by Dana Nussio
Like a father. Or a lover.
Immediately, he shot a glance to the revolving door through which Tatiana had vanished with her protector. Now it made sense who’d helped her disappear each day after work. Had Colton taken his sweet, innocent Tatiana to some undisclosed location? Or even his own home? Had he been trying to seduce her, or had he already tasted her charms? He fisted his hands so hard that his nails bit into his palms through his gloves, and he chomped down on the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood.
Colton needed to know that not everything could be his with a snap of fingers. Some things were intended only for those who’d earned the right. The guy would pay a price for trying to take what was rightfully his. But for now, he needed to be patient. To observe. To plan.
Good thing he’d thought ahead to record the evening news on WOGG and competing stations. No way had he planned to miss broadcasts of this press conference. He’d expected that the recording would be a lovely keepsake of the early days of his and Tatiana’s romance, but now he’d made it that much better.
Each time they watched it together, they would hear that amazing first question, happy to know that the voice coming from the back was his. What a wonderful surprise for her. He couldn’t wait to tell her someday soon. It was almost a marriage proposal on live TV... Only the bride didn’t know the groom yet.
Chapter 12
The cold, silent ride back to Travis’s condo, this time riding in his fancy new SUV, led Tatiana to a baked chicken dinner, where the only sounds were the occasional scrapes of knives and forks and the clinking of ice cubes. She wanted to shout that Travis was too old to use the silent treatment and tell herself she was too far away from childhood to let it get to her. But by the time that Travis walked across the kitchen and returned with a bowl of fresh fruit for dessert, she’d had enough.
She stood up, took the bowl and spoon from his hands, and pointed for him to sit again. He frowned but, after a few seconds, obeyed.
“Okay, I lied,” she said as she set the fruit on the table. “Does that make you happy?”
“Why would that make me happy? I hate lies.” With jerking movements, he scooped fruit salad, made of oranges, pears and grapes, onto their plates.
“I meant are you glad I admitted—” She shook her head and then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for doing it.”
Travis sat up straight, as though he wasn’t ready to accept her apology.
“Then you do know where your dad is hiding?”
She’d been scooting around the fruit with her fork, but at his question, she stabbed an orange slice and looked up. “Of course, I don’t.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth now?”
It stung more than it should have that he’d believed her capable of keeping quiet if she knew where her dad was hiding. When had what Travis Colton thought of her become so important?
“But you did speak to him.”
His stare dared her to deny it.
“Yeah. Once. Right after he was released. Police had told him not to leave town, but I’m guessing he already had.”
“He didn’t tell you anything?”
“It was a really brief call.” She shifted her shoulders and finally set her fork aside. She couldn’t eat more, anyway. “So, it felt like a little white lie when I said it during the Colton Plastics interview. A short conversation. With no real details. And it only happened that once.”
She was talking too fast, but she couldn’t make herself slow down. Not with her father’s damning words swirling through her thoughts again. Should she tell Travis what her dad had said? Could she trust another person with the suspicions that had weighed on her heart for so long? If she did tell anyone, why would she choose Travis, the man who had a tougher time in naming relatives who weren’t cops than those who were?
“I know of other things that happened only once that weren’t so trivial,” he said.
They exchanged a meaningful look before his gaze lowered to her tummy. Clearly, he was trying to lighten the mood by introducing a different subject. Only that one was just as heavy.
“Guess not,” she conceded.
“And, technically, it was one night, but it wasn’t once.”
She shook her head, but one side of her mouth lifted. Leave it to a guy to break it down to something so basic. She pushed aside memories she shouldn’t have been recalling and lifted her fork again. Maybe she could get a few more bites down.
Travis made a strange sound in his throat, as if remembering that they’d declared that subject off-limits.
“Why’d you feel you had to lie about talking to your father?”
She reluctantly looked up from her plate. For her, both topics—her dad and their night together—were equally dangerous.
“You have to understand that his arrest was humiliating for me. How could my own father be accused of murder? I believed the cops must have made a mistake, that he was innocent. After his release, I wanted to pretend it never happened. That’s why I ignored the phone messages from police, too.”
“So, when the matter came up during your interview with the board, you just wanted to separate yourself as much as you could from your father.”
“I guess so.” She shrugged. “I wanted to be like any other job candidate, judged only on my own merits rather than my father’s infamy.”
“I get it. I hate being judged because of my relatives, too.”
Her gaze flicked to his then, and he lifted a brow. On that night six weeks before, he’d only described himself as a maverick after she’d lumped him in with his police relatives.
“I’m sure you do. Sorry.”
Travis planted his forearms on the table and folded his hands. “Since we’re sharing a home right now, I have to ask. Was that the only lie you told me, or are there more that I should know about? I will tell you now that I have zero to report.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. “None come to mind, either, but I’ll let you know if I remember any others.”
“Seriously. I have to be able to trust you. It’s only a matter of time until the press figures out that you’re staying here. And neither of us knows what’s going on with your stalker, whether he’s just trying to frighten you or is a real threat. I need to be sure we’re on the same side.”
Tatiana dampened her lips as she realized he wasn’t joking anymore. He probably had no idea how refreshing his words were for her to hear. After her father’s arrest had painted all her childhood memories with a fuzzy brush, Travis offered her and requested from her a friendship based on both honesty and clarity. It was the best gift anyone had ever given her.
She met his gaze directly. “You can trust me.”
“I hope so.”
“Do you want me to tell you what he said?” She spoke the words before she could talk herself out of it.
He blinked a few times and then watched her for several seconds.
“That depends on whether you’re just trying to prove something by telling me, or whether you want to do it.”
“Can it be both?” As much as she needed him to know that he could count on her as they searched for answers about the stalker, she also wanted him to understand the dilemma she’d carried since her last conversation with her father.
“I guess it can.”
She sat higher in the chair and took a deep breath before plunging forward. “He just said three words—‘I’m sorry, dumpling.’”
“That’s it?”
She nodded, though her hand automatically lifted to her mouth, a sense of betrayal landing on her like a crushing weight. Travis’s gaze moved from her hand to her eyes and then down to his own plate.
For what felt like an eternity, neither spoke. Tatiana squirmed in her seat, wondering again if she should have kept that information to herself. Just when she was ready to
call out, “Say something,” he finally did.
“It was only three words. Were you even certain it was him?”
“I know his voice. And dumpling was a term of endearment he often used when I was a little girl.” Just recalling it hurt now, the memory bitter instead of bittersweet.
“So, it was him. Then do you have any idea what he was sorry for?”
“What do you think?”
He shook his head. “It’s more important what you think.”
Tatiana stared at her folded hands. “I feel like a lousy daughter for believing it, but how can I not? He had to be saying he was guilty of that murder in Grave Gulch Park, even if there was no longer any evidence to prove it.”
“Maybe you’re reading too much into a cryptic message. He could have as easily been trying to protect you from knowing the truth about him.”
“Who’s reading too much now?” She smiled, wishing she could accept Travis’s sweet take on the story but understanding she couldn’t. “If you believe that anything he told me was for my benefit, then we don’t need a new PR exec at Colton Plastics. You’re already a spin doctor.”
“Okay, maybe he didn’t do it for you,” Travis said, “but that call wouldn’t count as the briefest confession in GGPD history, either.” He stood and stacked their dishes into a neat pile. “There are many reasons he could have apologized. For disappearing when he should have stuck around for you. Or because he regretted that his arrest caused you embarrassment. Or even that he’s sorry you lost your mom, but he misses her too much to stay where everything reminds him of her.”
Instead of answering, she grabbed the glasses and stepped past him to the sink. That was easier than facing him while he gave the same excuses that she had been telling herself for three months. They sounded even less believable coming from Travis.
“You don’t believe any of those things, do you?” she asked. She moved out of the way so that he could reach the sink. He rinsed, and she loaded the dishwasher.
“We don’t know anything for certain yet.”
Tatiana slid a glance his way, but he didn’t look back at her. He’d admitted that he hated lies and said he would tell her the truth, yet he was spinning this story to shield her from heartbreak. She no longer wanted to make excuses for her father, but Travis was sweet to try. A girl could fall in love with a guy like Travis if she wasn’t careful.
“I’ll be sure to tell him to hire you as his personal publicist if he’s ever caught,” she said to bring them back to reality. Then she closed the dishwasher with a click.
“Do you think he ever will be? Caught, that is?”
His questions triggered another set of emotions. How could she even joke about his capture? This was her father, the guy who always held her hair when she was sick since her mom had a weak stomach, who’d taught her to drive and bought her first car, then made sure she knew how to check her oil and change a tire before he let her operate it. If he were taken into custody, he would face murder charges. Nothing could make that funny.
Travis must have recognized her internal battle, as he didn’t press for an answer. Instead he grabbed the teakettle off the stove, filled it at the sink and returned it to the burner. Then he grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and a wooden box from a drawer and carried all of it to the table.
“I guess I never asked if you like tea,” he said as he arranged the mugs and spoons.
“I do.”
“There’re all kinds in here.” He lifted the lid off the box. “I’m guessing you’ll want herbal?”
“I was planning on skipping the caffeine, but thanks for the reminder.” She crossed to him, pulled out a bag of vanilla chamomile and plunked it on the table. “You might have no interest in being a real law enforcement officer, but you have the diet police thing down,” she joked. “Are you going to get worse after my ob-gyn appointment tomorrow?”
“Probably.” He laughed.
“At least you warned me,” she said dryly. “Then you should be aware that I might balk. Probably a lot.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.”
Only when they were seated again with steaming mugs in front of them did Tatiana tackle the question he’d asked before.
“I don’t know if he’ll be caught,” she admitted. “Dad’s a smart guy with a real technical mind and street smarts. He also always loved those survival shows and liked reading about people who lived off the grid. Guess we know why now.”
Travis dunked his bag of Earl Grey in his own mug several times and then used his spoon to squeeze it out before setting it aside.
“Those are the kind of details that the police were asking for when they interviewed you.”
She nodded, trying to decide if she regretted not sharing at least that much information with police.
“Did your mom have strong technical skills, too, or did that come from your dad?”
“None,” she said with a smile. “She couldn’t even put a contact in her smartphone, no matter how many times I showed her how to do it. But all the important things, like patience and empathy, I either learned or inherited from her.”
“I bet there were other good things from your dad, too.”
She planted her elbows on the table and lowered her face into her hands. “If only I didn’t question everything that he taught me now.”
“I get that. The same guy who probably guided you in your values has put you in conflict with them—because what kind of daughter wants to see her dad go to jail?”
For several seconds, she could only stare at him. How had he figured out and then put so succinctly the battle waging inside her?
“This isn’t some ploy to get me to give up all my secrets so you can report in with Chief Colton, is it?” She chuckled, lifted her tea, and took a sip.
“I thought you said you didn’t know anything that would help police.”
At Travis’s words, she set her mug on the table with a thud, the liquid sloshing over the top. As he sopped up the mess with a napkin, he grinned at her. Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one trying—and failing—to get a laugh from the other.
“You make it too easy.” He took a drink and set it aside.
“Glad I could help.” She rolled her eyes. “You think I should tell the police about the call, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“But you said—”
He shook his head until she stopped. “I told you they were looking for that type of information. There’s a difference. It was, and is, your choice how much you share.”
“So, the call?” Her chest felt tight as uncertainty filled her.
“It makes him sound guilty, but it doesn’t prove anything,” he said. “Anyway, they have DNA evidence on the second murder charge. I’m sure the police would like to hear about it in connection with the first charge, but it’s up to you whether you tell them. If you did, then maybe they would check your phone records to determine his location at the time of the call.”
“Location would be all it showed,” she said. “It was probably a burner phone. I remember because I didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t answer. I told you. He’s a smart guy. He wouldn’t have left clues like that.”
“What about the first two murder scenes? Police found DNA evidence both times.”
“That I’ve never been able to make sense of. Maybe he left clues on purpose. He could have wanted to get caught.” She lifted her hands, palms up. “But then I never really knew Len Davison, either.”
“Don’t say that.” He shook his head. “Maybe you knew him when he was his best self. You don’t know what losing a life partner can do to someone. Something could have snapped in him when your mom died last year. What if he just couldn’t cope?”
It would be so easy to believe Travis. He offered her a convenient escape from a maze with too many turns
and dead ends, but the path he’d cleared had left her without the real answers she craved.
“We still don’t know if there were other victims.” Her heart ached at just giving voice to the suspicion. “Dad’s job might have been just one of the reasons we moved around a lot.”
He nodded, as if he’d considered the same possibility, but his eyes were filled with such compassion that she straightened her back. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Good. Because I’m not offering any. But you need to know that no matter what Melissa, Troy and Bryce said, you aren’t obligated to help them build a case against your own father.”
He held his hands out in an imaginary scale. “If you knew something important like the location of a murder weapon, that would be different. And you could be forced to testify if the case ever went to trial, since you’re a daughter, not a spouse.”
“But Troy said I should help them stop him, or I’ll feel responsible—”
“They’re trying to catch someone they believe is a serial killer. But whether you help them any further or not is up to you. You’ve answered questions the best you could at the time. Twice. That can be enough. Our best has to be good enough.”
That he lowered his gaze and started stuffing napkins and used tea bags into their empty mugs made her wonder if he was speaking of more than just her situation with her father.
“Parents make mistakes. A lot of them,” she told him this time. He needed to hear it. How could he have so much understanding for her father and be so uncharitable to his own? “We’ll make them, too.”
He looked up from the mugs to where her left hand rested on her belly.
“And all parents worry,” she continued, “that someone will hurt their children. That they won’t be able to protect them. Could that be what your dad has tried to do with all his caution about the business? Could he have been trying to shield you from failure?”