SUSPICION'S GATE

by Justine Davis

  "Oh, Trav…"

  "Except you. You were the only one who ever knew … who I was. Who ever looked past what I was."

  "It wasn't fair," she whispered. "They all judged you by your father."

  "Except you."

  He lifted one hand to smooth back a strand of her hair that had been tossed by the wind across her cheek. The fractional hesitation told her that was all he'd intended to do, but then his fingers were caressing the soft skin of her cheek, moving until he had cupped her face with his palm.

  This time she met him eagerly, lifting her lips to his without hesitation. Her willingness fired him, and he took her mouth fiercely, urgently. Her lips parted for him and he thrust his tongue deep, savoring the honeyed warmth. His arms went around her, to pull her even closer; she bent to him as if she had no will left to do otherwise.

  Nicki shivered, even though wave after wave of heat was rippling through her. His mouth was soft and hot, his chest solid and hot, arms strong and hot around her. When she tentatively moved her tongue to brush over his, she heard him groan and felt a shudder go through him. His response renewed hers, and she trembled in his arms. She moved her tongue again, wanting more, savoring the taste of him, craving the little sparks that shot through her as she'd never craved anything before.

  When at last he broke away, his breath left him in a long, shaky sigh. She echoed it, sagging against him again as her mind whirled from the wonder of it. She buried her face against his shirt, the cool breeze off the ocean nothing in the face of his heat. She heard his heart slamming in her ear pressed to his chest, heard his quickened breathing that matched her own.

  "I thought I knew… I fantasized so much … about what it would be like. I never came close," she whispered. "I didn't know…"

  "You make me feel like I don't know anything," Travis said hoarsely. "Oh, God, Nicole. What do we do now?"

  It was a question she had no answer for.

  Nicki wondered if she would ever get back to normal. She remembered the days when she'd ended each day satisfied with the amount of work she'd accomplished, when she'd been able to keep on top of things, even the dual load of running the plant and the pit. Now it was all she could do to stay within sight of even.

  She yawned; she'd slept little last night, her mind, full of the evening's events, had not let her rest until the early hours of morning. She'd never asked Travis anything about the time he'd spent at the pit; face to face with him she'd found it impossible to believe he was behind the string of problems. In the grim light of dawn, she found it impossible to regain that certainty.

  She had found herself constantly touching her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers, thinking she was mistaken, she couldn't have really caught fire like that. Even now her fingers stole upward to touch the soft fullness of her lower lip, remembering the flame that had sizzled through her at the touch of his tongue on that sensitive flesh. Her body still tingled, as if it remembered the hard, solid heat of him as he'd held her close.

  The phone shrilled, and with a sigh she picked it up.

  "Nicki Lockwood."

  "This is Max, Miss Lockwood."

  "Yes, Max. What is it?"

  "We've got a problem. Belt on the main conveyer motor broke. We lost half the load of sand on it, and it's really a mess. And we don't have a replacement in stock."

  "Great," Nicki muttered. "Any other damage?"

  "The motor seems okay. We're lucky it didn't burn out."

  "That's something, I guess." Her brow furrowed. "Didn't we just replace that belt?"

  "Yep. Last week. That's why we don't have another one."

  "Well, order one, then."

  "Yes, Miss Lockwood."

  "What happened, Max? If that belt was new…"

  "I know. I can't rightly see how it happened. I saw that belt just last night, before I left. It was fine then."

  Nicki sat up straight, her fingers tightening around the receiver. "Meaning?"

  "That there's no way it could have just broken. It could have been defective, I guess, but I checked it out pretty carefully before we put it on."

  "You think … it was tampered with? Last night?"

  "Well, I've looked at it real close. It could have been cut partway, but I can't be sure. All I know is, it was fine when I saw it before I left last night."

  "When was that?"

  "Five-forty. I know that for sure, because I'd just shown it to Mr. Halloran. He wanted to know all about it."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Nicki knew she was doing what she despised most, running and hiding, but she couldn't seem to help it. She had to think, and she couldn't do it in her office.

  She had barely managed to escape Richard, dodging into the dispatch office when she heard his voice in the hallway. Her mother's office had been empty as she passed, and she had wondered where Travis was. And, with a touch of bitterness, she also wondered if his absence meant there would be no little disasters this morning.

  No, she thought as she paced the floor of the library. She'd come straight home to this room and locked the doors, and had been crisscrossing the floor ever since. No, she just couldn't do it. She couldn't believe that the man who had kissed her so sweetly, so urgently last night was responsible for this string of mishaps.

  Fool, she told herself. A little moonlight, a kiss or two, and you're right back where you were fifteen years ago. You didn't want to believe he was responsible for Dad's death, either. True, in the strictest sense of the word she supposed it had been an accident, but it had been brought about by one person's reckless act, the "gross negligence" the juvenile court had cited. And that person was Travis Halloran. It was Travis who had been behind the wheel of Richard's car. It was Travis, driving too fast, who had forced her father off the road leading to their house. And, most damning of all, it was Travis who had tried to shift the blame, to evade the responsibility for what he'd done.

  But why would he be doing this now? Did he truly want revenge, badly enough to destroy the prize her mother had inexplicably left him? And if that was what he wanted, why was he putting in so many hours, working so hard at learning the business? So he would know where best to strike at it?

  That didn't make sense, either; he didn't have to know, as he'd put it, sand from pea gravel to figure out how to undermine them. And why would he call Richard on his bonehead decisions, when all he had to do was sit back and let her brother run them into the ground, if that's what he wanted?

  Besides, it didn't fit him. Travis would never resort to piddling little tricks like those. He might, she thought wryly, blow the place sky high, but this kind of thing was too petty for him. That this certainty was a paradox in view of what else she believed of him was something she couldn't deal with at the moment.

  She came to a halt before the desk that had been her father's. She ran a finger along the edge of the polished oak top, remembering all the times she'd snuck in here to watch him work.

  She'd been smugly pleased that he let her stay; Richard always got kicked out. Of course Richard had always gotten bored and restless easily, while she had curled up in the overstuffed recliner opposite her father's chair and read quietly, glad just to be there.

  She turned and walked to that chair now, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs up under her. This was where Travis had often sat, too, reading, before her mother had come in to quiz him, to buffet him with the questions that sometimes made him angry, sometimes frustrated, but always made him think. She knew, because she'd undergone it enough times herself.

  Her eyes drifted to the desk once more. Her father had looked upon his wife's efforts with Travis with an indulgence that was tinged with a sort of regret. It was the regret that took Nicki a long time to figure out. Then one day he'd said something that made sense of it for her.

  "If we're going to keep Lockwood in the family, it's going to be up to you, Nicki. You've got the head for it, not your brother."

  It
was then that she'd realized that her father saw Richard as clearly as her mother did. And knew as well as his wife did that what Richard lacked, Travis had twice over. Knew it well enough to consider making an impossible dream possible.

  She sat up straight in the chair. She'd forgotten that. Had forgotten the quiet discussion she hadn't been meant to hear, her mother and father here in this room, talking of sending Travis to college.

  "He's got the brains, there's no doubt about that," her father had said. "But would he do it?"

  "He would," Emily Lockwood had said firmly. "He won't admit it, but he'd do just about anything to go to college. And he'd do well. He's too stubborn not to."

  Nicki hadn't been so sure; Travis was stubborn, but he was also too proud to take what he would consider charity. Just as she thought it, her mother confirmed it.

  "Of course," she'd said with a smile softening her face, "he'd insist on paying us back."

  "By working at Lockwood?" Her father's voice had echoed with amusement.

  "Perhaps," her mother had said lightly, and they had both laughed.

  She wondered if her mother had ever mentioned it to him, if Travis had ever known about the chance they'd wanted to give him. Unexpectedly she found herself hoping not; going to jail had been bad enough—knowing what else he'd lost would be unbearable.

  She caught herself in the middle of that thought. Why did she care if Travis hurt? No matter what had happened to him, he was alive and her father was dead. And a couple of kisses in the moonlight, no matter how sweet, no matter how hot, didn't change that.

  She felt a sudden burst of shame, shame that she had let him kiss her at all, that she had been so weak as to succumb to the old memories, that she had given in to the temptation to find out if it could be as good as she'd imagined. And she'd found out it was more than good, much more. More than she'd ever thought a simple kiss could be.

  The memories of those kisses rose up like bright, sweet fire, searing her shame to ashes and sending undulations of remembered heat through her. And his poignant question echoed in her ears—What do we do now?

  "I don't know," she whispered into the quiet room.

  The knock on the door made her jump, so lost was she in her emotional dilemma. Automatically she glanced at her watch; no one they knew would expect anyone to be home at this hour. She started toward it, then stopped a moment to wipe her cheeks when she realized they were damp. Sometimes it seemed the only thing she did consistently anymore was cry, she thought despairingly.

  The moment she opened the door and saw Travis there, she knew she'd guessed it might be him. She just stood there, unable to speak. He started to say something, but the words died unspoken when his gaze met her still damp eyes. Pain twisted his face.

  "Oh, Nicole…" He swallowed tightly. "It's been hell for you, hasn't it?"

  Absurdly, Nicki wanted to go to him, to huddle in his arms, to have him protect her. Absurd because, if she had any sense, she'd admit he was the one she needed protection from. Determined not to weaken again, she steadied herself. Her chin came up.

  "What do you want?"

  As if he'd seen only that moment of wavering, and not heard at all the sharpness of her voice, he said quietly, "You didn't come to the office. I was worried."

  "About what?"

  "You. After last night, I—"

  "Last night was a mistake."

  He drew back and studied her face carefully. "Was it?"

  "Yes."

  She turned away. Travis followed her inside before she could close the door. "Why?"

  "It should never have happened."

  "Dinner? We had to eat."

  She flushed. "You know what I mean."

  "Yes. You mean when I kissed you."

  She lowered her eyes.

  "So what part was a mistake? That I did it, or that it was so … good?"

  "That I let you."

  "I got the distinct impression that you did more than just 'let' me."

  "Ye—" Her voice broke. "Yes! And that was the biggest mistake of all!"

  "Why? Because it shook the hate you've been nursing all these years? Because you liked it?" His voice dropped, went soft and husky. "And don't tell me you didn't, Nicole. I know better."

  She shivered, that undertone in his voice bringing back all the sweet, stinging memories and sending a frisson of sensation feathering up her spine.

  "No," she whispered, protesting the feelings he roused in her, feelings that she couldn't seem to fight.

  All Travis heard was the denial, and anger flicked at him like the tip of a lash. She might deny everything else, but he wasn't going to let her deny this. He reached for her quickly, before she could dodge away, his hands going to grip her shoulders. He felt her tremble and tightened his grip, more to steady her than to control her. The moment he did she stopped, looking up at him, wide-eyed.

  "Travis," she breathed, unable to say anything else. The sight of her lips parting for his name sent a shaft of heat lancing through him. He pulled her close, his head darting downward quickly, his lips closing on hers.

  The fire flared as before, with a fierce swiftness that made them both gasp. All her thoughts of denying this sweetness fled before the onslaught. His tongue stroked, caressed, invaded her sweet warmth, and she felt an answering warmth building somewhere deep inside her. She opened for him, luring him on, not satisfied until she heard him groan low in his throat.

  Her arms encircled his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. Her hands stilled; this, too, was more than she'd ever dreamed, this feeling of the thick, heavy silk of his hair sliding over her skin. Her fingers flexed then, savoring it.

  His mouth moved on hers, harder, deeper. He was drinking her in, absorbing her, like a man too long in the desert faced with the sweetness of crystal water. She let him, unwilling, unable to fight this. Thinking that it couldn't be fought, not when it was so strong, not when it was so right. Not when it was Travis.

  The small sound of protest she made when his mouth left hers changed to a quick gasp of pleasure as his lips moved along her delicate jaw and down her slender throat, nibbling, kissing, leaving a trail of fire that made her quiver.

  He lingered in the hollow of her throat, tasting, and the feel of the rough, wet velvet of his tongue against her skin sent a shudder through her. She was shivering, yet aflame at the same time, and she thought inanely how appropriate that was; she'd been confused since the moment he'd come back into her life.

  His hands slipped to the back of her head, tilting it so he could begin again that searing kiss that she was already feeling in parts of her she hadn't known existed. She moved as if she were made of wax, softened by his lips for his hands to mold as they willed.

  His hands moved, sliding down over her shoulders as his tongue thrust, probed, sending little darts of heat and pleasure through her. She began to feel oddly heavy in that place deep inside that he had stirred to life, and in the tender flesh of her breasts. She was seized with a need she'd never known, a need for his touch in all those deep, private places, a need she instinctively knew only he could assuage.

  And then she knew it would take much more than just his touch, for he was stroking the outer curve of her breasts, adding to their heat with his own, and it only made the need worse, sharper, more desperate.

  The intensity of it frightened her, and she tried to pull away. When she did, her hips moved against him and she felt the hot, hard ridge of male flesh at the same moment she heard him gasp. Somehow it reassured her, eased the fright; she was not alone, careening out of control, he was with her, and as aroused as she was.

  But Travis had felt the change in her, sensed her moment of panic. With hands that were shaking, and a grip that was nearly painful, he set her away from him. He stared down at her, with eyes still hot, and his pulse leaping visibly at the base of his throat.

  Slowly the heat faded from his eyes, replaced by a tenderness so strong it took her breath away. He lifted a hand to gently brush the
backs of his fingers across her cheek.

  "I'm sorry, Nicole," he said softly. "I had no right to push that hard when you're so vulnerable right now."

  "I'm just so … confused," she said miserably.

  "I know." His voice got a little gruffer. "Just don't be confused about this, Nicole. Denying it won't change it."

  "I can't deny it. I don't even know what it is." Her voice shook, laced with equal parts of bewilderment and agitation.

  "You will," he promised solemnly, with a fierce determination that made her stare at him, unable to rid herself of the idea that he meant so much more than what had just occurred between them. "Travis, I—"

  "No." He cut her off gently but firmly. "Not now. Neither one of us is thinking very straight."

  He grinned suddenly, that flashing, lopsided grin that had once sent her heart racing and made her breath catch. It still did.

  "How about some lunch, Ms. Lockwood? I noticed the McDonald's is still in the same old place. Still addicted to their fries?"

  The abrupt shattering of the tension left her a little dazed, but in the face of that wicked grin she could do nothing but what she'd always done; smile back and acquiesce to whatever he'd said.

  "Good. Let's go." He took her arm, not giving her a chance to refuse. "Only one ground rule. No shoptalk."

  His enthusiasm was infectious, and irresistible. She was seated in the car and they were halfway down the long driveway before she realized that she'd tacitly agreed not to discuss the topic foremost in her mind; the accidents at the plant and the pit.

  The sense of relief that filled her told her much about her state of mind. Coward, she berated herself inwardly. You don't want to ask because you're afraid of the answer you might get. Afraid that he'll deny it, just like he did all those years ago.