Hidden Desires

  She rose and left the room, returning moments later with a tissue she used to dab her tears.

  “Do you recall any man with the initials BF? We think she made contact with him the weekend of the prom. Maybe someone at the prom?”

  “Well, you were there with her. She didn’t talk to anyone outside the regular crowd, I’m almost sure of it. I mean, you know Carrie. It took her a while to open up to people. I think I would have noticed if she had been talking to someone we didn’t know.”

  Layla sat for a moment in silence before continuing. “I don’t remember anything about a man. She just said she’d come up with a plan. She was leaving for good. She even gave me a few of her things to remember her by. That cashmere sweater I always loved.” She chuckled fondly. “I still have it, though it’s been years since it fit. I can’t bring myself to give it away.”

  She paused for another moment and shook her head. “I don’t remember her talking about a man at all. She wouldn’t say where she was going. She didn’t want anyone knowing. Once she left, she didn’t want anyone to be able to find her, especially her mother. She was adamant about making sure her mother never found out.”

  Travis gave Layla a moment to think of anything else, and when she couldn’t, he set Tessa on the ground and rose from the couch, prompting the little girl to hold up her hands. Obliging her unspoken request, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek, resulting in another cheery squeal.

  “She likes men,” Layla explained, taking the girl from his arms.

  He pulled out his card and handed it to her, then gave her a light peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Layla. It was nice seeing you again. If you think of anything else, please call me.”

  Rachel rose on wobbly legs, and Layla moved to give her a hug. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I’m just a little dizzy. I haven’t eaten today,” she lied.

  The three said their goodbyes before Travis and Rachel made their way back to town.

  “Well, I’m sorry we didn’t get much from that trip,” Travis said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them the moment he’d pulled from the driveway.

  “Tell me about your wife. What was Layla talking about?”

  For a long time, Travis didn’t say anything, and Rachel began to think he wasn’t going to answer. His delay surged more questions through her brain, leaving her more befuddled than she was before.

  “My wife was murdered,” he finally said in a voice devoid of any emotion.

  Without thinking, Rachel placed her hand on his thigh. “Oh, Travis. I’m sorry.”

  “It was years ago.”

  Rachel grew sick with remorse. Ever since she’d run into Travis, she’d thought of no one but herself. She’d been so wrapped up in hatred and self-pity, it never occurred to her that other people had problems besides herself. She suddenly wished she could take back every nasty thought, every biting word, every thoughtless accusation she’d directed toward Travis.

  “I haven’t been very kind to you,” she murmured, her words choked with regret.

  Her thoughts went back to Layla’s house, the easy affection he’d had for her child. He must have had dreams of being a father some day, dreams that were shattered by the death of his wife. He’d reached out to her. He’d kissed her. And she’d reacted as though he were some sex-driven creep, when maybe, just maybe, his intentions were sincere.

  She silently sighed, wondering when she would ever get over herself and start giving people the benefit of doubt.

  “I understand your situation,” he said quietly.

  Of course, he did. Travis was a virtual well of understanding, yet she couldn’t provide him so much as a drop in return. And, for the first time, she realized just how high a wall she’d built around her heart. It was a wall so high she couldn’t see the difference between a jerk and a man worthy of her appreciation.

  She felt her hand clasp tightly to his thigh, prompting him to glance down to her touch. Realizing what she had done, she snatched it away and tucked it around her waist.

  “I don’t know what to say. Can you tell me about it?”

  He spoke of the incident as if he were simply a detective talking about a case. “It was a robbery. My wife was trained in self-defense. She fought back and was shot.”

  A heavy lump formed in her throat. She knew the feeling of losing someone so close. Though Carrie had taken her own life, given their circumstances, and the entries in her diary, she’d always felt that, in reality, someone had murdered her. Rachel knew the anger, the sense of helplessness, the deep regret one feels when they lose someone. She also knew there were really no words of comfort anyone could provide to make it all go away.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Just over a year.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “It’s been a couple years now.”

  Travis answered her questions without so much as flinching or moving his eyes from the road. She saw no signs of sadness or anger, just cold, distant words.

  Rachel knew exactly what that meant. She knew about pain so severe, the only way to move on was to distance yourself completely. To act as though it was just a dream, a part of life that never really existed. But, just like Travis, she knew underneath that rigid exterior, the pain was still there, ripe and ready to emerge when you least expected it.

  She wondered how many times Travis had risen in the morning, bright, happy, looking for his wife, before the memory crashed back and reality sank in. She wondered how many times he’d seen someone who reminded him of her, how often he’d had that fleeting thought that his wife wasn’t gone, and he’d just found her. Until the stranger turned and he’d discovered it hadn’t been his wife after all.

  She knew it. She knew all those feelings. And even though Carrie had been dead for more than a decade, they still returned on occasion as a reminder that there were some things people never truly get over.

  She clasped her hand tightly around her waist, and somewhere in the distance of her thoughts, she heard herself ask, “Are you still angry with her?”

  The mortified look on his face told her she’d just stepped in a place she shouldn’t have gone. His cold, level expression peeled away, unveiling raw pain and unbridled shock.

  “Why would I be angry with my wife?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

  With a sudden jerk, he veered to the curb and slammed on the brakes. If the seatbelt hadn’t been latched, she would have gone flying headfirst into the dash.

  His face had turned red with rage. His fingers had whitened in a tight grasp on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know why you said that either. My wife didn’t kill herself.” His words were coming out in ragged breaths. “I’m angry with the slime who killed her. My wife was an innocent victim.”

  In a quick snap, he unfastened his seat belt and bolted from the car, leaving Rachel alone, wishing she could take the words back, and uncertain as to what she should do now that she’d said them.

  Travis needed air. He needed a brisk walk. He needed to get away from Rachel. And stuck in the middle of nowhere, his only option was to walk a straight path down the street.

  How she did it, he had no idea. He’d come to terms with his wife’s death. He was able to talk about her, able to talk about the incident, able to move on. At least, that’s what he’d thought before Rachel made that statement.

  In one simple phrase, one casual, innocent question, she’d managed to coil her way into the darkest corner of his heart and pull out the one spade he’d never been able to face.

  Because really, if he dared to delve deep, he had to admit, he was truly angry with his wife.

  Jess should have known better. She shouldn’t have tried to fight men with guns. She was a cop’s wife, for Christ’s sake, and a side of him always felt that twinge of ire that she could have prevented her own death. But it was a feeling so painful, so troublesome to his wellbeing
, he could never bring himself to face it.

  Until Rachel reached in and yanked it out.

  He walked faster, turning a corner to get her out of sight.

  Damn her.

  Damn everything about her.

  He didn’t need this. He didn’t need her problems or her flippant, side-winding emotions. The ones that sucked him to her like a magnet then shot him apart like a grenade. He didn’t need her taunting his desire with those thin, lacy bras and hip curving sweaters, then shattering him with those off-handed comments and icy cold responses.

  Rachel Foster was insane. Why hadn’t he seen it before? And why, even now, did the thought of walking away from her leave his gut sick with regret?

  He stopped in his tracks, realizing that he’d just walked at least three blocks and had left Rachel alone in the car, in a strange neighborhood he knew nothing about.

  But he wasn’t ready to go back. He had no idea how he was going to explain his sudden departure, or what he was going to do with Rachel.

  He needed a moment to regroup, and walking farther away wasn’t going to do him any good. He noticed a small cafe a few paces up and stepped over, taking one of the chairs. He needed to calm down. It was an innocent comment, one that shouldn’t have sent him reeling like he had.

  But it did.

  He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the fury, confusion, and desire that mixed like poison in his blood. He tried to sort out his thoughts, knowing that, in moments, he needed to head back to the car before she took off, leaving him frantic to find her.

  He couldn’t let her do that, and a side of him knew that’s exactly what she’d do if he didn’t get back soon. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get a grip on his state and sort out his thoughts, when he heard the voice above him.

  “I’m sorry, Travis. Please don’t be angry with me.”

  He looked up to see those sweet green eyes welled with tears. Her hair sparkled like spun gold in the afternoon sun, casting a halo around her head. The fresh scent of lavender circled around him, encasing him in a fog of desire that somehow managed to calm his anger and confusion. He glanced away, feeling suddenly drained by the storm of rage that had just swept through him.

  “Look,” she said. “You got your answer from Layla. You know why Carrie broke up with you. It wasn’t anything you did. You don’t need to go any further with this.”

  He heard the words, but they didn’t register. Holding his gaze on the storefront across the street, he asked, “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you get over the anger when you know it wasn’t their fault?”

  He heard her sigh as she lowered to the seat next to him. Quietly, she began, “You acknowledge it. Then you realize that the feelings are normal. You accept that it doesn’t make you a bad person. You accept that it doesn’t mean you don’t still love the person, or miss them any less.” She smiled wryly. “That’s what the therapists say, at least. When I get over my anger, I’ll let you know how I did it.”

  He looked back to those glassy sage eyes and allowed himself to smile. “I overreacted.”

  “Shh,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips.

  Through her tender touch, her understanding words, he was overcome with the urge to kiss her again, but he held the impulse at bay. The woman was like a skittish little squirrel, the slightest wrong move sending her scampering away. And right now, he really wanted her by his side.

  “We’re two broken souls, aren’t we, Rachel?”

  She grinned and blinked, causing a small crystal tear to drop from her eye and catch between those long, feathery lashes. He lifted a finger and brushed it away, then took her hand in his.

  “Come on, let’s go come up with a new plan,” he said.

  Chapter Five

  The drive back to the city was a quiet one. A calming one. Rachel leaned against her seat and shot a sideways glance at Travis. His eyes were on the road, and his strong hands held the steering wheel with the utmost of ease. Her gaze drifted lower, to his wide mouth and firm lips. No, soft lips, she remembered, as the memory of their kiss wafted into her tired brain.

  What was happening to her? Why did she feel like she’d boarded a roller coaster and was in the process of a series of exhilarating highs and crashing lows? Since Travis had walked back into her life, her emotions had been on edge. The battle still raged inside of her, a war of pain and bitterness, desire and hesitation. And her greatest weapon, that defensive shell she’d constructed over her heart, didn’t seem to be holding out. Travis was slowly finding his way in.

  “Do you want me to come in?” he asked, his voice telling her he wasn’t going to force her into anything.

  She saw the sun setting in the horizon, dipping below the skyscrapers and office buildings of the city. Did she want him to come in? Yes. No. She didn’t even know anymore.

  He pulled up in front of her building and stopped the car, watching her with an expectant expression.

  Her heart thumped in her chest at the sight of his light-brown eyes. God, she did want him to come in. She couldn’t bear being alone anymore, sitting in her lonely apartment and eating Chinese leftovers. Her home had always been her haven, her shelter from the storm of uncertainty that raged outside. She’d never brought a man into that shelter, until Travis.

  “Rachel?”

  Temptation swirled in her belly. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t like to be alone.

  Hattie doesn’t like to be alone.

  The bitter, nagging voice in the backburner of her brain moved to the center. Her mother’s complete dependency on men and alcohol had always sickened her. She’d vowed never to be like the woman who’d failed miserably at raising her, and letting Travis in would be breaking that vow.

  No matter how sincere he seemed, no matter how much her heart cried out for her to spend just another ten minutes with him, she couldn’t let down her guard. Suzanna always teased her, saying she’d end up an old spinster, but it was better to be a spinster than be used by a man. Even if that man was Travis Gage.

  “I’m actually really tired,” she said quietly, reaching for the door handle. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow and we can figure out our next move?”

  She saw disappointment flash through his eyes and had to wonder what evoked it. Was he disappointed at the thought of not spending time with her? Or disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to get her into bed?

  Not wanting to find out, she said a quick goodbye and hopped out of his car. She didn’t turn back once to look at him. Instead, she darted into the building, said hello to the security guard, and took the elevator up to the sixth floor.

  Inside her apartment, Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding since saying goodbye to Travis.

  “I don’t need him,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t need anybody.”

  An hour later, as she sat on the couch and listened to the overwhelming silence of her apartment, she was still trying to convince herself of that.

  Call her.

  Travis ignored the little voice in his head and tried to focus on the stack of paperwork on his desk. What he disliked most about his job was the paper pushing involved after the solving of a case. He loved the thrill of the chase, tracking down suspects, interviewing witnesses, studying old evidence to find new clues, but writing everything down? Well, that was tedious.

  Call her.

  No. Not yet. He knew he ought to call Rachel and tell her everything he’d learned, but he simply didn’t have the heart to tell her. Which only pissed him off royally. He wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from saying what was on his mind. He was good at presenting the facts, whether they were positive or negative, and then detaching himself from the consequences. So why couldn’t he do that now, with Rachel? The thought of seeing her big green eyes widen with confusion and disbelief made him hesitant to tell her the truth. She’d loved her sister, and he knew what he’d learned might hurt her deeply.

  Damn that w
oman. Why did he suddenly care if she got hurt? He may have kissed her, yes. He was growing more attracted to her as each day passed, yes. But he feared he was getting too close and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Jess’s death, devastating as it was, had brought a new focus to his life. His partner called it a crusade, but to Travis it was simply a mission. Solving cases and saving people, that’s what he did now.

  Did he want to save Rachel? Was that it? He’d thought he’d needed his own answers about Carrie’s suicide, but he had them now. The ones pertaining to him, anyway. And yet he was still involved. Still determined to help Rachel find the closure she wanted, the closure she needed in order to put her painful past behind her.

  “Trav, turns out the neighbor in the Davis case remembers seeing our suspect the night of the shooting,” Matt said, poking his head into Travis’s office. “I told her we’d be over there in twenty minutes to take her statement.”

  Travis nodded absently. “Give me two minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Matt didn’t move. “What’s going on with you today? You’ve been distracted all morning.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to pry. “Does your distraction have anything to do with that woman you spent an hour talking to on the phone earlier?”

  Travis ignored the question. “Two minutes. Downstairs.”

  Matt disappeared into the hallway, and as Travis collected his jacket and badge, he wished he’d never decided to do a little digging of his own today. After the less than successful conversation with Layla yesterday, he’d decided to track down some faculty members from their old high school, teachers Carrie might have confided in. Mrs. Greenley, the guidance counselor, had immediately come to mind, and so Travis had found the woman, who now lived in Maine. Since a trip to Maine was not an option at the moment, he’d picked up the phone and called her. He hadn’t thought Rachel would mind if he handled the phone call on his own, and now, he was glad Rachel hadn’t been around to hear what Mrs. Greenley had to say.

  “Travis, Matt says to get your butt downstairs before he arrests you for procrastination,” Jenny’s voice crackled from the intercom.