SUSPICION'S GATE

by Justine Davis

  Nicki's brow creased. Her eyes flicked over the half dozen men gathered there. "And no one saw anything?"

  A chorus of negative shakes of the head was her answer.

  "Why didn't you call dispatch?"

  Max looked blank.

  "For the water," she said patiently. "If I hadn't heard you yelling and looked out, they never would have known to hit the switch."

  "But Carl said…"

  Max trailed off, but Nicki hadn't missed his words. "Carl said what?"

  "Aw, nothing. I must'a misunderstood him."

  "Max, somebody could have gotten hurt here, at the least badly burned. Don't protect someone who endangered all of you."

  Max shifted his feet uncomfortably. Nick understood, knew that he was well aware of Carl's favored status as a friend of Richard's.

  "Hey, the guy hung us all out to dry," the short, wiry man who had spoken before broke in; he was new, Nicki noted, and perhaps not as impressed by Carl and the way he lorded his "in" with the boss over the others. "He said he was going to turn in the alarm."

  Fury rose in her. She clenched her teeth determinedly. She wanted to vent her anger, but realized that in front of the men was neither the time nor the place. She was going to find Richard, right now, and have it out with him about Carl Weller. She'd had enough—

  Nicki jumped as someone sloshed through the water behind her, splattering her legs. She whirled around so quickly to see who the idiot was that she slipped on the wet asphalt; only Travis's quick, strong arm grabbing her kept her from going down.

  "Are you okay?" Travis glanced quickly at the leaky tank with its hazard symbol, then back at her spattered legs and clothes. "Are you sure that stuff is all right now?"

  "Yes. I'm fine."

  She tried to pull away, but his arm was like a steel band around her waist, unyielding. His touch disconcerted her, which added to her anger when she saw who had splashed her.

  "Hey," Carl said with a broad, casual grin as he came to a stop in the puddle, "good, the water came on."

  "No thanks to you," Nicki grated, only able to speak at all because Travis had at last released her.

  "I was going to call it in," he said, unperturbed, "but I had to take an emergency phone call first. I figured somebody else'd do it."

  "Of course," Nicki said, seething. "You always figure someone else will do it."

  Carl shrugged blithely, gesturing at the water. "And somebody did, didn't they?"

  "And somebody could have gotten hurt in the meantime!"

  "Nobody did." The hard brown eyes went over her slender body in a way that made her feel dirtier than the grubby water he'd spattered her with did. "Except you got a little wet. But you're a tough lady, aren't you, Miss Lockwood? You know if you're going to play with the boys, you're going to get dirty."

  She felt Travis tense beside her. She let her fingers brush his arm, hoping he'd get the signal to do nothing, although she wasn't sure why she thought he might do as she wished. Amazingly, he did.

  "If you mean," she said icily, "can I fight dirty like the boys—not the men—here, then you'd better believe I can."

  "Uh-oh," Carl said in mock terror, "I think I made the boss lady mad!"

  "What was the phone call about?"

  Carl gaped, and Nicki turned to stare at Travis.

  "Huh?"

  Travis arched a brow at Weller's confusion. "Your emergency phone call. What was it about?"

  "Oh, uh, it was… Er…" Color flared in Weller's unshaven face. "Hey, I don't have to explain anything to you! None of us do!" He looked at the other men, as if seeking support. "He's going to be out of here as soon as Richard gets that stupid will his mother left straightened out. Don't tell him anything."

  The faces that met his outburst were hard; any one of them could have been injured through his neglect, and they all knew it.

  "Hey, don't look at me like that, man! He's the enemy, not me!"

  "Carl," Max said angrily, "go find someplace else to screw up."

  Swearing, Weller swiped at the water with his foot as he turned and stalked off. It rose in a sheet, drenching Nicki from feet to mid-thigh. She felt Travis tense as if to go after the departing Weller, but he stopped when she muttered, "Never mind."

  He looked at her. Her chin came up. "I was already wet. A little more doesn't matter."

  "A little more?" He looked at her limp dress, and the way his eyes lingered over the way it clung to her legs made Nicki feel oddly warm despite the chill of the wet cloth. As did the strangely thick sound of his voice when he added, "You need to go home and get out of… I mean, get into some dry clothes."

  The odd break in his words sent a shiver up her spine that was at odds with the warmth he'd kindled, and she turned away with a jerky little motion so he wouldn't see.

  "There's something I have to do, first." Her confusion over her conflicting emotions made her voice tight as she started back toward the offices.

  "What's more important than not catching pneumonia?"

  Her anger was returning, helping her to shove the turmoil Travis seemed to inflict on her so easily out of her mind. Her steps hastened, but Travis kept up easily with his smooth, long-legged strides.

  "Getting rid of Carl Weller," she snapped. "He's lazy, useless and obnoxious, and I've had it."

  "He's worse than that," Travis said. "He's dangerous."

  Nicki stopped suddenly, a little startled by the grimness of his tone.

  "Dangerous? I know he's careless, but isn't that a bit extreme?"

  "No." It was flat, uncompromising.

  "How can you know?" Nicki was irritated to find herself in the position of practically defending the likes of Carl Weller, but Travis was being so arbitrary about it… "You never even knew the man a week ago."

  "I know his kind. A sneak with a mouth bigger than his brain, and probably a knife to make up the difference."

  "Carl?" Her voice rang with disbelief; she'd never liked the man, despised him, in fact, but she'd never considered him particularly dangerous. "If anything, he's a coward."

  "Exactly. That's why he's dangerous. A man will come out front and fight you clean. A coward slinks around behind you and then slits your throat. And believe me, he's got the look."

  Nicki caught her breath. He saw her staring at him and smiled, a thin, bleak curving of his lips.

  "You learn a lot in jail," he said, confirming the guess he'd read in her eyes, "or you don't come out alive."

  Nicki turned away abruptly, starting toward the building again as fast as she could manage in heels over the uneven pavement. She'd always put that part of what had happened out of her mind, unable to even imagine Travis in jail. He'd always been so wild, so reckless, that the thought of him caged, trapped, had been inconceivable to her young mind.

  He'd had the same wanderlust she'd had as a girl, a longing for the far away, the exotic, the unknown. During those idyllic months together, when he'd finished his sessions with her mother, they'd spent many an hour in the seclusion of that willow-shaded spot, talking of their plans, of how they would someday see the world.

  It had been the first time in her life that she had ever really felt guilty about her family's wealth. He wanted it as badly as she did, perhaps more, since the life he'd known until now had been so much more miserable than her own. Yet she was the one who would have her dream; her father had already promised her a trip to wherever she wanted to go when she graduated college.

  "I'll get there," Travis insisted. "Somehow."

  "You could join the Navy," Nicki said, some slogan about seeing the world coming vaguely to mind.

  Travis laughed. "Yeah, sure. Can you see me in one of those stupid hats?"

  Privately, Nicki thought he'd look fantastic in a dress white uniform, but she kept that, as she did all other such thoughts, to herself. "But at least you'd get to go places."

  "And put up with all those rules and regs? No, thanks. I couldn't handle that."

  "You could wait and co
me with me," Nicki said innocently.

  Travis seemed to stop breathing for a second before he said flippantly, "Sorry, can't afford first class."

  "I can. For both of us."

  Nicki wondered if he'd felt a cool breeze she'd missed, because he seemed to shiver. "You really would do that, wouldn't you?"

  "Of course," she said simply. "I'd rather go with you than anybody else, anyway."

  He groaned. "Damn, don't say things like that."

  "Why not? It's the truth."

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment, then sighed wearily. "You know, Nicole Lockwood," he said softly, "sometimes you make me feel…"

  "Feel what?" she prompted when he trailed off.

  "Never mind."

  She made a disgusted sound. "I hate it when you do that!"

  "I know."

  "So what will you do?"

  He shrugged, then laughed as if to shake off the serious mood that had overtaken them. "I don't know. Ship out on a freighter, maybe."

  Nicki's eyes widened. "Really?"

  "Nah," he said with another laugh. "I couldn't hack being at sea for months, with no way to get off the ship. I'd feel too trapped."

  And less than a year later, Nicki thought grimly as they started up the stairs to the office, he'd been in the tightest trap of all. She stifled a shudder. She'd always buried any disquiet about what had happened to him beneath her anger and grief over her father; now, for the first time, she wondered how he'd stood it.

  "Something bothering you?"

  It wasn't so much the words as the tone of his voice that made her look at him sharply. The moment she saw his eyes, she knew that he had guessed her last thought.

  "No," she began, but when he kept looking at her steadily, she couldn't seem to go on with the he. She'd never been able to lie to him; she didn't know what had possessed her to think she could start now.

  "It was hell," he said softly, as if she'd answered with the truth. "Two years of hell."

  Nicki's eyes stung at the pain in his voice. "It was … a long time ago," she said inanely.

  "It was yesterday."

  His voice was bitter, harsh, and that unexpected tide of guilt rose in her again. Furious at herself for letting him get to her again, as they stepped inside she turned on him, and struck back in a voice equally bitter and harsh.

  "You put yourself there."

  He laughed, a short, rough burst of sound. "Did I?"

  "Don't start that again."

  "Right. I forgot. When a Lockwood's involved, there's only one side to the story."

  "There's only one truth, you mean."

  He looked at her for a long moment. "That's exactly what I mean."

  "Why, Travis?" Her anguish broke free. "Why do you have to lie about it? Maybe you were driving crazy, but it was an accident. Can't you just admit it and stop this … this charade?"

  He stopped their progress down the hall by gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him. "I'll be the first to admit I'm no angel," he said, "but there's one thing I've never done. I've never lied to you, Nicole."

  It was the first time he'd used that name since he'd been back, and it sent a quiver through her just as it had fifteen years ago. She stared at him, searching his face as if it held all the answers she'd never had.

  "Travis—"

  "Get your hands off my sister!"

  Nicki jumped, but Travis never moved. Nor did he remove his hands from her shoulders; he merely turned his head to watch Richard storm furiously down the hall toward them.

  "I said let go of her!"

  Travis turned his head away from Richard without a word, his gaze going back to Nicki questioningly.

  "Please," she whispered. After a second Travis nodded, and released her. But he didn't step away, only turned unhurriedly to face Richard.

  "Got a problem, Richie?"

  "My problem is you, Halloran!"

  "Don't hurt yourself," he drawled, looking at Richard's flushed face. "Your sister and I were just having a little … historical discussion."

  "I don't care about that—"

  "Somehow I didn't think you did." His eyes flicked to Nicki as he cut her brother off; her face showed clearly that she knew her brother's bluster had been more out of habit than any desire to defend her.

  Richard seemed thrown off track, and it took him a moment to regain his momentum; even to Nicki it seemed studied, planned. "I don't know what kind of stunt you're trying to pull here, but it's not going to work!"

  "Stunt?"

  "You know damned well what I mean."

  He tugged at a thin lock of hair. "'Fraid not, Richie."

  "I'm talking about that so-called accident we just had!"

  Travis merely raised an eyebrow; Nicki turned to stare at her brother.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't tell me it didn't occur to you to wonder why we suddenly had an accident with one of those chemical drums? We've never had any trouble like that—"

  "I know that. What's that got to do with Travis?"

  "You're such a fool," Richard told her scornfully. "You never could see past the end of your nose when it came to him, until we made you."

  Nicki flushed. "Stop it, Richard."

  "Well, it's the truth. You followed him around like a love-struck puppy, and you're still doing it."

  "I am not!" She was blushing furiously now, and she didn't dare look at Travis, hating the fact that he was witnessing her humiliation.

  "He killed our father, damn it! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  "You know it does. But what has that got to do with the acid spill?"

  "I should have known you'd be too blind to see it. You always were blind around him."

  "Damn it, Richard." He looked startled when she swore. "Quit beating around the bush and say what you're trying to say."

  "What he's trying to say," Travis cut in, his voice cold and hard, "is that I'm somehow responsible for what happened out there."

  Nicki's eyes widened. Her gaze swiveled to Travis, stunned. Of all the possibilities, that had never occurred to her.

  Could it be? she wondered. Was she really that blind? Did just his presence make it impossible for her to see the truth? Could she see nothing else when pinned by those gray eyes?

  But why would he do such a thing? Why would he purposely damage the business he now owned a large piece of? Her confusion showed clearly in her eyes, and she saw Travis's face set in those expressionless, masklike lines once more. It hadn't changed since all those years ago, when he'd presented it to all the world. Except for her.

  "Travis," she said urgently, "you didn't, did you?"

  "If you have to ask, it wouldn't do me any good to deny it." His jaw tightened, and she saw the pulse beating at his temple. "Just like that. Again. Signed, sealed and the Lockwood verdict delivered."

  "I knew he couldn't deny it!" Richard crowed.

  Travis looked at the gloating man who had once, he'd thought, been his friend.

  "I learned the hard way when not to waste my energy. Just like I learned the hard way who my friends really were, Richie."

  With a glance at Nicki that made that odd feeling of compunction flood her again, he turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him, wide-eyed and confused.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Travis walked up the street slowly, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans, aware of but ignoring the stares that met him every step of the way. He told himself they couldn't possibly all recognize him. Some of them were too young to have known about him. Some, he thought with a wry inward smile, probably hadn't even been born when he'd left under the proverbial cloud.

  But they looked anyway, and he wondered, as he had years ago, what it was about him that made people look twice.

  Back then it had been understandable, he supposed. He'd gone out of his way to cultivate that rough look, that impression of being always on the edge of trouble
. Not that he'd had much choice; when your wardrobe was limited to three pairs of ragged jeans and a few T-shirts, it was hard to do much else.

  The leather jacket he'd worn back then had been from a secondhand store whose owner had been willing to accept the construction of some shelving in his storeroom as payment. Coupled with the shaggy hair he couldn't afford to get cut anyway, and the frequent marks from when he hadn't been able to move quickly enough to dodge his father's raging swings, he looked more than a little wild.

  It hadn't, he thought, been because he'd wanted to draw attention to himself. The opposite, if anything. He didn't want anyone getting close, anyone who might find out. As Nicki had once guessed, he'd decided back then that he'd rather have everybody in town mad at him than have them look at him with the contemptuous scorn they turned on his father. His appearance, and the attitude he had cultivated then was all for a reason. And it had done what he'd wanted—kept people at arm's length, so that no one found out how scared he was underneath.

  No one except Nicki. She knew. She'd always known, always sensed it somehow. And hadn't thought any the less of him for it.

  But now, he thought in puzzlement, it was the same. He dressed respectably, even well when the occasion demanded it. He got his hair cut, and shaved, with some regularity. The ragged, belligerent kid was gone; there was nothing he could see on the surface that would make people take that second glance.

  If he had any sort of inflated ego, he might have thought the women looked twice because they liked what they saw; their expressions certainly seemed to say so. But he'd had too much bitter experience with that expression to believe it.

  And men looked, too, with a kind of wariness that he remembered. He'd seen it often enough in the faces of the straighter, richer high school crowd, even when they'd been looking down their noses at him. They seemed to consider him some kind of threat, but since he generally steered clear of their kind, he'd never quite been able to understand why.

  Nicki had told him once, in one of their long sessions beneath the willow tree, that it was because he made them feel trapped, caught in their narrow existence, afraid of any kind of danger, and doomed to spend their lives without a single taste of adventure.