. Nothing goes on that they don't hear about. If I let you take the ferry now, they'd know it before that tug cleared the harbor. And they'd be giving Erin and Elise an earful five minutes after that. Not only would my cousins have my hide, my name would be mud on this island."
"Couldn't we simply explain the situation and our agreement?"
"No. Take my word for it, they'd never understand."
"But-"
"Drop it, Rebecca. I'm taking you back in the speedboat. I like Pepe and Constanza and I like coming to San Cristobal now and then to unwind. I'm not going to be labeled a villain because of your bad timing."
"I'm terribly sorry if my presence here has made difficulties for you," she said, casting an anxious look at his profile. He hustled her along so fast every third step she had to do a little hop and skip just to keep up with his angry stride. "That certainly was never my intention."
"Yeah, well, you're sure doing a good job of it."
His boorish behavior cut Rebecca to the quick. Instead of lashing back, she did what she always did when hurt; she withdrew into herself, erecting an invisible barrier between them against further pain. Her expression remote, she allowed him to lead her down the pier to the boat, accepted his helping hand with a polite "Thank you" as she climbed aboard, then took a seat as far away from him as she could get and folded her hands in her lap. During the entire twenty-mile trip she stared out at the ocean and uttered not another word.
Once clear of the harbor, Travis sent the small craft skimming over the water at full throttle. Throughout the trip, except for her hair streaming out behind her and grabbing the seat every now and then when they bounced over a wave, Rebecca remained as composed and still as if she were in c
hurch. Her insouciance made Travis do a slow burn. Didn't the woman ever react to anything?
He knew she wasn't to blame for the awkward situation. She hadn't known he was in San Cristobal any more than he'd known that she was, but his ire needed a target.
The irony of that was not lost on Travis. Anger and frustration were foreign to his nature. At the Bureau he had a reputation for being unshakable, nerveless. If a case called for an unflappable attitude and a cool head, he was the one they assigned. His personal philosophy was that life was too short and too ridiculous to sweat the small stuff. Anyway, there was very little worth getting bent out of shape over. Generally, he dealt with what he could and the rest he ignored.
The exception was, and always had been, Rebecca. Just being around her set his teeth on edge.
He watched her, his jaw set. Gradually he became aware of the way the wind molded the cotton sundress to her breasts, the long curves of her legs, the creaminess of her skin, the delicate perfection of her features. She was, he admitted grudgingly, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and without even knowing it, she exuded a quiet sexuality. All of which made him furious. God! What a waste.
They made the return trip in less than half the time it took the ferry. When the boat was secured and they were standing on the pier, Rebecca turned to him with a stiff smile. "Thank you for bringing me back. In the future, however, if you will let me know when you're planning to visit San Cristobal. I will remain here. That way we can avoid any more awkward encounters." With a nod, she hefted her purchases, turned and walked sedately up the pier to the house.