Travis Justice

by Colleen Shannon

  With old-fashioned courtliness, he offered his arm. “Shall we? I promise if you let me lead, you won’t regret it.”

  Sensing but ignoring his double entendre, she rested her gloved fingertips very lightly on his arm and followed him through the kitchen to a back exterior patio. It was screened in and had shutters for warm or cold days, but the sun was rising above the horizon and the shutters were raised.

  A very pretty, middle-aged woman sat at the head of the table. The minute she heard their steps, she poured them each a cup of coffee from the stainless-steel carafe at her elbow. “Good morning, son,” she said cheerfully, as if she were used to all the commotion out on her front lawn.

  She cocked her head to the side as she appraised their peculiar guest. But if she disapproved of Hana’s strange garb and even stranger choice of cutting implement, she didn’t show it. She waved a gracious hand at the empty chair to her right.

  Inwardly, Hana groaned. One interrogation had been enough for this day. She was still smarting from the Travises’ obvious suspicion she’d been aiding Kai all along, so being grilled by Zach’s mother was enough to send her temper, never mild at the best of times, soaring.

  She took a sip of coffee, using the excuse to hide her expression in her snowy linen napkin. Her eyes met Zach’s over the fabric. His mellow expression had hardened to a warning.

  Do not upset my mother, he said clearly without saying a word.

  Incongruously, his protectiveness soothed her wrath. This evidence of his love for his mother brought a lump to her throat. For the first time in a long time, she admitted how badly she missed her own. Except for the occasional duty phone call on holidays or Mother’s Day, she seldom even spoke to her mother, who had happily remarried to a very wealthy, traditional Japanese businessman after her return to her homeland.

  She hadn’t seen her mom in almost six years. Hana took another fortifying gulp of coffee.

  Mary Travis gave her son a look. He scowled, but obediently rose. With a curt nod to Hana, he exited, closing the double French doors behind him, leaving the two women alone.

  “There, now we can have a comfortable chat,” Mary Travis said, offering a plate of biscuits. “The men in our family can be so intimidating, don’t you agree, dear?”

  Hana concentrated on buttering her biscuit, but managed a sincere nod.

  “I’m sorry if John was a bit . . . insistent, but that’s one reason he’s very good at his job. And quite frankly, financially he could have retired many years ago, but the oath he took so long ago as a Texas Ranger means a lot to him. And to me, and to Zach, by extension.”

  Hana added a bit of prickly-pear jam to her biscuit, on one level admiring the gorgeous rosy color, but on another wishing herself back pacing before John’s desk. That brand of torture was less excruciating than this one. She’d never been good at cotillions, proms, or fancy breakfasts. She especially resented the fact that this tea, scones, and ersatz sympathy was designed to elicit intimate confessions from her. She was tempted to spring up and bolt like the intruder they obviously still considered her, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that rude.

  Mary eyed her with unsettling blue eyes. “You miss your mother, don’t you?”

  Hana froze with the last half of the biscuit partially buttered. For the first time, she looked at her hostess. Really looked at her. There was more to her than met the eye. Hana saw a sweet woman, happily married for many years to a very conservative, traditional man, but Mary Travis also relished her place as mistress of the household. And her timeless elegance despite the early hour, her graying blond hair secured on the top of her head, crisp white-lace blouse and sleek black skirt, reminded Hana of Grace Kelly. She was a woman who might seem fragile and biddable, but Hana had seen the immaculate house, the manicured gardens, and she knew who was responsible for that order. She suspected John Travis had no idea of who really ruled this household. However, Hana had no wish to be managed too.

  Meeting those not-so baby blues dead-on, Hana said stiffly, “I’m sorry to be the fly in your ointment, ma’am. I know when I’m not welcome. I tried to leave, but Zach and your housekeeper insisted I stay for coffee.”

  “Of course they did. I asked them to. I seldom make demands, but when I do they are always obeyed, even by Zach.” Mary gave a little trill of laughter that made her lovely face crease with laugh lines that, instead of aging her, somehow brought back to life the girl she’d once been. “Even John obeys, for the most part.”

  After one polite bite of biscuit, Hana shoved her plate back. “Very well, then. Why did you ask for this meeting? How do I fit into your neat household?”

  With a mirthless smile, Mary folded her napkin beside her plate. “You don’t.”

  For an instant, mutual hostility fed the almost electrical spark between black eyes and blue. But then Mary sighed and patted Hana’s gloved hand. “You do, however, seem to fit my son’s notions quite exquisitely. So I made it my business to check into you.”

  At Hana’s lifted chin, Mary shook her head sadly. “You’re all alone, aren’t you? I’m sorry for that, my dear, and I understand how you feel more than you know.”

  Hana’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to psychoanalyze me, at least quote me a going rate. Three or four hundred an hour?”

  Mary, with the next remark, shocked Hana into silence and made her regret her cutting remark.

  “You shouldn’t treat your possible future mother-in-law with such impertinence, my dear.”

  When Hana’s mouth dropped open, Mary gently used her fingertip to close Hana’s mouth, teasing, “Just listen for a moment, please, and all will be clear.”

  Mary rose and began to pace the small area. Her slim skirt flared slightly at the knee, allowing her strides to be long and restless. A prickling at the back of Hana’s neck put her on edge, as her senses warned of danger. She looked around at the peaceful yard and patrolling guards and dogs. Why was she suddenly so antsy? The urge to run became more acute, and she had to twist the napkin in her lap into a knot to make herself be still. Why couldn’t she pinpoint the source of her unease?

  Then Mary stopped and seemed to peer into her head again with those strangely piercing blue eyes. “John and I have introduced Zach, at one time or another, to most of the eligible debutantes in our immediate circle. But he didn’t want any of them. As he told his father, he isn’t attracted to ‘nice’ girls.”

  Then she said something very strange: “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

  Hana was still trying to decipher that when Mary walked up to her on almost soundless feet. “And he is very much like his father in another way: He will love once, and forever. He hasn’t been so interested in a woman since a disastrous college fling.”

  Using that imperious finger, she tilted Hana’s chin up until she could read every curve and line of her face. “So I made it my business to get to know you. I know you had Takeo when you were very young. I know you adore your grandfather and worked two jobs to try to help him save his house from foreclosure. I know you’re very bright and very brave. And very rebellious of anything or anyone trying to restrict you. And most of all, I know that—adversaries or not—you are very drawn to my son, as he is to you.”

  “How could you possibly know all that? We haven’t even met before today.”

  “John never hides anything about our son from me. We both adore Zach and we both want only the best for him. He’s seen the way the two of you react to one another. He doesn’t like it. Whereas I . . .”

  Hana surged to her feet. “In that case, I’ll wish you ‘good day’ because I am definitively not good for him, nor is he good for me.”

  Nimbly, Mary moved in front of her to block her exit. “Sit back down, please. This won’t take much longer.”

  Short of making a scene, Hana could do nothing else but sit. But her mouth was set in that mulish slant her grandfather would have winced to see. “Mrs. Travis, what did your husband tell you about Kai?”

  “Tha
t he’s a drug lord with a peculiar set of skills.”

  Hana had not been able to get through to either Zach or John Travis the dangers they were facing, so she decided to try with Mary Travis. She also, perversely, wanted to prove she was not a good match for the brilliant, handsome, rich, and powerful Zachary William Barrett Travis. To think she might be a fitting wife for him led her down a dangerous path she dared not follow, especially when Takeo was in so much danger.

  “Kai had a very strange upbringing, as did I. Ya ku za . . .” she said quietly. “Do you know what it means phonetically?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “There’s an ancient card game that’s been played for countless years in Japan called oicho-kabu. The sum of eight, nine, and three is twenty, which is the worst possible hand. The phonetic sound of eight, nine, and three is ya ku za, meaning ‘worthless.’ However, the more subtle modern meaning is a societal misfit.”

  Mary had to laugh at that. “Then both of us, my dear, are ya ku za.”

  Hana bristled. “While I admit that might have fit me in my rebellious teens, I’ve spent the last five years trying to do what’s right.”

  Mary raised a questioning eyebrow, and Hana had the grace to flush at what the other woman was obviously thinking.

  “In the final analysis, I have more right to that sword than a rich family with no Japanese heritage that wants to flaunt its power to the world.”

  At Mary’s unyielding stare, Hana exhaled slowly to tamp down her rising temper. “You’re not Japanese. You don’t understand. Kai is very dangerous because he doesn’t recognize societal norms. No justice, no mercy, no fear, no compassion. He will act only in his own best interests, including practicing the eight cuts on living flesh.” Hana rose. “His goal all along has been to implicate me in these murders and attempted murders. I’m the one who has to face him, not your son. He will not stop, he will not rest, he will not halt his campaign of violence until he’s dead. Even then, his men will probably carry on his work if they’re not arrested.”

  Mary frowned, reading between the lines. “You can’t possibly mean to face him alone.”

  Hana evaded with the biggest truth she knew. “Since I can’t get Zach to understand, perhaps you will. This sword is both a gift and an obligation. The blood of my ancestors obliges me to fight for my own honor, and the honor of my son, and his descendants.”

  Mary was not deterred. Her hand rested on the top of Hana’s shining hair as if she almost hoped she could impart some of her own hard-earned wisdom into Hana’s head. “I know that you will do anything, risk your own life, to save your son from this man, this Kai person. Again, I respect you for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

  Mary sat back down, resting her hands in her lap, looking every inch the lady to the manor born. “Thank you for your honesty. I will give you the same: My reason for this meeting, and my question to you is quite simple: If you succeed, what then?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

  Mary gave an impatient little shake of her head. “I detest that term. I’m not in my dotage yet.” She leaned forward. “I mean, my dear rebellious Ms. Nakatomi—After this is all over, do you want my son enough to change your ways and conform to what will be required of you to be a Travis?”

  * * *

  Outside Austin, in the farmhouse on the limestone cliffs, Hana’s offspring faced his sensei with a similar mulish expression.

  Takeo, sweat ringing the arm pits of his gi, stood in the corner of the ring, his bo on the floor before him, his arms crossed over his stalwart little chest. “I’m tired, Uncle Ernie. I want to paint.”

  Ernie picked up the bo and offered it to his pupil. “I know, Takeo. Just thirty minutes more and then we’ll break for breakfast.” Since he’d arrived, Ernie had worked his new student relentlessly. Takeo thought it was so Kai would approve of him, but Ernie had a far simpler motivation: to keep him away from Kai as much as he could. Kai had approved of the tough regimen, even allowing them extra time over other lessons.

  When he wasn’t training Takeo, he was training Kai’s men. And his diligence was paying off in another key way: The watchful gaze of his captors was becoming less vigilant. They were beginning to believe he’d come here just to train them, that he had no other motivation other than his fat briefcase full of cash.

  However, Ernie never made the trek down the circular stairs without noting which rooms were lit and occupied at what hours. Occasionally, he even saw people enter or exit, so he knew all the rooms were controlled by electronic keypad codes. He’d still seen no sign of a control room or computers, so even if he could get away long enough to do a frantic e-mail, he had no access. Instead, he concentrated on Takeo and creating a new schedule for him, so he’d know where the boy was any time of the day or night.

  He and Takeo were sitting at breakfast, eating rice and smoked fish, when a commotion sounded outside: Shouting, a piercing, long scream. Then silence. Automatically, Ernie rose to close the heavy dining-room doors. Then he moved to stand protectively behind Takeo’s chair. Takeo tried to rise, but Ernie held him still.

  “No. This is your father’s affair, not yours.” Ernie had heard the sounds of torture often enough to recognize them.

  “But—” Before Takeo could finish his sentence, the doors opened and Kai’s trusted lieutenant entered.

  “Come. Both of you. Kai wants you to see this.”

  Ernie hesitated, but when hard, dark eyes narrowed on him, he picked Takeo up and carried him into the living room, as the man indicated, then through a side door into the enclosed garage. It was the first time he’d been inside the garage, and even in the stress of the moment, Ernie noted another door led off a side wall. It not only had a keypad, it had a heavy, vault-like metal door. No window and no sound, but Ernie realized he’d just glimpsed the entrance to the control room.

  However, it was the scene in the middle of the garage that riveted him and Takeo. A man, his bare chest imprinted with various Edo Shihan tattoos, was suspended by his wrists from hooks in the ceiling. His head was bent down on his chest, but he groaned again as Kai, standing before him, whacked him with a short stick on his upper arms. Ernie realized the tattoos looked so vivid partly because the man was covered with bruises. The curling dragon covering his entire chest looked untouched.

  Kai, bare-chested, revealing a similar tattoo in the same colors on his own prominent pecs, stood before his prisoner. He took a tanto from his belt and poised it over the snarling dragon tattoo on the man’s chest. “Takeo, I want you to see this. He will no longer wear my colors. He’s a traitor. He knew the consequences of betrayal.”

  Takeo quit squirming in Ernie’s arms and went very still. For a long moment, Takeo stared at his father. Then, like the little boy he still was, he hid his face in Ernie’s shoulder and began to cry.

  When Kai lifted the knife again, Ernie spit out, “He’s five, Kai. Allow him to grow up a little before you turn him into your miniature!” He held the back of Takeo’s head so the boy couldn’t look. But Takeo was limp in his arms, and Ernie knew he was too scared to peek.

  “He has to know how to deal with enemies,” Kai snapped. “This traitor has been feeding information about my operation to the Green Gang.” Kai belted the tanto and strode up to Ernie. “Give him to me.”

  Ernie took two steps back. “No.”

  When Kai angrily reached for his son, Ernie said rapidly, “You know his entire training is dependent on learning to clear his mind. Do you really want him to be seeing this as the endgame every time he spars in the ring? He has to learn peace before he can know the glories of war.”

  A long, tense silence. Then Kai’s hands dropped. He jerked his head at the door and looked at his lieutenant. “Get them out of here. He’s seen enough. For now.”

  Without further prompting, Ernie carried Takeo back to the dining room, but when he set him gently into his chair, Takeo ignored his half-full plate.

  Ernie waited a
nd when the lieutenant closed the door and left them alone, he turned Takeo’s chair around and knelt before him, smoothing his hands down over Takeo’s knees in his baggy trousers. “It’s okay, bud. Your father would never hurt you that way. And that man—well, he wasn’t a good man, either.”

  Takeo dashed the last of his tears on his sleeve. “But he’d do it to you, wouldn’t he, Uncle Ernie? And anyone else who doesn’t obey him.”

  Ernie looked away. How could he tell a son that his father was a horrible man?

  But Takeo learned very quickly, just as Hana had foretold. He said slowly, “My daddy is mean. He wants to make me mean too.”

  A lump in his throat, Ernie could only nod.

  And then Takeo asked the next exquisitely logical question: “Uncle Ernie, what will my papa do to Mama if she comes and fights with him to get me away?”

  * * *

  In the more genteel confines of Tarrytown, Hana stared across the table at Zach’s mother. “If your son is interested in me as more than a possible suspect, he hasn’t conveyed that.” When Mary gave her a skeptical look, Hana nervously arranged and rearranged her silverware to avoid meeting her eyes. Surely Mary didn’t know about that passionate kiss, or Zach’s obvious response to it. But that was only sex . . . a far step from that to the altar.

  Mary sighed. “Very well, then. We’ll table this for now, but I think we both know the subject will likely arise again. Please do me the courtesy of seriously thinking over what we’ve discussed. I assure you I’ve never had this talk with any of Zach’s other . . . ah, dates. But I know my son very well.”

  Nodding, Hana stood quickly, taking long strides toward the patio door. Lord, she’d rather be in chains again than to suffer through another interrogation like this one! Her hand was on the door lever when Mary interrupted, her tone very matter-of-fact.

  “Ms. Nakatomi, one last thing, please.” When Hana reluctantly turned to face her, Mary shoved back her own untouched plate. She took a bracing sip of coffee, then looked at Hana again, that trace of mischief back in her eyes. “Before you go, wouldn’t you like to know how John and I met?”