SUSPICION'S GATE

by Justine Davis

  Richard flushed. Then something strange flashed in his eyes, something Nicki thought was oddly furtive. Travis caught it, too; Nicki sensed his sudden intentness.

  "Something else you want to say, Richie?"

  "So I was right," Richard said. Nicki heard a strange note in his voice that matched that look that had glinted in his eyes.

  "I suppose," Travis drawled, "even you are right now and then."

  Richard's voice went haughty. "I didn't want to believe it, of course."

  "Never stopped you before," Travis said mildly.

  "Well, if you think you're hurting us, you're not."

  "Richard," Nicki said in exasperation, "what are you talking about?"

  "All those things that have gone wrong at the plant lately."

  Nicki sucked in a quick breath, her glance flicking to Travis.

  "Don't forget the ones at the pit," Travis said.

  Richard gaped at him, startled into silence.

  "Go ahead, Richie. Don't lose your nerve now," Travis tilted the blade of grass upward with his teeth.

  Nicki was staring at Travis, barely breathing. The subject she'd been avoiding all day was here, huge, hovering, and unavoidable. Travis merely lolled back on his elbows as Richard gawked at him, his mouth opening and then shutting like an oxygen-starved fish. His thin lips pursed, and he pulled at a strand of hair as suspicion lit his pale, watery blue eyes, and his words were warily spoken.

  "You know about the accidents at the pit?"

  "I'd have to, wouldn't I, Richie-boy, if I'm responsible for them?"

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Richard's jaw dropped as Nicki gasped. "That is what you were about to accuse me of, isn't it?" Travis asked as casually as if discussing the weather.

  Oh, God, Nicki thought. Was he going to admit it? Was he going to confess to being the one who'd caused those accidents, the one who had cost them countless dollars and even more precious time? Was he really out for some twisted kind of revenge, or, as he'd said, just to keep Richard from controlling the company?

  Not, she admitted with pained honesty, that the thought of Richard in control didn't scare her senseless. But he was her brother, the Lockwood son. He had a right, didn't he?

  Richard seemed to recover himself. He drew himself up straight, the effect spoiled by the paunch that hung over his belt. "It's obvious, isn't it, since they started the moment you showed up?"

  Nicki caught her breath; she'd been tortured by the same thoughts ever since Richard had first accused him, but somehow, hearing Richard saying it again now was even more awful. But Travis just looked at Richard, nothing disturbing the emotionless mask of his face, or the even tone of his tone.

  "Actually, there probably is a connection there."

  "Travis, no!" The protesting cry broke from her against her will, and drew her a startled, then assessing look from Travis.

  "God, Nicki, you're such a fool!" Richard looked at her scornfully. "You're acting like you did when you were a kid, hanging around this … this … jailbird all the time."

  On the word jailbird, Nicki's eyes darted to Travis, but he didn't even react. She wondered why it didn't seem to disturb him, especially when she remembered the searing flash of pain that had flared in his eyes when she had called him an ex-con.

  "I'm sorry, Nicole," Travis said softly.

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant. When she realized that he was apologizing for Richard's insult, it made her throat tighten unbearably.

  "'I'm sorry, Nicole'," Richard mimicked sarcastically. "Nicole. Like you were something special, when you're just my dumb little sister. So dumb you can't even see through this con man."

  Color flooded Nicki's cheeks. "Stop it, Richard."

  "Can't you see what he's up to? That he wants to destroy Lockwood?"

  "Why would he do that, when it's partly his now—"

  "You really are blind!" Richard's lips tightened as he glared at her, but his eyes held a touch of apprehension as his gaze flicked to Travis, as if he were a man poking at a wolf with a stick he wasn't positive was long enough. "I told you, he wants revenge, of course. Against me, because I know what he is, even if you won't admit it. Because I wouldn't let him blame me for what he did. He's too much of a coward to go after me, so he's trying to ruin the company."

  Nicki felt Travis tense. Or thought she did; when she glanced at him, he looked the same, casually propped on his elbows, his expression bland as he watched them, waiting.

  "But he couldn't, even if he wanted to," Nicki protested. "He only has fifty percent—"

  "I suppose you believe he's spending all this time with you because he wants to, don't you?" Richard said, cutting her off again. "You're supposed to be so smart, but you're a dunce when it comes to him. Haven't you figured it out yet? He's only trying to keep you in line. He doesn't want you, he wants your twenty-five percent to go with his fifty. He—"

  "That's enough." Travis didn't move, but at his quiet words Richard stopped as if he'd pounced. He swallowed nervously, eyeing Travis before going on.

  "Can't stand the truth, Halloran?"

  "Shut up, Rich."

  Richard's pudgy hands curled into fists, but, eyeing Travis's lounging, well-muscled body, he didn't move. "I wonder if you'd be such a wise guy in front of the cops, Halloran."

  "Richard, stop it." Nicki's voice was strained; she could still sense the tension building in Travis.

  "What's wrong, Sis?" Richard turned on her. "Don't want to see your boyfriend carted away in handcuffs again?"

  Nicki paled, fighting the memories that flashed through her mind at his words, memories she'd fought for years to keep buried so deeply they would never surface. She sensed rather than saw Travis move; he uncoiled from the grass with a speed that made Richard back up once more.

  "I warned you, Richie. Your problem is with me, not your sister. You take it out on her one more time, and you'll answer to me."

  "You go to hell!"

  "Been there. It's overrated."

  Richard glared, started to take a step forward, but then something about Travis's ready posture and the steady stare of granite-gray eyes made him hesitate. He switched his glare to Nicki.

  "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you! Don't come crying to me when you find out I'm right—"

  He ended with a curse, low and vicious, as he turned on his heel and stalked off. Travis took a step after him, his jaw set and rigid. Nicki quickly reached for his arm to hold him back; it was rock hard and taut beneath her fingers.

  "No, Travis. Please."

  "I told him what would happen if he talked to you like that again."

  "He's just … upset."

  "He's a spoiled brat."

  "I know."

  That stopped him. He turned to look at her. "How have you kept from throttling him?"

  Nicki shrugged. "He's my brother."

  "That doesn't give him the right to abuse you."

  "He doesn't mean to." She lowered her eyes. "Besides," she added in a whisper, "he's all I've got, now."

  Pain flashed across Travis's face, but Nicki didn't see it as she lifted her head to watch her brother storm into the house.

  "Travis?"

  He made some sound, not a word but merely an acknowledgment that she'd spoken. It was such a taut, hard sound, so strained, that she wondered if he'd done it because he couldn't speak.

  "When he called you a— That," she said after a moment, "why didn't it bother you?"

  There was a pause, and Nicki turned back to him in time to see a wry expression flit across his face.

  "It's true, isn't it?"

  "Not that," she said impatiently. "I mean, it just seemed to roll right off of you, but I said virtually the same thing and you—"

  She broke off at the look that came into his eyes. It was that same flashing stab of pain, but it was gone in an instant.

  "Because," he said in a flat, even tone that belied that lo
ok of anguish, "I don't give a damn what Richard thinks of me."

  Nicki caught her breath at the clear implication.

  "And," Travis added solemnly, "I have absolutely no respect for his opinion."

  This time she blushed. Flustered, she muttered something that was supposed to be appreciative, but came out merely confused. She wondered where the poise that allowed her to handle a crew of sometimes rowdy workers had gone. She had gotten compliments like this before, sometimes from that same rowdy crew, if only in the respect they accorded her. So why, she wondered, did it disconcert her so coming from Travis?

  "He was always only an excuse, you know," Travis said softly. "So I could keep coming here to see you."

  Those sweet, precious memories stirred again, and she was seized with a sudden need to put him at ease.

  "He's just talking, you know. He won't really call the police."

  He stiffened. "What's that? Reassurance?"

  She looked puzzled. "I just wanted you to know—"

  "Meaning you think I did it?"

  "I didn't say that."

  He studied her for a moment. "But you thought it, didn't you?"

  Her chin came up; her eyes were troubled, but she faced him squarely. "I wondered. He's right about one thing. Those things, all those accidents, did start to happen right after you came."

  "So naturally I must be guilty," he grated. "Damn, how many times can I get hung by coincidence?"

  "Travis—"

  "Never mind, Miss Lockwood. I should have known better than to expect anything else. Why didn't you call the police yourself?"

  She was stung by his biting drawl of the formal name. She had wanted to tell him she hadn't told anyone of her suspicions because she couldn't make herself believe it was true. But his tone made it impossible.

  "If you're innocent," she said coolly, "then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"

  He laughed, a short, harsh, utterly grim sound. "You picked the wrong person to try and sell that bull to." He sucked in a breath. "I suppose you believe the rest, too? That I'm just using you? That what's happened between us is a lie, too?"

  She couldn't speak; she wasn't sure what she believed anymore.

  "Never mind," he said grimly. "I've had about all I can stand of the Lockwood beliefs for one day, anyway."

  Nicki colored. "Then why don't you leave?"

  "Good idea."

  He started to walk past her, then stopped. "I'm not going to beg you to believe me. It didn't do me any good fifteen years ago, and I swore I'd never do it again. Of anybody. For anything."

  He stood looking down at her, gray eyes hot with a mixture of anger and torment that frightened her somehow.

  "But there's something else I'm not doing to do." His voice had dropped, becoming husky, as if making a vow. "I'm not going to let you forget this."

  Before she could react he had hauled her up hard against him, his head darting downward, his mouth taking hers fiercely, swiftly, cutting off her yelp of protest. He held her fast, even her fit, taut strength no match for his. His mouth commanded, and to her dismay she found herself unable to do anything but comply as his heat flashed through her, setting her ablaze.

  The moment she stopped fighting him his mouth gentled, his arms, while still holding her, became a support rather than a steel snare. His lips coaxed, his tongue sweetly probed, sending her blood singing through her veins in hot, pulsing beats.

  Despite herself she moved, pressing her tingling breasts harder against his chest. She felt her nipples rise to his heat as if begging for it, skin to hot, satin skin, without the interference of clothing. The thought sent a shudder of fierce desire rippling through her, and she gave a little moan under its force.

  At the sound his hands slid down her body, to grasp her slender hips and pull her against him. She felt him, the full, engorged length of him surging against her, and the same thought of naked skin against naked skin swept her again, the image weakening her knees.

  She sagged against him. He broke the kiss to hold her up, supporting her with the same strong arms that had held her captive.

  "Travis," she whispered, amazed that her swollen, tingling lips could even form the word.

  "Don't forget this, Nicole," he said hoarsely. "It's not a lie, it's real, maybe the only real thing in this damned world. If you can't believe that…"

  She could feel the words vibrating in his chest beneath her cheek. Over the pounding of his, she felt the hammer beats of her own heart gradually begin to slow, felt the heat of her blood subside to a simmering warmth, but any further words seemed beyond her; she had only enough strength to cling to him. When at last she spoke, it was to echo his own heartfelt question.

  "What do we do now?"

  His arms tightened around her; his head came down as his cheek rested on the tousled auburn silk of her hair.

  "We do what we have to do. Just don't ever forget how right this is. It was meant to be, Nicole. From the start. We just had to grow into it."

  A choking sound, a half sob, broke from her. "For fifteen years?"

  He let out a compressed breath. "That," he said sourly, "wasn't my plan."

  "Your plan?"

  "I figured I'd wait, at least until you were eighteen, and see if you…"

  "If I what?"

  "Wanted me."

  She shivered, her fingers tightening around the gray suede jacket. "I … always wanted you."

  "I think I knew that. But you were so young, and you never said anything."

  "I didn't dare. I knew you always had … girls hanging around you, even some my age…"

  "The gigglers. I remember. They got their kicks out of pretending to like the town bad boy."

  "I wanted to be … different. Not one of the ones who followed you around, but the one you came to, the one you talked to."

  "You were. The only one. Even then."

  A shiver gripped her again. "God, Travis, it should have been so easy. How did things get so messed up?"

  "You know how."

  She stiffened, but he soothed her, his left hand stroking the auburn silk of her hair.

  "I know you don't like to think about it. Lord knows, neither do I. But it's time you did, Nicole. Think about it long and hard."

  He backed away, but still held her shoulders until he saw she was steady enough to stand. She was looking at him with troubled eyes, the bright blue clouded with confusion and doubt.

  "I know, Nicole. For years you've hidden it away. But if you don't bring it out, look at it again—" he reached out and gently caressed her still swollen lower lip with his thumb "—we'll lose this. And we've lost so damned much already."

  He released her then, but Nicki felt as held by his darkened gray eyes as she had by his strong, supple hands. And then he was gone, leaving her staring after him from beneath the willow, her fingers at her lips as if his caress lingered, as if he'd branded her with his touch.

  Travis hung up the phone, and stood there staring at it for a long moment. Things were backing up at home; he was going to have to make a trip back soon. Maybe this weekend, if he could manage it.

  He picked up the mug of coffee he'd set down when the phone had rung, and walked over to the big, plate glass window at the front of the house. No wonder Martha had never been able to bring herself to sell it, he thought as he looked out over the blue Pacific sparkling in the early morning sun. When Martha had found out he was coming here, the dynamic vice-president of Willow Tree had practically ordered him to use her house.

  He thought of how it had looked another time, glittering not beneath the flood of gold but the ethereal silver moonlight. And how Nicki had felt in his arms, how her mouth had felt beneath his, how she had turned to some soft, flowing thing and had taken him with her, robbing him of any last bit of will or strength.

  He sighed, and took a sip of the coffee that was now barely lukewarm. Somehow, when he'd come here, he hadn't expected this. He'd thought about her every day of his life since she'd first t
umbled off the banister at his feet, but always as the fiery-haired scamp of his memories. And so much time had passed, so much had changed, he had changed, he'd never expected this reaction to her. He'd thought the old, silly dreams long dead, beyond resurrection.

  The moment he'd seen her at the funeral, tall and sleek and elegantly curved, more beautiful than even he'd dreamed she would become, the old dreams came back in a rush. And the thought of the old Nicki, the one who had shared his thoughts, his dreams, who had known his soul, combined with this beautiful, tempting woman, was shattering.

  He'd always thought that it might be like this. That she might be the one to reach the part of him he'd never given to anyone. That she already held the key to the part he'd kept hidden and protected all these years. It figures, he thought. She'd owned his heart and soul and mind all those years ago, why should it surprise him that now, as a woman, she would own his body, as well?

  But his wildest imaginings back then, he thought ruefully, still wouldn't have prepared him for this. He didn't think anything could have prepared him for the way he caught fire when he touched her, kissed her. And anything beyond that didn't bear thinking about. But he thought about it anyway, and shuddered under the impact of imagining them intimately entwined, her silken skin bare against his, her long, curved legs wrapped around him…

  He slammed the mug down on the table before the window, swearing at himself for letting his fantasy get out of hand; all he'd done was torture himself with that rising, yearning ache that he'd been battling since he'd first seen her again. A burning ache that was compounded by the fact that she still didn't trust him.

  Of course she doesn't, he told himself. She's spent the last fifteen years blaming you, hating you, for killing her father. You're not going to change that in fifteen days. But at least, he consoled himself, they were talking. They were communicating. And kissing…

  "And just when," he muttered aloud, "did you turn into a masochist?"

  Still shaking his head at himself, he went to get a towel to wipe up the coffee that had sloshed out of the cup when he'd slammed it down. Then he took the cup to the kitchen and washed it. He stood for a long time, staring at the sparkling ocean through the expansive bay window in the breakfast nook of the house. Then he turned abruptly on his heel, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.