Travis Justice Page 2

  He stumbled, recovering quickly, but it was enough to allow her to reach the hallway. This time he tackled her, catching her about the hips to force her to her knees. The marble smacked into her patellas, but she had no time for pain. As she fell, she caught her weight on her hands and bowed her back, using the leverage it gave her to straighten, smarting knees spread for stability, and smack her head backward. She had a very good idea that he was bent over her, that arrogant cleft chin offering a nice bull’s-eye. Sure enough, she felt the point of his chin and then his own gratifying grunt as she caught him obviously off guard. She scrambled to her feet.

  When he recovered enough to grab again, he reached for air. She’d gained the front door. However, she was slowed as she had to unlatch two very solid locks. She was reaching for the knob when he whacked her hand away and trapped her, both hands flat against the door framing her head.

  A smile lifted those arrogant lips, allowing her to see the rim of his perfect white teeth. “What now?”

  She was pretty sure now he wouldn’t call the police since he’d searched her and visually scoped out the study, so he knew she hadn’t stolen anything. But she had a feeling his father would make a more critical audience, so she had to finagle her way out of here and she had to do it quietly.

  “I didn’t take anything. Let me go,” she finally said.

  “Oh, so you can talk. Why did you break into my house?”

  “Your house? Your father would probably have something to say about that—Zachary.” His blue eyes, the exact deep turquoise color of the Aegean Sea she’d sailed once with Kai, narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”

  “No one.” She fingered behind her with her hand again, feeling for the knob.

  “We’ll let the police decide that.” Snatching her hand away from the knob, he caught her wrist to pull her back toward the study.

  So much for her reading of his character.

  She acted on instinct. His towel shower wrap had lost another snap in their struggle. If she hadn’t been so desperate to get away she would have enjoyed the sight of so much unfettered male power. His years in the Army Rangers had sculpted him into pinup status, except there was nothing airbrushed or fake about his six-pack abs and pure symmetry, broad shoulders angling down into his lean waist. He was primal, powerful, and a fitting adversary; the tingling at her nape and other inconvenient places might have intrigued her at a less critical moment.

  She hadn’t felt this inconvenient sensation in a long time. Since Kai, really, but then she’d been a foolish child. No longer . . . As it was, she pretended to let herself be pulled behind him back toward the gaping study door. But they’d only moved a few steps when she caught her fingers in the waist of his sagging wrap and jerked. The wrap fell to the floor.

  He stopped cold, making an indistinct sound that sounded like a garbled “fuck me.” His buttocks were as solid, though nicely round, and not quite as muscular, as the rest of him. He looked back over his shoulder, and she saw his high cheekbones were red. She knew his dilemma. If he turned she’d see all of him in full-frontal glory. She watched him weigh modesty and duty.

  For the first time that night, she smiled.

  While he debated, she tugged her wrist, and finally was free. She couldn’t help it; she slapped his buttocks with her gloved hand on her way to the door, delighted with the meaty echo against all the fancy marble and woodwork.

  Her own smile showed perfect white teeth as she flung open the door. “Next time, I’ll bring a twenty!” The alarm sounded as she spoke, but she saw the shocked look in the blue eye she could see, and she realized few women ever challenged a man so bounteously gifted with money, power, and sex appeal. She was still smiling when she made it halfway over the wall by the time he reached the porch, his hips sheathed in the towel again.

  On top of the wall, she looked back at him. He’d never reach her now and they both knew it. Somehow, they also both knew they’d meet again. He was lit by the motion-activated porch light and she was shocked to see a half smile about his lips. He blew her a kiss that promised retribution and a continuation of the strange competition that had begun this night.

  Hoping he could see her in the darkness, she blew a kiss right back. She saw him wave something black like a battle flag.

  Then she’d dropped to the ground and was sprinting toward the nondescript car she’d parked several streets away. As she sedately drove off, she looked down the street at the Travis mansion. She heard the alarm cease, saw more lights come on, and knew he must be explaining to his parents what had happened. She’d thankfully reached the freeway entrance ramp by the time she heard distant sirens.

  Back to square one . . . her gloved hands tightened on the wheel as she pictured going to Kai with empty hands. Only then did she realize her hood was gone. Zachary had ripped it off and she’d not had time to retrieve it. A chill ran up her spine: hair samples. She should have worn a stocking cap over her hair, dammit . . . they were almost certain to have at least one of her hairs to test for DNA.

  And she was on file because of her priors.

  * * *

  An hour later, across town overlooking the Loop 360 bridge in the Buckhorn Estates, several athletic black shapes, garbed like Hana, slipped inside a large mansion. They’d deactivated the alarm with the tools in the small backpack one of them had strapped to his back. One held an iPad and the other two looked over his shoulder at the display, which showed the plan of the mansion. Two of them slipped up the long, curving staircase, pulling the swords they carried on their backs, while the third one stayed downstairs, scanning every window and door he could see from the central corridor. Standing guard. Just in case.

  As the other two disappeared above, he looked at the black Hublot watch on his wrist, activating the timer. “Ichi seichi,” he said under his breath, Japanese for “one minute.” A few seconds later, a woman’s scream was choked off. A man’s guttural grunt came next, full of both pain and outrage, followed by a few sounds of fists landing. A second choked scream, male this time. Then silence.

  The waiting man checked his watch again, snapping off the timer at exactly 58 seconds when the swordsmen came back down the stairs, their soft shoes eerily silent, as if they were wraiths . . . or demons. One sword still gleamed sticky red and the swordsman, with an adroit movement of his wrist, flicked off the blood, leaving a spatter stain on the wall.

  The waiting man didn’t chastise him; instead he looked at the stain and nodded approvingly. As the three gathered together again in the spacious front hall, the man with the expensive watch pulled a hood from his zippered pocket. It was exactly like the one Hana had worn. He dropped it in a crumpled heap in a corner. Then all three of them walked out the front door.

  * * *

  The next day, Hana was still shaken from her close escape as she parked at the sprawling hospital complex. She hurried up the stairs, the local paper folded under her arm. Since he’d been here, she’d tried to read to her grandfather Jiji every day, and she was glad she had the paper. This time she’d read all the local news buried in the third section she usually ignored. She was glad that, so far at least, her intrusion hadn’t been noted in the papers. Then again, she imagined even enterprising reporters would keep her raid quiet, given John Travis was so respected in the state. It wouldn’t do for the public to learn the second-in-command of the Texas Rangers was susceptible to home invaders at his own residence. She’d counted on that inconvenient reality. So far she’d been right, but it was early yet.

  She went up to the third floor, hating the smells and sounds of people dying all around her. She knocked cursorily on her grandfather’s door, but he had an equally sick older man sharing his room, so it was a needed courtesy. The other bed was empty. When she moved aside the curtain around her grandfather’s bed, she was shocked at his gray pallor. This place seemed to leech the life out of him by the day. She wished she could take him out of here to die in peace at his own nice little home in Hyde Park—a bungalow, really—w
ith the huge Japanese garden in the back, complete with a koi pond and raked sand garden that her grandfather changed with his moods.

  But the little house was lost to her too. Like her mother, like her father, like . . . Knowing she couldn’t let her grandfather see her cry, she bit back tears and took Jiji’s hand. So papery, the skin, and even though she cradled it between both of her warm hands, he didn’t stir. She saw his thin chest rising and falling and noticed all the instruments that monitored his vitals appeared to be functioning. Still, this pile of bones and covers in the bed was little reminiscent of the man who’d shaped her into who she was. He’d saved her from her own foolishness more times than she could count. Despair almost overcame her, but she smoothed her expression and sat next to his bed, unfolding the paper.

  The print swam before her eyes, coalescing into an accusatory finger. Jiji had given her everything and she couldn’t give him the one solace he’d asked for before he died. She’d failed him. Again. For the moment, all she had to offer was the love brimming over in her heart; all she had to say were words strangely comforting in their banality. One hour led into the next as she read the paper to him; the ritual, even though he was asleep and didn’t hear her, slightly soothing her own anxiety.

  But even as she read, other thoughts tormented her. Who did she go to now to try to track down the sword? Would Kai give her another chance? Would the Travis family be angry enough at her intrusion to demand DNA testing? Would she see Zachary Travis again?

  Most of the questions had no answer, but one certainty stood out: The strange attraction she’d felt toward Zachary Travis was a distant memory now, as it should be. It could quite literally get her killed. It was best—for both of them—that their paths didn’t cross again. The sun was lowering in the sky, and still she sat there, reading the comics now. Her grandfather never stirred, though his breathing was peaceful. He seemed genuinely asleep. But she’d seen his pain when he was awake, so she was careful not to disturb him. As she turned the paper to the last page, she saw she’d come to the obituaries. She swallowed down acid and crumpled the paper into a ball, tossing it into the garbage can against the wall. She closed her eyes. Like these lost souls, soon enough he’d be but an image, a life that defied description synopsized to a few lines of terse text. His only future now lay in these pages.

  The tears were too strong this time, even for her iron will. She rested her forehead gently on the side of the bed and wept, holding his frail hand. She felt caught between two nightmarish realities: fear that Grandfather would die—and fear that he wouldn’t.

  Chapter 2

  That same morning, Zach came downstairs fully dressed in his leather chaps, boots, and jacket. It was still early, and even though it was a Saturday, he knew his parents would both be on the terrace eating the elaborate breakfast Consuela prepared come hail or drought, peace or war, famine or plenty. Zach winked at his favorite senora, ignoring his father’s glare at his attire. Consuela, who had helped raise him and taught him fluent Spanish, winked back.

  He kissed his mother’s unlined cheek, wondering yet again how she managed to stay so young looking; blond hair blended gracefully with gray, a bit stout around the middle, perhaps, after two kids, but still lovely at sixty. She tilted her half reading glasses up to gauge his expression. The glasses fell back down her nose again as she glanced nervously at her husband. Gently shoving the glasses back up for her, Zach gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he sat down.

  “Buenos dias, Consuela. Mother, Dad . . . sorry for the ruckus last night.” Zach tossed his jacket off over the back of his chair in the morning sunlight. It was spring in Texas, but today the temperamental weather was sunny and Zach had dressed accordingly, for a long ride on his Harley. He needed to blow the cobwebs out of his brain. In retrospect, last night had been fun, and it had also helped relieve his restlessness. He couldn’t keep hovering, half in the family bastion, half out. It wasn’t fair to his father. So he’d come downstairs resolved to inform them of his decision on whether to begin the lengthy process of applying to the Rangers or not.

  Not.... At first. Zach ate his hearty breakfast of eggs, biscuits, bacon, sausage, and fresh orange juice silently, ignoring his father’s seething glare. In reality, despite what people thought, and despite his stellar military career, Zach knew that even if he applied, he’d have to wait to see whether he was accepted. His father would take it as a point of pride not to grease the wheels.

  His movements speaking volumes to Zach, who knew all his father’s mannerisms, John Travis carefully folded his morning paper and stuck it under the orange juice pitcher so it wouldn’t blow away. “You never explained to my satisfaction why your almost perfect memory failed you last night when you tried to describe the intruder to the police.” The elder Travis quoted from memory: “ ‘Height: average, or maybe tall. Hair: dark, don’t recall if it was black or brown. Kinda nondescript, don’t know the length. Eye color? Her eyes were shielded by the hood. ’ ”

  John glared at his eldest child. “Care to try again?”

  “It was dark most of the time, Dad. Besides, since she didn’t take anything, surely there are plenty more compelling cases that require time-consuming police investigation than an abortive break-in—no damage, no theft, by some young thing on a lark. Probably a sorority initiation.” He took a hasty sip of coffee to wash down the lie. He knew exactly what the girl looked like and felt he could have sculpted that tall, willowy body with his eyes closed. But she’d studied martial arts too, and she was good, very good. She had to be to so easily squirm away from someone twice her weight. There had never once been any panic in her mannerisms even when he caught both her wrists to pull her toward the phone.

  That meant she was disciplined.

  Which meant she had a very specific reason for climbing through that open window. He also, after some thought, had a suspicion of what she’d been after.

  He was pretty sure she’d been in the study awhile by the time he caught her, but she’d only scoped out the place, not snatched anything of value. She’d acted like a woman on a mission, in other words. While he was curious as to what that might be, he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the urge to protect her, other than the obvious testosterone boost. But he knew he had to get his father to drop this. Since nothing had been stolen, the case would move to the bottom of the police files if the family didn’t pursue it, and for a reason he couldn’t define, that’s the way Zach wanted it.

  When John opened his mouth again, Zach used his reserve ammunition. “Besides, if we proceed with prosecution and they assign it to detectives for a full-blown investigation, won’t that look pretty bad downtown? That our own security is so full of holes?”

  Zach’s mom, Mary, lost her glasses this time, so quickly did she turn back to her husband, as if she dreaded his reaction. They plopped into her plate right on her sunny-side up egg, which was soft enough to squirt yolk onto her husband’s crisp white shirt sleeve as he smacked down his coffee cup.

  Quelling a grin at his father’s rare muffled curse, Zach retrieved his mother’s glasses and dipped his cloth napkin into his untouched ice water, polished them thoroughly, and handed them back to her. With a soft “sorry” to John, she put them back on and shoved her plate out of range. John was using his own napkin to rub at the stain on his sleeve.

  During this familiar ritual—for his mother could be a klutz when she tried to mediate between her son and husband—Zach stuffed the last of his biscuit into his mouth to give himself time. Damn, this was hard, and his dad was already in a foul mood. Maybe he should wait to tell him he’d decided to accept his friend Jeff’s offer to join him on a Gulf oil rig for a few months. Roughnecking would provide the physical activity he needed. He was getting soft in Austin. And while enrolling in the Texas Rangers would include some physical training, it wasn’t enough and it came with too many rules. He’d had enough of that after eight years in the military; he wasn’t ready to devote the rest of his life to a position of such
gravity and responsibility, especially given his last name. No one would admit it, but he’d be held to a higher standard. He had no yen to live in a gigantic petri dish.

  Finally satisfied he’d dabbed away all the stain that he could, John gave his wife a reassuring kiss. She caught the back of his head to deepen the kiss and for a long moment, heat at the dining-room table came from more than the bright sunshine.

  Zach looked away, feeling like an intruder, but he’d seen many times the passion his parents shared. He also knew there was much more to Mary than anyone realized. In a strange way, the Japanese girl had reminded him of his mother. Just thinking about the would-be thief gave him a semi–hard-on. Society girls bored him to tears.

  Breathing slightly faster, John pulled away, giving her a last, brief later kiss. He cleared his throat, but his soft expression hardened as he looked back at his son. “Well, it happens your memory lapse isn’t pertinent, because I pulled the security footage from last night. There are several great shots of a tall young woman garbed head to toe in black. Her face was hooded, as you said, but since her hood came off I assume you saw her when the two of you tussled in the hallway. At first the angle was wrong to pick up on her features—until she reached the door.” John hit play with the remote next to his plate. The small flat-screen TV on an adjacent table flickered to life.

  Zach couldn’t help it: He felt his cheekbones go warm when the girl jerked his towel wrap away. Even his stern father’s mouth quivered a bit at Zach’s on-screen automatic reaction of covering his genitals, all captured beautifully by the security camera. His mouth flickered into a grin when the girl slapped Zach on the buttocks, but Mary frowned in sympathy with her son’s obvious embarrassment.