Nicki looked at him, puzzled. Then her eyes widened in shock and she went pale as she realized what he'd meant. "Oh, God, Travis…"
"What did you think C.Y.A. was, summer camp?" His voice was scornful.
"No, but…"
"Oh, don't worry, I saved my … virtue." He flexed his left hand forward; the scar rippled as the muscle bunched. "He was set up on my right side. Didn't expect me to lead with my left hand. I figured I got off cheap. He never tried it again. On anybody."
She went even paler. "Did you…?"
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "Kill him? Is that what you want to know?"
"No, I—"
"I'm surprised you have any doubts. After all, you already think I'm a killer anyway."
"I didn't mean—"
"You just believe what you want. You will anyway. It seems to be a Lockwood trait."
"All I wanted to say is that I hope you hurt him back."
Travis stared at her, stunned. "What?"
She faltered, turning away as if she wished she hadn't let the words slip out. She walked over to the window and stared out, watching the sun glisten on one of the silver pneumatic trailers that had pulled up to the cement silo and was off-loading up the four-inch pipe. Fifteen pounds of pressure, she thought automatically. All it took to fluff up the fine, powdery cement enough for it to travel up the eighty-five foot pipe to the top of the silo.
"Nicki… Did you mean that?"
The tight, strained words yanked her mind away from its desperate effort to think about anything except the impulse that had driven her to say those foolish words.
"I don't know."
She kept staring out the window, watching as the first trailer emptied and the driver moved the truck up so the second could be hooked up to the pipe.
"I never … thought about it, really. I mean, I knew that you were … in jail. I was so angry at you, so hurt, that I wished it on you, a hundred times, without ever thinking about what it really meant."
"Would it have made a difference?" He sounded like a man testing waters he suspected were full of sharks.
She turned then and saw a look in his eyes that made her heart take a funny little leap and her stomach knot. "I don't know," she whispered. "I hated you so much…"
"I know." A shiver rippled through him. "Nicole, I—"
"Please, Travis. Not now. I … need to think. And I can't with you in here."
"Why?" he asked softly.
Her chin came up. "Because you upset me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"No. But it's a start."
Nicki wondered, as he turned and left without another word, why he had been so content to leave. Just as she wondered about the odd look that had been in his eyes. It wasn't until several minutes later, as she tried to concentrate on how she was going to carry out the promises she'd made to Sam Shelby, that she realized she had spoken of hating him in the past tense, and that the look in his eyes had been one of hope.
The hallway was dark when Nicki finally gave up for the day. She wasn't finished, but she was exhausted, and after she'd read the same bid proposal three times over and still wasn't sure if it was right, she knew it was time to quit. It was to one of the bigger development companies in southern California, and too important to mess up. Although, she thought wearily, it probably wouldn't matter; thanks to Richard overextending their production, the bid would have to be too high anyway.
A twinge of anger at her brother surfaced anew; she would have liked to have been involved in that marina project. It had been the development company's idea, she'd read, to design a youth dock where kids could go to learn to sail, wind surf, or row. And they were footing most of the bill for it. And insisting that the small area of wetlands that was a habitat for several species of coastal birds be left intact. Those were the kind of people she liked to deal with. But Willow Tree would take one look at her figures and laugh themselves sick.
She stood for a moment outside her office door, waiting for her eyes to adjust so she wouldn't have to turn on any lights on her way out. When she could see well enough, she started toward the outer door, stopping only when she saw the sliver of light showing beneath the door to the office that had been her mother's. Since it was the only empty office, he'd wound up reluctantly taking it.
She started to go on, telling herself it was nothing to her if he stayed here all night. She made it two steps past the door before she turned back.
When she tapped on the door it swung open. The light she'd seen had been cast by the desk lamp; the rest of the room was in darkness. From behind the big desk that her mother had found at an exclusive antique shop, Travis raised his eyes from the paper he held and looked at her, then glanced at his watch.
"Yes," she said, "I know it's late."
"And you're still here."
"So are you."
He smiled crookedly. "I'm trying to learn the concrete business from the sand up, so to speak, in a few days."
"So I've heard."
He raised one dark brow. "Oh?"
She shrugged. "People talk."
"Especially to the boss."
"Yes." He hadn't sounded sarcastic, so she didn't bother to deny it. They both knew it was true.
"Your people have a lot of respect for you."
"They're starting to have respect for you, too." She looked at him curiously. "They say you know more than they expected. And where did you learn to handle a bulldozer?"
He grinned. "You heard about that, huh?"
"Esteban was impressed, and he's not a man easily impressed."
"I admit, I was showing off a little. It was the first time in days that I'd run into something I knew all about."
"From what I've heard, you're learning about everything fast." Or, she thought again, unable to suppress the suspicion, you already know much more than you're letting on.
"They really do report to you, don't they?" He saw her tense. "Easy, Nicole," he said softly, "they did exactly what they should have done. I'm the outsider. I'd have been worried if they hadn't reported to you."
The outsider. He'd always felt that way, called himself that. The word knifed through her, reaching some deep, protected place and slicing through the hard, bitter shell that surrounded it. A tiny sound broke from her lips, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Travis stood up, his gaze fastened on her, his eyes lit with intensity.
"You look as tired and hungry as I am. Let's get out of here and get something to eat."
She shook her head mutely, unable to speak; the battle between the mind that firmly said no and the emotions that were saying yes was etched on her face.
"You're not hungry?"
"Yes," she managed, "but—"
"Let's go, then."
He folded the paper he'd been holding and tucked it into his pocket, then turned and pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. That same gray suede jacket, she thought, the one that turned his eyes the soft gray of a dove. So much warmer, so much more forgiving than the icy gray of granite…
Why was she always thinking like that, as if she were the one who had to ask forgiveness of him? It wasn't a new feeling, although it had grown much stronger since he'd returned; she'd always had it, ever since she'd been told that he'd been turned over to the California Youth Authority and was really going to jail.
It was no less than he'd deserved for what he'd done, she'd told herself over and over, and more than once she'd been furious with herself because the idea hurt so much. She didn't know why she couldn't drop it. And why she couldn't just forget him and go on with her life. And why was she thinking about the color of his eyes anyway, when what she should be doing is saying no to him?
But by the time she had come to her senses they were outside, and she found herself waiting while he opened the passenger door of his car, then getting in without a word of protest. She should go, she told herself. It might be a chance to find out if he knew anything about the problems at the pit. Not that he'd admit it if
he was responsible, but he might give himself away somehow.
"Nice car," she murmured when he slid into the driver's seat.
"Yes." When she looked at him, speculation in her eyes, he said casually, "It's a company car, actually."
"Company car?"
"I'm … using it for the trip here."
So that explained it, Nicki thought, the speculation fading as he started the motor. As if he'd read her mind, his mouth twisted ruefully.
"You never really thought it was mine, did you?"
"I wondered." And she wondered at his tone, which made the words more a statement of fact than a question. She ran a finger over the rich leather of the seat. "You must have a nice boss, if he just loans out cars like this."
He chuckled, and Nicki got the oddest feeling that it was at some joke she didn't see. He wheeled the car out onto the street before he said, "He's … a lot of things, but I don't know if nice is one of them."
"What kind of company is it?"
The words were out before she remembered she'd sworn she didn't care, didn't want to know anything about him. Travis glanced at her, giving her that uncanny feeling that he knew what she was thinking as well as he ever had.
"Do you really want to know?"
She caught her breath. When everyone else had been saying she was impossible to understand, Travis Halloran had understood her perfectly. It seemed he still did.
"Yes," she said perversely, ignoring the fact that he had given her the perfect chance to retreat, "or I wouldn't have asked."
The moment she said it she knew it was true; she did want to know.
"Construction, mostly," he answered easily as he accelerated up the freeway ramp.
"Your boss is a contractor?" So he did know more about the concrete business than he let on.
"Of sorts."
"He must be doing well," she said, looking again at the luxurious interior of the car.
"He's getting by."
"Construction… You run a bulldozer?" she guessed.
There was a half second's hesitation before the answer came. "Sometimes. Sometimes I do … other things."
"Oh."
She left it at that, but she didn't understand. That kind of rough work didn't jive with the expensive clothes he wore, unless he spent everything he made on them. It didn't seem likely; he'd never been that way, as some of Richard's friends had been, and as Richard had been. Not that all the expensive clothes in the world could ever give Richard the kind of negligent, throwaway ease Travis had. Even when all Travis had had were ragged jeans and T-shirts he made Richard look like a stiff, overdressed Ken doll.
Maybe that was it, she thought. Maybe he bought nice clothes now because he'd never had any then. He hadn't seemed to mind, and she'd always thought he looked wonderful no matter what, so she'd never asked. Perhaps it had bothered him more than she had ever realized.
She remembered then, with nauseating clarity, the time she'd overheard Richard's friends teasing him about his "charity case."
"He's trash," one of them had said, "just like his father. And you can't change that, even with Lockwood money."
"Don't tell me, tell my mother," Richard had retorted. "She's the one who's doing it. I dumped the jerk a long time ago. And I only invited him over the first time because he helped me out once. Not that I needed it, of course."
She'd forgotten that until now, forgotten how angry she'd been at Richard for deserting Travis at the first sign of pressure from his smug friends. She'd wanted to storm into the room and tell them all off, but she knew they'd just laugh at her, as all Richard's friends did. Except Travis. Who wasn't really Richard's friend at all. I don't know anything about the kind of friendship that lets you be a jerk to a friend's sister.
His words came to her, their truth and accuracy ringing in her mind. He'd never been like the rest of them. And he would never desert a friend so easily. But he had, she thought. He'd deserted Richard, at the most horrible time possible. But she'd just admitted that Richard hadn't really been his friend. Why should he have stuck by Richard when she knew that if the positions had been reversed, Richard would have done the same thing Travis had done?
"Are you all right?"
In her confusion she must have made some small sound, for Travis was looking at her with concern. "I… Yes. I'm fine."
For the first time since she'd been once more caught up in memories, she looked out the window. And saw the ocean sparkling in the moonlight.
"Where are we?"
"San Clemente. I thought we'd eat at that place on the pier." He pointed toward the low building as he parked the car in the public lot just above it. "I was there the other night. It's pretty good."
"You … were?"
She barely managed the words, so stunned was she at her own reaction to the thought that he might have had a date for dinner. It made her gasp inwardly as her stomach recoiled, as if she'd been struck.
"It's handy. I'm staying in a house just a few blocks south of here. It's a nice walk."
Nicki stared at him. She knew that area, above T-Street beach, famous among local surfers. It was one of the most sought after parts of this small, seaside community, and houses there didn't come cheap.
"Your boss?" she hazarded as they got out of the car.
"No. One of his … V.P.'s."
One delicate brow arched; she hadn't suspected the company was big enough to have a vice president, let alone more than one. And generous, apparently. As was the president—cars and houses, loaned to an employee.
"What's wrong?" An edge had crept into his voice. "Doesn't match your preconceptions?"
Nicki flushed, caught. "I suppose. I never claimed not to have them."
A little taken aback by her honest admission, Travis didn't speak for a moment. Then, quietly, "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."
"It's okay. I didn't mean…" She trailed off.
"Didn't mean what?"
"I don't know. I don't seem to know anything anymore."
They had a quiet, pleasant dinner, the conversation about nothing more consequential than the weather and the scenery. She thought often of directing the talk toward the pit and what had happened there, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. And later, when she found herself agreeing to a walk on the beach, she didn't want to talk about work.
As a girl on the edge of womanhood, she'd often fantasized about walking in the moonlight with Travis. Not as they had, on occasion, when their talks under the big willow had lasted into the evening and he had walked her back to the house. Not that she hadn't treasured those moments, as she had all the time she'd spent with him, even as she was surprised by his unswerving adherence to her mother's rules about what time she had to be inside. She had treasured them, and they were enough for her, then.
But what she'd dreamed about was being alone together, at some vague time in the future, on a beach like this, when he would see her as a woman, not a girl.
"I used to think about this," she said softly, not meaning to say the words aloud but unable to stop them once she'd begun, "years ago. Being someplace like this, with you, when I was old enough."
She heard him suck in a breath. "You … never said."
"I was afraid to. I was just a kid, and you were … I was afraid you'd laugh."
"Did I ever laugh at you?"
"No. You never did." She stopped, looking up at him, at his face shadowed by the moonlight. "Even when your friends laughed at you about me."
He went still. "You knew that?"
"That they laughed about your little shadow? Yes."
"I'm sorry. They just didn't understand."
"No one did."
"Except us."
She lowered her eyes. "Except us."
"Nicole…"
He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. For a long, silent moment he just looked at her, and she could see the silver light of the moon flashing in his eyes. His lips parted, as if he were having trouble drawing in enough air, and she f
ound herself doing the same.
"Did you think about this, too? Back then?" he asked huskily.
"Yes," she breathed, knowing without the words what he meant. Then he was doing it, his head lowering, his mouth coming down soft and warm on hers.
The protest of her mind, the crying out that this was the man she'd hated for fifteen years, died in the first split second of flashing, blazing heat. The years between fell away in a puff of ash. This was Travis, her Travis, and it was happening just as she'd dreamed it would.
Well, not quite. She'd never dreamed of this heat, this instant conflagration, sending ripples of fire along nerves she'd never known she had. She'd never known sensations like this existed. Not at fourteen, and not through all the years since, had she ever felt anything like this.
His fingers threaded through her hair, and felt strong and warm as he cradled her head. His mouth urged, coaxed, then she felt the searing flick of his tongue over her lips. She gasped at the unexpected pleasure of it, and as her lips parted on the sharp breath, his tongue darted between them.
He did nothing more than stroke the sensitive inner surface, then she felt him shudder and draw back. A tiny moan of protest escaped her at the loss of his heat, and she heard him groan as he pulled her tightly to him.
"Damn," he muttered, his chin coming to rest gently on her hair. "I should have known."
She sagged against him, wondering where all her strength had gone. "Known?" Her voice was shaky.
"That it would … be like that. God knows I thought about it often enough."
She quivered at the impact of the words. "You … thought about it, too?"
He laughed, a little roughly. "Hell, I spent half my time feeling like some kind of pervert because the only girl I could talk to was you. I used to wish the time away, thinking that in four years you'd be eighteen and I'd be twenty-one, and it wouldn't matter…" She stared up at him, steadying herself with a hand against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering beneath her palm; it helped somehow to know his was racing just as hers was.
"But you… I heard … all those girls…"
His laugh was jagged sounding, sharp, like broken glass. "Believe me, the kind of girls who hung around with me then weren't the kind you talked to." Bitterness tinged his voice. "Except for the ones who went slumming, of course. For them, I was good enough to … give them a thrill or two, maybe a quick fumble behind the bleachers, but in the light of day, in front of their friends, I was back to dirt under their feet again."
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