Richard stayed for several more minutes, boasting about his success. Nicki tried to tune him out, tried to ignore what it apparently meant. And for a long time after he'd finally gone, she stared at the letter in her hand.
His words echoed in her head. Was she naive, to expect any kind of principles from a big, successful business? She didn't want to think so, didn't want to believe that they were all like Richard said, but her faith in her own judgment was on somewhat shaky ground these days.
Her gaze went to the signature on the letter again. Had this Chuck Howell really been convinced by a couple of expensive dinners and Richard's endless patter to give Lockwood, Incorporated the contract? Had he sold the boss he'd said had the final say some bill of goods that had made him overlook the figures?
Or, she thought with a sudden qualm, had Richard made another of his impossible promises? Something not in the contract, some unexpected disaster that it would be up to her to carry out when the time came?
He couldn't have, she told herself, not knowing how the bid was already pared to the bone. But he'd done so many other things she'd found hard to believe…
She reached for the phone. When she identified herself, she was put through to Howell's office quickly. And, to her surprise, Howell himself answered the phone.
"Ah, Ms. Lockwood. You received the letter, I presume."
"Yes." She hesitated over the phrasing, then jumped in with both feet. "I wanted to confirm with you. To be sure there was no mistake."
"Mistake?"
She bit her lip, then went on. "Mr. Howell, I'm aware that the competition for any contract with your company is fierce. And I'm aware that there were probably other, reputable companies who beat our figures."
She heard a dry chuckle. "I'd heard you were refreshingly frank, Ms. Lockwood."
"If that's a way of saying I like things out in the open, then yes."
The chuckle again, with more amusement this time and, oddly, something that sounded like understanding, although she wasn't sure of what.
"So do I. That's the only way we do business."
"I'd like to believe that. But there is one thing I'd like to know."
"Fire away, Ms. Lockwood."
There was no way to pretty it up, so she just asked bluntly, "Were there any verbal agreements reached between you and my brother that will affect this contract?"
The chuckle became a laugh. "I'd heard you were smart, too. Enough to know how your brother operates. I can assure you that nothing your brother said or did had anything to do with your getting the contract. You might even say you got it in spite of his … efforts."
Nicki let out a breath she had barely been aware of holding. She liked this man's voice. He sounded like he was the kind of man she'd pictured, the kind Richard kept telling her didn't exist.
"Put your mind at ease, Ms. Lockwood. We don't do business that way. And there's no mistake. Your figures are a bit high, but you produce the best quality product in the area. The Company feels it's worth the extra cost."
"Then … your boss—I'm afraid I don't know his name—knows all the details?"
There was a split-second pause in which she sensed the man was carefully deciding what to say. Doubt assailed her. Richard, if you didn't know better, could be convincing. Was this man just another of the same breed?
"Of course," he said finally. "He makes all the final decisions, although he generally takes the recommendations of his staff. It helps him stay where he wants to be, behind the scenes."
A subtle warning that she wasn't going to get a name? Nicki wondered. "May I speak to him? It won't take long." She had to be sure, she thought. Even if it meant proving Richard right. "I'd just like to thank him personally."
"I'm afraid that's impossible. He's … out of town."
"When do you expect him back?"
"Actually," Howell said dryly, "I don't know. He's never taken any time off before."
"Ever?" Nicki asked, suspicion biting again. Was it just too convenient that the nameless big boss was gone now?
"Not in the five years that I've been here. But this is apparently … personal business. In any case, I assure you, everything is in order."
Despite his assurances, when she hung up Nicki still had doubts. And she was plagued by a disturbing curiosity about where Chuck Howell had heard so much about her. Surely not from Richard, who, if he mentioned her at all, tended to call her his amusing little sister who was playing at running a concrete plant.
It was horrible, she thought, feeling this way about her own brother, wondering if he'd betrayed them yet again with some foolish, under-the-counter deal that would leave her once again picking up the pieces. It made her sick, almost as sick as it made her to suspect Travis of using her, or of being the perpetrator of the string of mishaps they'd been having.
Nearly as sick as it had made her to believe he'd killed her father. If it hadn't been for her mother, she never would have believed it, but Emily Lockwood had left her no choice. The evidence had been undeniable.
With a sigh, she smothered the old, worn thoughts. She'd never been given to uselessly spinning her wheels, but when it came to Travis Halloran, you'd never know it, she thought bitterly.
She leaned back in her chair. She should clear up this mess, she told herself, looking at the chaotic piles of papers and notes on her desk.
And then it was there, that flashing, vivid image of her and Travis in this room, their passionate embrace broken only by the unwelcome shrill of her phone. And with a flush of heat rising to her face, she realized the word she'd silently used: unwelcome.
The office seemed suddenly too small, too crowded with bright, hot memories. Moving quickly, as if driven, she shuffled through the papers on her desk until she found the excuse she was looking for: a report that had been delivered to her by mistake. It had been meant for Esteban Montero, and she'd planned to give it to the courier that made daily runs between the pit and the offices here. But it was too important, she told herself now, and she would take it herself. She managed to conveniently ignore that it had been sitting in her in tray since yesterday.
She caught herself looking at the empty spot where Travis usually parked, then jerked her head to the front and concentrated on driving out of the yard she knew as well as her own reflection, as if she'd never done it before. Although she denied it every mile of the way, she knew the moment she pulled up at the scale house at the pit and saw his car parked there that she'd been wondering if he might be here.
She thought of leaving before anyone saw her, then set her jaw stubbornly and pulled up to park close beside the black Mercedes. She had her expression carefully schooled, her composure intact as she strode into the office. It fell flat; Travis was nowhere to be seen.
Esteban greeted her a little dolefully, but thanked her when she handed him the report.
"What's wrong, Esteban?" Apprehension furrowed her brow. "More problems?" Please, no, she thought. Not when Travis hadn't been at the plant for the last couple of days, but had apparently been coming back here.
"We lost a spring on the jaw crusher," the superintendent said glumly.
"Anyone hurt?" Her question was swift. She knew the huge springs that ran the crusher that ground the big rocks, not so affectionately called knotheads, into usable gravel were a coiled, dangerous thing if they broke loose.
"No, we were fortunate. It hit a 'dozer, but no one was on it."
Nicki let out a sigh of relief.
"Yes," Esteban agreed, appreciating that her first concern had been for the men, not the property or the time that would be lost. "It could have been very bad. But it will be repaired by tomorrow."
She turned her head to glance out the window of the scale house. She could see the bucket conveyor running, looking like a vertical, elongated water wheel for gravel, could see the earth movers still running, no doubt switched to sand now since the crusher was out of commission. And over near the huge bunkers, more than ten times the size of the ones at the
plant, she saw Travis.
He was standing next to a material truck, one of the huge sets of double trailers that transported the rock and sand from the pit, talking to Paul Malone. Paul was nodding, listening intently. Then he smiled, then laughed, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he pointed to something on the cab of the big truck, where the door stood open. "Esteban?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have … any idea why it happened?"
"It happens."
She turned to face him. "Like everything else … just happened?"
"I have no reason to think this is connected to the other troubles."
He lifted a brow. "Do you?"
She sighed. "Only that this string of … accidents keeps getting longer and longer. Here and at the plant."
"You are worried that it is intentional." It wasn't a question, and she didn't debate the point; she knew Esteban was too intelligent not to see through any dissembling.
"Yes, I am."
"But who? Why?"
She couldn't speak of her suspicions, not even to this man who had been loyal friend and employee for so many years. "I don't know."
"Is this why we have a second night watchman here now?"
"Yes. And two at the plant." She grimaced. "Not that it's done much good."
"Have you spoken to the police?"
"No!" Esteban's brow shot upward again at her vehemence. "I mean," she amended hastily, "I'd prefer to keep this quiet. It might … damage the company if word gets out that someone's trying to sabotage us."
"Perhaps a private investigator, then?"
"I've thought about it," she admitted, but didn't tell him that the reason she'd decided against it was because she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he might find out. "If it keeps up, I may have to."
Esteban coughed, then looked at her consideringly. "Mr. Halloran mentioned he was thinking about that himself."
"Travis?" She stared at Esteban, startled. "He wants to hire a P.I.?"
"He merely mentioned that he knew one who might be able to find out what was going on."
Nicki turned her head to stare anew out the window, as if by looking at that long, leanly muscled body she could fathom his innocence. He was smiling at something Paul had said, and then leaning over to look at something the older man held out toward him. She saw that it was his wallet, and knew that the proud new grandfather was showing off baby pictures. Frank Reed, the driver of the truck, had joined them, and she could see him shaking his head with the boredom of a man who'd seen those pictures one too many times.
But incredibly, Travis was looking, smiling, and saying something that made Paul beam proudly. Travis, who had always said that he wondered why people brought kids into this crazy world, and who had told her that, except for her, he wouldn't give a nickle for any of them. Including, he'd always added wryly, himself.
"Why?" she whispered, unaware she had let the word slip out audibly.
"Why what?"
She gave a little start and turned quickly back to Esteban. "Nothing," she said, but her mind was racing. If he wanted to hire an investigator, then he couldn't be responsible, could he? Or was it some kind of elaborate cover, with this detective he knew of really being someone he would pay to find what he wanted found?
Pay with Lockwood money? But if it was the money he wanted, why would he try to damage the business? Why wouldn't he just hang on for six months, then take them for all he could when they tried to buy it back from him? That thought brought on the other one she still had no answer for; if that was all he wanted, why was he spending so much time, working so hard at learning all he could? Just so he could know where best to strike?
God, she thought with a shudder, she was sounding more and more like Richard, mistrusting everyone, always suspecting the worst. I can't live like that, she cried out silently. I can't. And I can't keep riding this merry-go-round of trying to figure out the whys, the possible motives behind what's been happening.
You've got to make a choice, she told herself in despair. You've got to decide. Either you agree with Richard—a thought that gave her no more confidence in the theory—that he's guilty, or you trust in him, in what your heart wants to believe. You can't go on like this. Not when it's tearing you apart. Not when—
The explosive sound that split the air ripped her out of her spinning thoughts. Esteban leapt to his feet. He crossed to the window she stood beside in one long stride. The roar continued, lessening but no less ominous.
Nicki whirled to look. A gasping cry escaped her as her hand flew to her mouth to stop it from becoming a scream.
Where the big truck had stood beneath one of the huge bunkers was now only a crazily bent set of trailers buried beneath a mountain of gravel, all of it obscured by a cloud of dust. And nowhere was there any sign of Paul Malone and Frank Reed. Or of Travis. There was only the bent, broken truck beneath thousands of tons of crushed rock below the bunker's swinging, broken gate.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Nicki was vaguely aware of the men converging on the small mountain of gravel as she ran toward it. Heedless of the uneven ground, she ran as fast as she could, fear lending her speed so that she outdistanced Esteban easily.
She raced to the spot where Travis, Paul and Frank had been standing and began to claw at the gravel with her hands. The men began to arrive, following her actions, some with their hands, some with shovels they'd grabbed.
"Here!"
The shout came from the man to her left, and when she looked over she saw him abandon his shovel and begin to dig with his hands. She saw a glimpse of blue, and remembered the shirt Paul had been wearing. In moments, it seemed they had him by the arms and were pulling him free.
Coughing and sputtering, Paul brushed off their helping hands.
"I'm fine! Get Travis and Frank out of there."
"How close were they?" Esteban asked.
"I don't know. Travis was right beside me; he pushed me out of the way when the gate let go. But Frank was looking at something in the cab … he went down. Travis pulled him clear, but I don't know how far they got before the slide caught them."
With a smothered little cry Nicki began again, heedless of the scrape of the rock against her tender skin. If the two men had been too close to the truck when the full weight of the bunker's load had hit…
"Hurry!" she cried, scraping at the slippery mass of rock like a fury. The men jumped to work, digging furiously.
They dug, and dug, and found only more gravel. She knew the enormous bunker held nearly a quarter of a million tons of the crushing rock, and the thought of Travis buried beneath it made panic bubble up inside her. She ignored the scraping of the gravel against her hands, the snapping of her nails, the dust that rose up to choke her. She clawed at the rock, wanting to scream when it cascaded down to fill the spot she'd just excavated.
Esteban tried to pull her away, told her to let the men handle it, but she shook him off furiously. He took one look at her face, and let her go. She clawed some more.
It took forever. Each second seemed days long, and with each of them her desperation grew.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, please…"
She said it again and again, a despairing litany that she couldn't stop. The decision she'd been struggling with seemed so petty now, so superfluous. Nothing mattered, not her father, not Lockwood, not anything, if Travis was dead beneath this pile of rock. She wanted to howl at the unfairness of the fates that had decided that this was the way she was to face how she truly felt. Instead she clawed harder, faster, until her hands were raw, her knuckles bleeding.
When she first saw the movement coming from beneath the surface, she thought she had only imagined it, that she had conjured it up out of her own dread. But then she saw it again, and with a spurt of adrenaline kicking through her system she shifted her position to where she'd seen it.
"Over here!"
Her cry was tiny, strained, but the men leapt to he
r side as if she'd trumpeted it. And a moment later, when she heard another voice, Travis's voice, hoarse yet steady, the tears she'd been battling began to stream down her cheeks.
"Careful … he got hit … when the truck went."
Nicki wiped at her eyes, staring as the men worked to free them. She saw Travis hunched over the prone body of Frank Reed, as if he could somehow protect the unconscious man from the crushing weight. When he could move he eased himself off the driver, moving a little shakily until Esteban reached out to help him.
"I'm all right. Get him out."
He slipped a little on the sliding rock, and dropped down to sit on the slope of the small mountain that could have become his grave. He was coated in dust; it sat thick in his hair, dulling the dark sheen. There was a rip in the knee of his jeans, and she saw a trickle of blood tracing down the muscled leg beneath. He coughed, winced, coughed again, then wiped at his eyes with the torn sleeve of his shirt. He looked dazed, only focusing when Paul came over to kneel before him.
"You sure you're all right, son?"
Travis nodded.
"I owe you," Paul said fervently. "If you hadn't moved so fast…"
"Forget it."
"Forget that we would have been crushed if you hadn't gotten us out to the edge of that mountain instead of at dead center? Not likely."
"It was instinct. Anybody would have done it."
Esteban approached them in time to hear the offhand dismissal. "Instinct?" he said. "Pushing Paul clear, perhaps. But going back for Frank, knowing there was a good chance you might not get clear? I don't think so."
"We're lucky it wasn't sand," was all Travis said.
"Would've smothered us all for sure," Paul agreed. "But don't make light of what you did, son. I won't forget it, and neither will Frank."
Travis shrugged; it was such an exhausted movement that Nicki shuddered. A small sound escaped her; Travis's head shot up. His eyes, red-rimmed from the dust, narrowed as he took in her appearance, from her sweat-tangled hair to her tear-streaked, grimy face, to her raw, scraped hands.
Esteban watched them stare at each other for a moment, then said quietly to Travis, "She was the first one here. She started digging with her bare hands to get to you, before any of the men could even react."
SUSPICION'S GATE Page 16