William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“ Give me the gun !” Travis shouted.

“I’ll fucking give it to you.” The man brought the gun back down and aimed it at Travis’s head.

Travis grabbed the man’s wrist. The gun fired; the bullet went over Travis’s shoulder. He tackled the man and brought him down hard. The man’s head thudded on the concrete. His eyes fluttered, then he seemed to drift into unconsciousness.

This time Travis took no chances. He rolled the man over and pinned his head down with his knee.

“Someone call the police,” Travis shouted. “Someone call—”

He stopped short. Few if any of the crowd were watching him. They were huddled about ten feet behind him. Travis could see two feet protruding from the circle, two feet in red lace sandals.

He felt a dry catching in his throat. Steadying himself, he advanced toward the new center of attention. The crowd, now deathly silent, parted and let him pass. Don’t let it be. Don’t let it … !

It was Angela. She was lying on the sidewalk, her eyes dark, blood streaming from the opening in her chest where the bullet had struck. The red blood matted her red hair.

Travis grabbed her hand and called her name, but she didn’t respond. He called louder and louder, screaming, but it was no use. He felt for a pulse, but there was nothing there.

He pushed himself away, horrified. He knew that he should do something—get a doctor, or call an ambulance—but it was too late. Much too late.

For both of them.

Cavanaugh didn’t speak for a long time. Travis couldn’t. He was exhausted, in every way a man could be. It was too painful—the recollection of that hideous day.

Cavanaugh’s hand never left his.

“What was it?” she asked finally. “Crack?”

Travis’s voice was hollow. “I never heard. Turned out there was a robbery going on in the warehouse across the street, which explained the loud noises and the gunfire. The man was a diversion—a way of luring employees out of the building and keeping them occupied. And keeping other people out.”

“So that horrible man—it was all an act?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. He was high as a kite. Probably thought it would give him strength, help him do his miserable little job.” His head shook. “He cut a deal with the prosecutor. I never saw him again. I heard he got twenty years for felony murder.”

“Then—”

“She was dead,” Travis said flatly. “Long before the paramedics arrived.”

“Oh … God, Travis. I—I’m—”

“Staci was taken in by Angela’s sister, Marnie. She didn’t really want Staci, as Staci well knows, but she had little choice. I still see Staci whenever I can, but it isn’t the same. We were almost a family. Now …” His voice trailed off.

“I—I don’t know—” Cavanaugh took a deep breath, tried again. “I don’t know how you—” She couldn’t seem to make herself talk coherently, so she stopped trying. Instead she leaned over and pressed her lips against his.

Travis was startled. He flinched instinctively, then gradually relaxed. It was a slow, tentative kiss, but it soon became something more, as caution gave way to arousal.

The first kiss was followed by another, then another. His hand slipped behind her neck; his fingers stroked her hair. Neither of them said a word; it was as if speaking would break the spell—make them acknowledge what they were doing.

After a moment they broke apart, gasping, and then, just as suddenly, he was on top of her, horizontal on the bed. Her hands roamed through his hair, around his neck, under his shirt. His mouth nibbled her earlobe.

He suddenly realized her fingers were moving down his shirt, releasing each button in turn. Just as smoothly, she removed her own blouse. Travis pulled away, but she drew him closer and held him there, refusing to let him withdraw.

His hand gently explored her body. When he paused, she clasped his hand and urged it back to her. Both of them were breathing like long-distance runners, but neither one took notice. His lips brushed against her breasts; he felt goose bumps rise on her soft skin. He pressed his face down hard against her; his stubbled chin tickled her nipples.

They were both moving at once now, twisting, turning, pressing, fumbling with snaps and zippers, trying to forget, trying to remember. They were everywhere at once, but somehow it seemed to work. Travis forgot everything—forgot the world that was hunting him, and the memories that were haunting him.

The last layers of clothing peeled away, and Travis knew there was no turning back. They were committed now—oblivious to the consequences, oblivious to the risk, oblivious to the squealing of the cheap motel bedsprings. For a brief moment the world was rightside up once more.

53

11:05 P.M.

“AND WHERE DO YOU think you’re going, young lady?” Staci froze in her tracks. Aunt Marnie had spotted her before she made it halfway through the kitchen. Staci had tried to be as quiet as possible, but somehow Aunt Marnie had still managed to catch her. She was like a giant squid; her tentacles were everywhere.

Staci briefly considered possible answers. Slumber party? Late-night basketball game? Prom night? Forget it. She was carrying a stuffed backpack and a pillow. She obviously didn’t plan to be back anytime soon.

“I … told you Travis called me,” Staci began.

“Yes.” Marnie placed her hands on her hips. “So?”

“He says I shouldn’t stay here tonight.”

“Is that right? So you were planning to just take off without even telling me?”

“Well … if I told you, I didn’t think you’d let me go.”

“You were right about that. And just what was it your criminal friend has in mind for this illicit rendezvous?”

“It isn’t anything nasty. You don’t know what you’re talking—”

Marnie slapped her across the face. The sudden blow startled Staci, instantly provoking tears.

“Watch your lip, young lady. I deserve a little more respect than that. I didn’t have to take you in, you know.”

“I know,” Staci whispered.

“I’ve been suspicious of your precious Travis Byrne for a long time. Paying so much attention to a young girl. Buying her presents, taking her on trips. It isn’t natural.”

“Travis is the most decent guy on earth,” Staci insisted.

“That’s not what I read in the papers,” Marnie pronounced. She pointed to the front-page article on the kitchen table. “I always suspected he was a pervert, and now my suspicions have been confirmed.”

Staci surreptitiously eyed the kitchen door. Only about ten feet away. If she moved quickly, she might get out before Marnie could stop her. “That story in the paper was totally wrong. Travis told me.”

“Oh, he told you, did he? Well then, that settles it. Use some sense, girl! He’s not going to admit he’s a pervert. Especially when he’s trying to get you to … come to him.”

“You’re wrong. He doesn’t want me to come to him. He won’t let me come to him. He wants me to meet Dan and—”

“Dan?” Marnie interrupted. “Who is he? Some other old pervert?”

“He’s Travis’s boss. He’s a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who likes little girls?”

Staci threw down her hands in frustration. “I’ve never even met him before!”

“And Travis expects you to run off in the middle of the night and meet this sicko you’ve never met before? I don’t think so.”

“Then can we go to a hotel?” Staci pleaded. “Anywhere other than here.”

“My Lord, but you have a lot to learn. Angela just spoiled you, that’s all. She lived in a fantasy world.”

Staci’s face darkened. “Don’t say mean things about my mother.”