by Elle Kennedy
Rolling his eyes, Travis left the office and maneuvered through the station until he reached the front lobby.
“Two minutes, my ass,” Matt cracked as he spotted Travis. “Ready to do your job?”
Travis shot his partner a lazy grin. “I’m always ready to do my job.”
By the time Travis called her at six o’clock in the evening, Rachel was near ready to pass out. She’d waited all day for his phone call, especially after the mysterious message he’d left on her cell phone around noon.
There’s a new development in our investigation. I’m on a case right now, but I’ll call you later to talk about it.
She’d been hoping later would be an hour, two at the most. But six hours? Didn’t the man realize his cryptic message would spur her curiosity? Didn’t he realize that she’d never be able to focus on her work after he’d dropped that bomb on her?
She’d left the studio early and gone back to her apartment, just in case Travis called her at home, and she’d spent the last two hours sitting by the phone and sending telepathic messages for it to ring.
And now that it had, she hadn’t been expecting Travis’s first sentence.
“I’m taking you out to dinner.”
She almost dropped the phone. “What?”
His husky voice sent shivers through her body. “I’m starving. I’ve been working all day, so I thought maybe we could get a bite to eat. We can talk over dinner.”
Impatience tugged at her insides. A bite to eat? How could she possibly eat when these new developments lingered in the air?
As if taking her silence as a sign of agreement, Travis said, “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. See you soon.”
She heard a click in her ear and hung up the phone, feeling perplexed. She was desperate to know what Travis had found out today, but along with desperation came a tingle of apprehension.
Was this a date? No, it couldn’t be. It was a business meeting, that’s all. Besides, she didn’t date. She had no need for that awkward social ritual which revolved around only one thing—sex.
Rachel glanced down at the ratty sweatpants and baggy T-shirt she wore. She needed to change.
Not because it was a date, she thought quickly as she made a beeline for her bedroom. She didn’t want to look good for Travis. Nope. She just didn’t want to go out in public looking like a bag lady.
Ten minutes. Not nearly enough time to spruce herself up for this date.
It’s not a date!
She stood in front of her closet and examined the contents. After a moment, she grabbed a knee-length black skirt and an emerald-green sleeveless top. She dressed quickly, and then rushed over to her vanity table to brush her hair. She saw a tube of lipstick next to her hairbrush and eyed it warily. Did women wear lipstick to business meetings?
She fiddled the small tube between her fingers, just as the ring of the telephone echoed in her bedroom. The short rings indicated that someone was downstairs, wanting to be let up. Travis.
Before she could analyze her motives, she smeared red lipstick over her lips and reached for the phone.
“I’ll be right down,” she said into the receiver.
She hurried back to the living room and rifled around for her purse and keys. After she had everything, she took the elevator downstairs.
The second she saw Travis standing in the lobby, she regretted her efforts for beauty. He obviously didn’t see this as date, she noted, as she took in his appearance. He was dressed casually, in blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. She suddenly felt silly in her skirt. Suddenly wished she could wipe that lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Hi,” Travis said as their eyes locked.
She swallowed. “Hi.”
“Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
She followed Travis to his car, which was parked in the no-parking zone in front of her building. She raised her eyebrows as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Do cops not need to obey the law?” she asked, pointing to the no-parking sign.
Travis shot her a delicious-looking grin. “Special privileges come with the job.”
She settled in her seat as Travis walked around the side and got in the car. “Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled away from the building.
“The Owl Pub. Is that okay with you?”
A snake of sickness slithered up her body, crawling around her stomach before traveling north to form a ball of acid in her throat. The Owl Pub. Or Marty’s Diner, as she better remembered it. The diner had been the hangout for the popular kids in high school back in the day. It was the place kids went to after school, on the weekends, where guys took girls for milkshakes before they went to the movie theater nearby. It had been transformed into a pub about five years ago, but Rachel hadn’t ventured inside the place since the one humiliating time she’d been there. There were too many bad memories there.
Swallowing back the acid in her throat, she had the urge to tell Travis to go somewhere else, but she felt a little presumptuous doing do. “It’s fine,” she lied.
The pub was a ten-minute drive from her building, and when they neared the small establishment, her stomach churned. The bright neon sign read something different, but she could still remember the one and only time she’d been inside. With Scott Wade, a boy she’d had a crush on. She’d been so thrilled when Scott had asked her out, so impressed when he’d brought her to this cool place for their date. And so damn shattered when he’d tried to have sex with her in the alley behind that cool place.
What’s the matter, Foster? Think you’re too good for me? His harsh laughter still rang in her ears. Well, that’s not what I hear. You’ll do it with anyone. Just like your whore mother.
“Rachel? You okay?”
She pushed aside the painful recollection and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”
They walked into the pub, and Rachel was grateful to see that the interior had been completely transformed. Instead of booths, the place now boasted scattered tables and a small dance floor. Instead of bright fluorescent lights, a dim yellow glow bathed the room, mingling with the cigarette smoke that hung in the air. The front counter had been turned into a bar, and Rachel saw that only adults occupied the stools. This wasn’t the same place, and with the new atmosphere, she didn’t feel as uneasy.
Travis led her to a table in the corner of the room, and they sat. Seconds later, a tall, redheaded waitress sauntered to their table with a pair of menus.
“I have a weakness for bar food,” Travis admitted, perusing the menu. “There’s something about juicy burgers and greasy fries that really gets my blood going.”
Rachel picked up her menu and pretended to study it, but inside, she was trembling. It wasn’t burgers and fries that got her blood going. It was this attractive, no, sexy man sitting in front of her.
God, why couldn’t she turn off her desire like a light switch? Why couldn’t her body remember it wasn’t allowed to feel this way? For so many years she’d tried to ignore the betraying sensations of her body. When she’d met that designer in New York last year, she’d been so tempted to accept his offer for dinner. She’d ignored the fluttering of her heart, the dampness of her palms, the sensitivity of her breasts.
Since she was eight years old, since that first time she’d walked into Hattie’s bedroom and seen a strange man violating her mother, she’d promised herself she’d guard her body. She’d let down that guard once, with a man she’d thought loved her, but when that relationship had exploded like fireworks in her face, she’d raised the wall again. Higher this time, so no man could penetrate it.
Why then did Travis seem to scale that wall with such ease?
“Bar food, huh?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and casual. “You’d think with all the money you have in the bank you’d be eating gourmet every night.”
He made a disgusted face. “I hate gourmet. Only eat it when I’m having dinner at my mo
ther’s.”
“How is your mom, by the way?”
Rachel suddenly got an image of Travis’s petite, dark-haired mother, remembering how the woman had sat in the front row of the bleachers for every football game Travis had played. Though the Gages had always been wealthy, Travis’s parents would show up at the school dressed casually, eat hot dogs and sip sodas, and cheer their son on. If she remembered correctly, Lauren Gage had also organized every charity and fundraising event Jefferson High had put on, from bake sales to car washes.
A far cry from Rachel’s mother. Hattie had never even stepped foot into that school, skipped every parents’ night to get drunk, and used her daughters’ report cards as drink coasters. Funny how the Gages, the owners of one of the largest software companies in the country, found the time to involve themselves in their son’s life, while Hattie Foster had never spared a single second for her daughters.
“Mom’s doing great, actually,” Travis replied, jarring Rachel from her bitter thoughts. “She just got appointed as the activity director of the country club and she’s having a blast organizing posh parties and ladies’ bridge nights.” He chuckled fondly.
Rachel ignored the envy creeping up her throat. “I don’t get you.” When he arched a brow, she felt compelled to continue. “Instead of spending your days lounging in the country club and enjoying your wealth, you choose to work as a detective. I bet you don’t even cash the checks the department gives you.”
A small grin tugged at his delicious mouth. “My checks go directly to charity,” he admitted.
“See?”
“What do you want me to say?” he said with a shrug. “Believe me, I like having money. I don’t have to struggle with bills or groceries, have a housekeeper who cooks and cleans for me, a house that I own and not rent. But money isn’t everything. I have no desire to sit around in a country club, drinking scotch and playing billiards with billionaires and tycoons. I need to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.”
“Because of your college friend?” She paused, finding the courage to add, “And your wife?”
A distant look crossed his features. “Partly, yes.” He let out a breath. “Somebody needs to provide families with closure about their lost loved ones. Somebody needs to save—” He stopped abruptly.
She met his gaze and held it. “So you see yourself as some sort of savior then?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, and when he finally spoke, he changed the subject all together. “I talked to Karen Greenley today.”
She frowned, torn between pushing the previous subject and questioning this new one. She finally chose the latter. “Mrs. Greenley? Our old guidance counselor?”
He nodded. “Did you know Carrie went to see her every week?”
“No. Carrie never mentioned anything about seeing a counselor.” Rachel paused. “What did she tell you?”
She held her breath, suddenly not wanting to hear Travis’s answer. People told counselors private things, things they didn’t want anyone else to know. What if…what if Carrie had confided in the guidance counselor that she was considering suicide? What if there had never been a BF, never been a trip—had Carrie planned to kill herself all along?
“Carrie volunteered at Chicago General, did you know that?” Travis asked.
She shook her head.
“Mrs. Greenley helped to set her up with the volunteer position at the hospital, as part of the community service required of seniors.”
Rachel felt a spark of confusion. She had no idea where Travis was going with this. “Okay. So Carrie volunteered at the hospital. What else?”
Hesitation entered his eyes, and Rachel’s heart began to pound as dozens of scenarios entered her mind. “Travis, please.”
She saw him take a breath. “Carrie told Mrs. Greenley that she’d grown close to one of the doctors at the hospital. A surgeon.” He exhaled deeply. “She never mentioned the man’s name, but Mrs. Greenley said she got the feeling Carrie really cared for this man.”
Rachel chewed on her lower lip. A doctor? Carrie had never mentioned anything about getting close to a doctor. Hell, she’d never mentioned volunteering at the hospital.
“Rachel, your sister was seventeen. You do realize that if this man was a surgeon, he had to be quite a lot older than her, right?”
She stared at Travis’s face and realized what he was saying. “You think Carrie was sleeping with an older man?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “It’s possible.”
Fury filled her blood. “No, it’s not possible. Carrie wouldn’t…” Her voice cracked. “She wouldn’t do that. She didn’t sleep around, especially with older men. She wasn’t my…” Her voice stopped altogether.
She wasn’t my mother, she’d been about to say. But no way would she utter that in front of Travis. No way would she admit to the shameful behavior of Hattie Foster.
“I’m not attacking Carrie here,” Travis said in a husky voice. “I’m just considering all angles. If Carrie had fallen in love with an older man, he might have been the one who offered to take her away. And even if they weren’t romantically involved, this doctor could still be BF.”
Her anger dissipated. “You’re right. I know you weren’t attacking my sister. I’m sorry.”
Travis reached across the table for her hand. When his long fingers stroked her upturned palm, Rachel trembled. God, she didn’t even know what she was feeling anymore. One minute she hated this man, the next she was attracted to him. One minute she was angry with him, the next she felt as though he was the only person who could heal her turmoil.
She stared at him, and for one brief moment, sexual tension sizzled in the air. She moistened her lips, but the air was so hot they quickly dried up again.
“Rachel,” he said.
And then the waitress approached the table with their food, and the sizzling dissolved into the smoky room.
“Looks good,” she managed to say.
They ate quickly and quietly, and once she was done, she pushed her plate away and rubbed her stomach. Bar food wasn’t that bad, she decided. It sure beat cold Chinese leftovers.
“You have ketchup on your chin.”
Her cheeks flushed as she saw the amused smile curving his mouth. She reached for the napkin in front of her, but Travis intercepted her hand. He picked up the napkin and dabbed at her chin, his dark hair tickling her nose as he leaned forward. His shampoo smelled like cherries. A very feminine scent for such a masculine man, yet it made him all the more tempting. She breathed deeply, hoping to brand the aroma into her brain, so that the next time she ate cherries she’d think of Travis.
“There. It’s all gone,” he said, pulling back.
Her nose ached at the loss of his scent. God, was it possible for a nose to ache?
“So, should we go to the hospital tomorrow and try to track down this mysterious surgeon?” Travis asked, acting as if the intimate moment they’d just shared was nothing.
The thought of discussing this mystery, the past, didn’t seem so appealing any longer. “Sure,” she said noncommittally. Her ears perked as the sound system in the bar began playing a loud Rolling Stones number. She smiled. “I love this song.”
Travis looked surprised. “Really?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so shocked. Aren’t I allowed to like rock music?”
He grinned. “Sure. But I always took you for a soft ballad girl.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Travis.”
His eyes took on a smoldering light. “Which only makes me want to get to know you better.”
She almost gulped, and the fire she saw burning in his eyes was so hot, her body temperature began to rise.
“Do you want to dance?” he said suddenly.
This time she did gulp. “To this?”
“Why not?”
He wanted to dance with her? But dancing required physical contact. It required bodies meeting, thighs skimming, hands touching.
Oblivious to the other patrons in the bar, Rachel allowed Travis to wrap his arms around her. “This is a fast song,” she murmured.
“Sounds like a slow one to me.”
Deciding to play along, Rachel tentatively lifted her hands to his shoulders as he pulled her close. The second she felt him, heat seeped through her body. Every inch of him was muscle. Solid. Hard. His chest. His legs. His hands rested just above her buttocks, drawing little circles over the thin material of her top.
It felt…nice.
With a sigh, she pressed her head against his shoulder and let him lead. She’d never danced with a man before, never had the urge to, but swaying there with Travis felt wonderful. Her eyelids fluttered closed and for a moment she allowed herself to forget. She forgot about her childhood, her sister, her pain. Nothing existed. Only Travis. It was incredible. So incredible to let it all go.
“Gage?”
The loud male voice jarred her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes and almost collapsed when she saw the familiar face.
“Frankie?” Travis said. She noticed his eyes looked a little glazed, as if he were just as affected by their dance as she was.
Frankie Delacorte grinned. “I knew it was you. I was standing over at the bar and glanced over, and I thought, hey, that’s Travis Gage.”
Rachel heard the slurring of Frankie’s voice and suspected he’d consumed more than a little alcohol tonight. She wished she could crawl into a hole and disappear. Frankie Delacorte had been a linebacker on their high school football team, a friend of Travis’s, she knew. Although fifteen years had passed, the man was as beefy as ever, tall and broad, only he now boasted an impressive potbelly.
“It’s good to see you,” Travis said casually. The edge to his tone told her that Frankie Delacorte was the last person he wanted to see. That only confused her, as she’d always thought Travis and Frankie were close.