SUSPICION'S GATE

by Justine Davis

Catch-22, she thought suddenly. He wouldn't admit it if he were guilty, but if he denied it, she'd assume he was only hiding his guilt. No matter what he said, her reaction would be the same.

  If you have to ask, it wouldn't do me any good to deny it. He'd said that when Richard had flung that accusation at him, but only now did Nicki realize exactly what he'd meant. And how true it was.

  No matter what the emotional basis, she couldn't deny the unfairness of it. And she'd found too much built-in unfairness already in life. But the alternative, believing he was innocent, left her two choices: she had to accept that the string of accidents were just that, accidents, or that someone else was behind them. She wasn't sure which she found hardest to believe.

  "Hey." He reached over and nudged her gently beneath the chin. "No serious thoughts. Put 'em on hold." He grimaced wryly. "Believe me, they won't go away."

  A sigh escaped her unaware. Travis said nothing until they pulled into the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant. Then he turned in his seat to look at her solemnly.

  "Do you want to go back?"

  "No." She was surprised at how quickly the answer came. "It's just—" She broke off. "Sorry. You said no shop-talk."

  "We can find something else to talk about, can't we?" he said with a smile, a wistful smile of reminiscence touched by sadness. It was a heartbreaking smile, and Nicki felt hers quiver.

  "We always could," she said softly.

  "Yes." The sadness vanished in the renewed flaring of that bright, hot hope. "We always could."

  It was like slipping back in time, sitting there with him. He'd brought her here a few times then, this being the best he could afford, and they'd sat and talked over the French fries and a soda she always ordered. He'd often accused her of purposely ordering nothing else because she thought he couldn't afford it, but he'd finally had to accept that it was simply her favorite meal.

  "I remember," she said softly as she sat down with that same order of fries and a soda, "when we used to sit here and talk about seeing the world…"

  "So do I." He stole one of her fries, just as he'd always done then. "So tell me, what was your trip like? Paris, London, Amsterdam, you must have hit them all."

  "No."

  He looked at her quizzically, the purloined fry halfway to his mouth. "No, what?"

  "I didn't hit them all. I didn't hit any of them."

  He lowered the fry to his napkin. "You never went?"

  "I never left San Remo. I … couldn't. When I finished high school, I had to go straight to college. Mother needed me at the plant as soon as possible. Richard wasn't doing very well, and she needed the help."

  She didn't say why. She didn't have to; they both knew it. Because of her father's death, she had lost the fondest dream of her childhood.

  "I'm sorry," he said lowly, his expression showing that he wondered if she held him responsible for this, too.

  "It was a silly dream," she said a little tightly.

  "No. No, it wasn't. I'm sorry you … lost that dream."

  "So did you."

  He shrugged. "Oh, I've been a place or two. Alaska, Canada, Mexico, South America. Even worked a job in Saudi Arabia, once."

  Her eyes widened. "You built things in all those places?"

  That crooked grin flashed, sending her stomach on a flip-flopping little roll. "Not single-handedly."

  "Tell me, what was it like?"

  He couldn't resist the fervent plea, besides, it was a safe topic. So between bites of the hamburger he'd ordered, he told her of the dam in South America, the school in Mexico, and all the other projects that had taken him some of the places they'd talked about as kids.

  Nicki drank it in, her eyes alight. Twice he seemed to catch himself before letting slip something he didn't want to tell her, and she could almost see him tighten his guard. At last he stopped, and only then did Nicki become aware of the stares they were getting.

  Just like old times, she thought again. Then, they had been the center of attention, the target of glances and outright stares that ranged from curious to speculative to aghast. She'd ignored them, her chin high, and been rewarded with one of Travis's lopsided grins of salute.

  She knew why they had stared, knew that it wasn't just because he was older than she, and she just on the edge of womanhood. No, it was because everyone in this town knew who she was, who he was, and the combination of a Lockwood and the Halloran boy was enough to set the tongues twitching for miles.

  Not, she thought, that they weren't getting as much attention now. But there were differences now, the flurry involved only the older patrons in the place; the younger ones were too caught up in themselves to notice them. But the others, the ones who recognized them, were making up for it; the whispers that traced around the dining area were ominously apparent, like the hissing of a snake.

  Travis seemed to become aware of it at the same moment. "Sometimes I wonder what this town would have done for entertainment if I hadn't been around," he muttered.

  "They would have picked on someone else," Nicki said, bitterness lacing her voice. "They have to have something to keep their little minds occupied."

  Travis lifted a brow at her tone, but he only said, "Makes a good case for living in a big city, someplace where everybody's too busy to mind anyone's business but their own."

  "Is that … where you live now? In a big city?"

  If he was surprised by the question after her concentrated efforts at disinterest, he didn't show it. "San Diego."

  "Oh."

  She didn't know what else to say. She bit at another fry, took a tiny sip of soda, then watched as he took another bite of his hamburger. As he did, she caught a glimpse of the scar, and at the thought of how painful it must have been, her stomach nearly returned what she'd eaten so far. Travis saw her glance, saw the pained grimace that crossed her face.

  "Don't, Nicole. It was a long time ago. I shouldn't have been so rough on you about it."

  "I can't… You… It must have been horrible," she ended in a rush, shuddering.

  "Forget it."

  She turned troubled eyes on him. "Have you?"

  "I know it must not seem like it, but I really don't think about it much anymore." His mouth twisted wryly. "It's just that the memories seem to be stirring lately."

  Nicki gave a low, rueful chuckle. "Don't they, though."

  He watched her for a moment. "Are they all bad?" he asked quietly. "Don't you remember any of the good ones?"

  "I remember." She lowered her eyes, picking at another fry. "I've always remembered. All of it. That's what made it so hard."

  She heard him take a quick, deep breath. "Nicole, listen, I—"

  He broke off, and she looked up in time to see him clench his jaw and look away from her. Whatever it had been, it was clear from the effort it took him to stop that it was something he badly wanted to say.

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "Travis—"

  He shook his head.

  "You keep doing that. What is it?"

  "I … can't."

  "Why? Why won't you tell me?"

  "Some things you can't tell people. They have to see for themselves."

  "See what?"

  He sighed. "I'm not making any sense." His mouth quirked. "All those stirring memories."

  He was obviously determined, and she had to let it go. They ate in silence then, Nicki finishing first and glancing once more around the busy room.

  She caught more than one surreptitious watcher red-handed, but it was no surprise; she'd known they hadn't stopped looking since she and Travis had come in. That didn't bother her as much as the furtive way they jerked their eyes away, as if they could hide their nosiness by looking somewhere else. Curiosity she could tolerate; sneakiness made her angry.

  "Can we leave?" she said suddenly, sharply, as soon as he'd finished.

  Travis looked at her a little oddly, but got to his feet. Nicki didn't look at anyone, but still sensed the heads turning as they
walked out. She remained tautly silent until, in the car, Travis said mildly, "Where to?"

  "Anywhere."

  It was low and harsh, and stopped him from asking any more questions. Without a word he started the car and drove out of the lot. She lapsed once more into silence, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. When at last he pulled over and parked, she looked around in surprise. He'd brought her home.

  "I thought we could … talk, here."

  She followed the direction of his gaze, toward the graceful green sweep of the willow tree. Her mind cried out no, that it would be too painful there in the place full of so many memories, but her heart blocked the word. Slowly she nodded.

  Almost without thought they took up their old, familiar positions, Nicki sitting cross-legged on the soft grass, Travis stretched out on his side and propped up on one elbow, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

  "Are you all right?" he asked after a moment. "You seemed in an awfully big hurry to get out of there."

  "I was." She plucked at a blade of grass. "They were horrible."

  "No more than usual."

  "That's what I mean," she muttered. "No wonder you never came back."

  "You think I let them stop me?"

  Her brow furrowed. "Then what did?"

  "You."

  "Me?" She looked startled. "How?"

  "You made it pretty clear how you felt."

  "I was upset. That night … my father…"

  "I know. I meant later."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The letters." He plucked a long blade of grass and caught it between his teeth.

  "What?"

  "When the first one came back, I figured you were still mad, so I waited." His teeth clenched on the piece of grass. "I thought, after a while, you might stop hating me long enough to…" He trailed off, then said gruffly, "But when the last one came back with that note, I gave up."

  "You … wrote to me?"

  "Only four or five times." His smile was crooked. "It took me a while to get the hint. I—"

  Her words and expression got through to him then; his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

  "You didn't get them?"

  Eyes wide, she shook her head mutely.

  "But the note you sent…"

  "I didn't. I never even knew you'd written."

  "It was in your handwriting."

  "I didn't," she insisted, mystified. "What did it say?"

  He smiled, a little grimly. "I think the exact words were 'Get lost, scum. I hate you.'"

  Nicki's eyes widened. "I didn't," she said a third time, but something flickered in her memory.

  "I remember it, Nicki. Getting something like that from you is not something I'm likely to forget. For weeks I saw those big red letters in my sleep."

  She gasped as the flickering, elusive memory leapt to life. "Red?"

  "As blood." He saw the knowledge in her eyes, along with a stunned, pained shock. "It's okay. I understand how you must have felt—"

  "Travis, no! I mean, I wrote it, I remember it now, but not to you! It was never for you." His brow furrowed, and she rushed on. "It was for Scott."

  "Scott?"

  "Scott Ellis. A boy in my class, and he was always bothering me. He used to call me names … because of you. I was going to leave that note on his desk at school, but I lost it…"

  He looked at her for a long moment, considering, and Nicki had a sudden flash of insight about how it must feel when no one believed you.

  "I didn't send it," she whispered. "I don't know who…"

  "Your mother used to get the mail, didn't she?"

  "No! I mean yes, but she wouldn't do that," Nicki protested.

  "Oh?" There was a world of irony in his voice.

  "She wouldn't! In fact she said once, when I was so miserable from missing you, that maybe someday you'd … contact me…"

  "You … missed me?"

  "Horribly. I didn't want to, but I did. Then I'd think about my dad, and feel so damned guilty…"

  "Oh, Nicole, you really went through hell, didn't you?"

  "I hated myself for even thinking about you, and I hated my dad for dying. But most of all I—"

  "Hated me," Travis supplied softly when she stopped.

  She turned haunted blue eyes on him. "Yes!"

  "I know. Anyone would feel that way if they thought … what you did."

  "It wasn't that!" Her vehemence startled him. "I mean, I was angry about Dad, but I think I could have forgiven that, eventually. It was stupid and careless and reckless … and … and…"

  "Grossly negligent," he prodded grimly.

  "Yes! But it wasn't—" She stopped for a gulping breath. "It wasn't…"

  "Murder?"

  "No."

  "Well, that's something, I guess," he said flippantly. "The court called it involuntary manslaughter, but I never thought I'd hear even that much of a concession from a Lockwood."

  "I know it really wasn't murder," she whispered. "But why did you have to say those things? Why did you have to lie?"

  He stiffened. "I told you I never—"

  He stopped abruptly. The urge to say it all again, to tell her, make her realize the truth, rose up in him. But what could he say? She'd never believe that he hadn't been driving that night. She'd believe, as she always had, that he'd only been trying to blame Richard to keep himself out of trouble. If she hadn't believed him then, with more than a year of closeness and trust between them, she certainly wouldn't now, with fifteen years of distance separating them.

  "Never mind. If you don't already know, there's nothing I can say to convince you."

  "But—"

  "No, Nicole. That's the one thing I won't discuss."

  Stung a little by his coldness, she snapped, "I thought your father was the one thing you wouldn't discuss."

  "That doesn't matter anymore. He's dead."

  "I know." Her anger faded before his bleak expression. "I thought that you might … come back, then."

  "Why? There was nothing for either of us here. I took him back to Minnesota. It was the only place I ever remember him saying he'd been happy."

  It was one of the most desolate statements she'd ever heard, but the flat, unemotional tone of his voice told her he had no interest in or desire for her sympathy.

  "He must have been a very unhappy man."

  "I suppose."

  "I'm sorry he took it out on you."

  "It doesn't matter anymore," he said again.

  "Does something like that ever not matter anymore?"

  "I don't know," he said, looking at her pointedly. "Does it?"

  She knew what he meant, and she had no answer for him. She ran her hand over the lush grass, feeling it bend against her fingers, and remembering how the dark silk of his hair had felt against her skin.

  "Travis?"

  "What?"

  "Those letters … what did they say?"

  He went still. "Nothing you were ready to hear. It's probably just as well you didn't get them."

  "I still don't understand. My mother wouldn't do that, honestly. And she wouldn't have sent that note."

  He sighed. "Probably not. Sounds more like Richie to me, anyway."

  After a moment she said softly, "Mother used to tell me, when I would get so angry at you, not to judge you too harshly. That she didn't … hate you for what happened."

  Travis laughed, unable to hide the bitterness of the rough sound. "Now that," he muttered, "is a piece of irony I could do without."

  "But—"

  The sound of a racing engine and the squeal of protesting tires jerked both their heads around in time to see Richard's long, white convertible roar up the drive. They watched as he stopped and got out to stare at the gleaming Mercedes.

  Even from beneath the tree they could see his face contort with anger, and then, with a sudden, vicious movement, he struck out with one foot and kicked the door of the black car.

  Nicki's eyes widened; Travis merely let out a half-amu
sed, half-disgusted exclamation. Nicki turned to Travis. "What did he do that for?"

  "Haven't you figured that out yet?"

  "I know he's angry about you being here—"

  "It's a lot more than just that. He's afraid of me."

  "Afraid?"

  She looked at him. "Why?"

  "Think about it."

  "I don't understand. Kicking your car is…"

  "Juvenile? Immature? Or just plain Richard?"

  She couldn't think of a thing to say; she'd thought the same thing too many times herself. But why would Richard be afraid of Travis?

  She watched her brother as, spotting them, he strode toward the willow tree.

  "Well, isn't this sweet! Reliving old times?"

  Travis never even blinked at the biting sarcasm. "Hi, Richie."

  "Get out of here."

  Travis raised a brow, but didn't speak.

  "My sister may be fool enough to believe whatever line you're feeding her, but I'm not. You're trespassing. Get off this property."

  "Richard—" Nicki began, but her brother cut her off.

  "I don't want to hear anything from you. What the hell do you think you're doing, hanging around with the enemy? Dad would be turning over in his grave if he knew."

  Nicki blinked, a little stunned by his choice of words. Yet instead of being hurt, all she could do was think of what Travis had said. Richard was acting exactly as he always did when he was afraid; striking out at anyone within reach. Anyone who couldn't—or wouldn't—strike back.

  "Knock it off, Richie. Your problem's with me, not her."

  "She's my sister, I'll talk to her any way I want."

  "The hell you will."

  Travis didn't even move, but something in his voice made Richard back up a step.

  "Defending her honor?" Richard sneered. "How touching."

  "Shut up, Richard," Nicki said wearily. "Tell me, Richie, who's minding the store? How are they surviving without you?"

  "None of your business!"

  "I'd say it's exactly that."

  "Look, she may buy all this phony concern, but I know better. I know what you're up to."

  "Oh, really? What am I up to, Richie?"

  "You're trying to get her to side with you, to give you control of the company."

  "What makes you think I want control?" Travis asked lazily. "Maybe all I want is to keep you from having it."