Kate Welsh - Redeeming Travis

The man now in possession of the duffel bag nodded and backed away with another muttered word that scudded through the alley. Patricia snapped a full-frontal picture of this newest subject’s dusky face when he turned toward her.

As the conversation played in her mind, she thought, It was drugs that got you killed, Ian, wasn’t it? Once again Tricia promised her absent friend that she wouldn’t rest until his wife and daughters had justice—until he had justice. Since the meeting was obviously a drop, she decided to change locations and move back to the street where she could see the license plate on the car the dark-complected man drove. Maybe, if she got lucky, she’d even be able to follow him to his boss.

She pivoted, doubled back around the crates and up the side alley. Hunkering down and watching the ground so she wouldn’t trip, Tricia ran swiftly toward the street. And smacked headlong into a wall.

The grunt she heard before the impact sent reverberations down her spine and told her the wall wasn’t built of brick, mortar or steel. It was fashioned of all-too-alive flesh and bones. Ready to take down her opponent, she looked up and into the glittering green eyes of the only man she’d ever loved. The man who’d betrayed her by caring more for his needs than hers. The man who’d turned away from her and married her roommate within weeks of her refusing his proposal. She dropped her gaze to his jaw and found it was as rock solid as that annoyingly stubborn chin of his.

Which meant he was furious.

Furious? What did he have to be furious about? And what was he doing there—in the middle of her investigation? “Travis,” she hissed, “what are—”

Travis Vance’s gaze flicked away toward her quarry, his eyes widening. Then he ground out a low curse, dragged her against him and whirled her around, pressing her back into the cold steel of the warehouse wall. Instantly she became aware of his body heat through her heavy black turtleneck sweater. It disturbed her to be so close to him. Then her vision blurred as his lips descended to hers—lips that were no less furious than the look in his eyes had been.

She grabbed at the fabric of his jacket to shove him away but heard a man’s chuckle. “Get a room, amigo,” the same man said in a heavy Hispanic accent. Then his footsteps receded, followed by yet another set moving off in the opposite direction. Her pilot was headed back to his car.

Angry at being manhandled, Tricia balled the hand not gripping his jacket into a fist and drove it into Travis Vance’s solar plexis.

“Oomph,” he huffed, and stepped back in a hurry, his hand replacing her fist as she shoved him back yet another step.

She stared at him in silence—a silence she couldn’t seem to break—her mind having short-circuited the second her gaze locked with his. How could all the feelings she’d thought had long ago faded be so alive and vital after well over a decade?

He wasn’t even the same person she’d loved so helplessly in college. In Travis’s intense green gaze, where once there had been only vitality and generosity, there was such overwhelming emptiness and bitterness. Oh, his hair still looked as ruffled as ever, but his brow was furrowed from too many years of frowning. Her fingers itched to trace his square jaw and see if that slow grin still pulled his full bottom lip into an expression that could only be described as cocky. But she had an idea his mouth rarely smiled in any way these days and the black hair at his temples was finely threaded with gray. Still, it was clear that time had been kinder to his looks than his soul.

“What did you hit me for?” he asked, still gasping and rubbing his stomach.

It was easy to retrieve her anger. “Don’t try to act so amazed or as if you didn’t deserve it! What did you think you were doing?” she demanded, flexing her hand behind her back. His six-pack abs were certainly as well developed as ever.

“Did I offend you?” He raised his left eyebrow and his lips did the exact thing she’d wished for moments earlier. That cocky grin emerged from the shadow of the past years. “You’ve changed, sweet cakes. Time was you’d have thanked me for saving your cute little—”

“Don’t say it!” she cut in, silencing what she was sure was a word she’d rather not hear. On top of calling her sweet cakes, she’d probably shoot him. The oaf! The creep! The snake! “Believe me, Travis, I understand that the kiss was nothing but a diversionary tactic. I wasn’t born yesterday. I meant, what are you doing here?”

His eyes narrowed. “Where exactly is here?”

“The middle of my investigation. You just blew my chance for that Hispanic guy’s license plate. I’d have known who he is by six tonight if you hadn’t gotten in my way. Maybe even where he was headed if I’d had the chance to follow him.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed but he maintained his smart-alecky air. “Maybe I just happened along.”

Tricia propped her sore hand on her hip. “Why don’t I believe you? You almost gave me away.”

He smirked. That was the only description that fit his insolent, slightly crooked grin. “I believe it was you who ran into me. You really ought to watch where you were going, Ms. Streeter.”

“That’s Major Streeter, AFOSI. Air Force Office of Special Investigations, in case you don’t know. Now answer me,” she demanded. “What are you doing here? You followed someone. Which of them was it and why?”

“I’m doing a little legwork on behalf of my brother and a friend. That’s all you need to know. It’s a free country. And before you try to dissuade me the way you did Sam, I’ll save you the trouble. I don’t have a boss to order me off a case I’ve decided to pursue or to threaten me with suspension.”

She knew he was referring to the fact Sam Vance, Travis’s younger brother, a Colorado Springs police detective, had been ordered off the investigation into the murder of AFOSI’s Major Ian Kelly. Ian’s body had been moved clear across Colorado Springs from Peterson Air Force Base and dumped behind the Chapel Hills Mall but AFOSI DNA evidence proved his murder had taken place on the base, so the Air Force had claimed jurisdiction. And Sam Vance had quietly turned over everything he’d already compiled, but he hadn’t been happy.

It was an awkward situation for Tricia since she attended the same church as the Vances. But she kept getting mental pictures of Ian laughing with his wife and daughters earlier in the summer at a backyard barbecue. He’d deserved so much more than to be executed for just doing his job. She was going to make whoever killed him pay. And no one, not even the former love of her life, was going to get in her way.

She stepped back and stretched to her full five foot nine inches. “You really don’t want to take on the United States Air Force, Travis. AdVance might be an elite name in corporate security and anti-terrorism circles, but compared to the might of the U.S. government, you’re small potatoes. And you’ll lose. Big-time.”

She turned and stalked away. The general was not going to be happy about this when he saw her report. And frankly she couldn’t wait to watch the fallout.

Travis watched Patricia stride off. If he’d asked anyone at school to describe her, they’d have said amiable, shy and maybe even a little guarded. He’d found her appealingly mysterious but vulnerable. And what the air of mystery and timidity hadn’t done to draw him, her long auburn tresses, short straight nose and wide golden-brown eyes had.

Now he found himself absolutely bowled over by all the changes in her. In his mind, she’d stayed the quiet girl of barely twenty who’d broken his heart. Now he knew she’d gone on—without him. She’d changed so much. She had curves where there’d been none to speak of. Her exceptional hair was now cropped short in what could only be called a nonstyle. But the biggest change of all was that the quiet self-contained young woman he’d known had disappeared and become open, candid about her intentions and nearly volatile. He rubbed his stomach. Maybe nearly was a bit too hopeful an adjective. The young woman who’d brought out his every protective instinct was gone and in her place was a warrior in her own right.