Well, she didn’t need his damn pity. “Don’t be sorry,” she said coolly. “I turned out just fine, without college. After high school, I got a job as a fitting model at a fashion house, which led to an apprenticeship. It took a few years, but I finally got my own design company off the ground.”
Her mouth twisted into a dry smile. Huh, how nice the abridged version of her career struggles sounded. But, between the lines, there was a whole other story. A tale of a young girl with no options, forced to strut around in skimpy clothing for a sleazy, second-rate designer. A man who loved using her ambition against her, a man who took every opportunity to grope her—innocently, of course. And then years of climbing the ladder, years of begging retailers to look at her designs.
Was it all worth it? Sure, she had two shows in New York and Milan every year. She made enough money to live more than comfortably. She got to see her lingerie and swimsuit designs in stores. Yet a part of her always wondered if her success was worth the shame it had taken to achieve it.
“Why did you become a detective?” she asked, determined to change the subject. Thinking about the past was too painful, and it seemed that since Travis had walked back into her life, all she was doing was drowning in memories.
Travis gave her a quick, sideways glance before turning his eyes back to the road. “A college friend of mine was murdered in sophomore year, and the cops investigating did a half-assed job and closed the case prematurely. I was a business major, but when I saw how incompetent those investigators were, I switched to criminology and joined the police academy.” He paused. “The first case I ever solved was my friend’s murder. It was four years later, but I finally offered his family what they’d desperately needed—closure.” He paused. “After that, I convinced the chief we needed a cold case unit. Funded it myself.”
Rachel felt a spark of admiration at the passion she heard in Travis’s voice. She knew that passion would work to her advantage. If Travis was as focused on Carrie’s suicide, she might get the closure she also needed.
“Okay, I think we need to turn right here,” he said absently.
She looked at the window and saw that they’d reached the town of Woodland. They were driving down a street lined with tall Victorian homes, and the neighborhood looked so wholesome her throat tightened. Such a contrast to the place where she’d grown up. Her childhood home was falling apart. Broken shutters, peeling paint, a lawn overgrown with weeds. Hattie had been too intoxicated to tend to their house, and Rachel wondered what it would be like to live in one of these immaculate Victorians. Would her life have been different if she’d grown up here?
“Keep an eye out for number eighty-two,” Travis told her, slowing the vehicle.
Rachel peered at each house number as the SUV crawled down the street. A few seconds later, she spotted the house. “There,” she said, pointing to the left.
Travis steered into the asphalt driveway and stopped the car. Through the windshield, Rachel examined the cream and lilac, three-story house. So idyllic, with its gingerbread trim, curved second-floor balcony, and the long, wraparound porch. Colorful flowers lined the front walk, and Rachel saw a pink tricycle sitting near a large oak tree.
Did Layla have kids?
Her throat tightened and tightened until not even a sliver of oxygen could get in. She couldn’t do this.
“Travis, I think we should go,” she said quietly.
He switched off the ignition and looked at her. “Why?”
Why? Why? Because she couldn’t face her dead sister’s best friend. Because the last time she’d seen Layla Kincaid, they’d both been dressed in black and standing next to Carrie’s casket.
“I’m suddenly not feeling so well,” she said, turning her head.
She heard Travis shift over and almost gasped when she felt his warm hand on her cheek. Each and every nerve ending in her body sizzled. God, how was this possible? The last time a man had touched her, she’d almost screamed with horror and disgust. So why did Travis’s touch feel so wonderful?
“It’s all right to be scared,” he said roughly, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.
She wanted to push his hand away, but her hands were frozen in place. “I’m not scared,” she lied. “I didn’t eat lunch today, so I’m feeling slightly nauseous. Maybe we should just do this another day.”
“Rachel, we drove an hour to get here.”
He held her chin with two fingers and pulled her head so that they were looking at each other. Anguish filled her eyes and she hoped he didn’t see it. “I know. I’m sorry, Travis, but I want to go.”
His gaze remained firm as his hand moved from her chin to her mouth. She almost sighed aloud as he began tracing the seams of her lips with his fingers. “You’re stronger than this,” he said, his voice husky.
“I’m not strong,” she whispered.
She saw his eyes soften, saw the sadness and sympathy in them. But what followed, she didn’t see coming.
Before she could blink, Travis dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss was firm but feather-light. His mouth glided over her lips, and a slow rush of warmth swept through her body and settled in her most intimate places. He demanded, but not like the others, not with the same selfish urgency to which she’d grown accustomed. It was a gentle devouring, and yet she could sense the uncontrolled desire hardening in his body. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, a wave of pleasure crashed over her. For a moment, she felt herself respond, flicked her tongue over his and tasted his spiciness. But the pleasure was soon replaced with fear.
Rachel’s eyes flew open—when had she even closed them? With a jolt, she moved her head and broke the contact, ended the kiss. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she felt the urge to flee. To jump out of his car and run. Away from Travis and his tempting mouth.
“Damn, I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, sliding back into his seat. “Don’t know what came over me.”
When she gathered the courage to look at him, she saw his eyes gleaming with desire, with hunger. A sickening feeling swirled in the pit of her stomach. She knew exactly what came over him. Lust. It was all men ever wanted from women. And all a woman could ever expect from a man.
Swallowing back a lump of nausea, Rachel clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to be cheapened by a man. She wasn’t going to fall for any more lies, any more professions of love, when really, all Travis wanted from her was sex.
“Rachel?”
She inhaled deeply, and when she spoke her voice was calm and even. “Travis, don’t ever do that again.”
Chapter Four
“A moment of weakness, Rachel. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Oh, I know exactly what you were thinking. I’m my mother’s daughter, isn’t that right? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
Aw, fuck, why didn’t he see this coming? What kind of senseless, inane thought led him to believe that kissing Rachel Foster was a good idea? She was already in a fragile state. She flat-out said so, and what did he do? He picked the most asinine reaction he could have pulled out of his hat.
Gee, Rachel, all these painful memories a little too much for you? How about a little sex to calm your nerves?
Travis felt the overwhelming urge to bang his head against the steering wheel until he either pounded some sense into his thick skull, or knocked himself out cold.
“I knew the moment you offered to help me you wouldn’t do it for free.”
His eyes flashed as instinctive anger overtook him. He didn’t appreciate her tone, didn’t like the way she was looking at him, as if he’d committed a despicable crime. Hell, he’d kissed her. Big fucking deal. He’d kissed plenty of women before and half the time those kisses had meant nothing. He didn’t need—or deserve—her accusations.
“Think what you want,” he said coolly, setting his jaw to show her he didn’t welcome her comment.
She clutched her hands over her chest and stiffened i
n her seat. “Take me home. This investigation is officially over.”
“Christ, Rachel, we drove an hour to get here.” He fought an annoyed scowl. “Would it help if I promised to keep my hands to myself?”
“No. I want to go home. None of this matters anymore. It’s all old history. The truth isn’t going to bring Carrie back, or make a damn bit of difference how I live my life.”
Travis gripped the steering wheel tightly. He should have known better, damn it. He knew what all the guys at school had said about her and her sister. He knew they thought the Foster girls were easy. He’d heard the countless stories from jerks who had taken them out, thinking they’d get some action, then dumped them like trash when they got nowhere.
“Look, it won’t happen again, all right?”
She opened her mouth to speak when a voice from the driveway stopped her cold.
“Rachel? Is that you?”
A chubby redhead rounded the car, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh my God! Rachel! Is that really you?”
Rachel closed her eyes and sighed before reaching for the door handle, and Travis felt a wave of relief. He didn’t want to turn back and take Rachel home. He wanted to see this through, to prove to her that his intentions were sincere, and thanks to Layla Kincaid, they had no choice but to finish what they started.
Rachel was shocked to see Layla. She was a far cry from the petite young girl she’d been in school. She had put on quite a bit of weight, which made her look older than her thirty-two years. In a way, it was a welcome relief. She wasn’t prepared to go back in time, and with Layla so changed, she seemed like a stranger.
“It’s so good to see you,” Layla said, her face beaming with teary joy. “God, you haven’t changed a bit.”
She gave Rachel a long hug then took a step back to get a full view as Travis emerged from the car.
“Travis Gage?”
“Hi, Layla,” he said gruffly, surprising Rachel by wrapping the woman in a warm embrace.
“This is such a surprise.” Her glance moved from Travis back to Rachel. “Are you two…?”
“No,” Rachel snapped. “Travis is just helping me with…”
She faltered. Not sure how to broach the subject, she looked to Travis for help.
“We have some questions about the weeks leading up to Carrie’s death,” he offered.
“Carrie? That’s right. I ran into Mitch Edwards a few months back. He said you’re a homicide investigator.” Her expression turned somber. “He told me about your wife.”
The statement hit Rachel like a blow to the chest. Travis had a wife? The thought caused an army of emotions to begin battling for control. Rage and humiliation that he’d had the gall to kiss her with a wife at home, shock that he hadn’t mentioned it, regret that she hadn’t asked. And simmering underneath it all, jealousy and disappointment that Travis Gage was already spoken for.
It was the latter that left her most shaken. She really shouldn’t care, and she didn’t understand why the thought hurt her so, but before she could contemplate further, Layla added the statement that shook it all away.
“I’m so sorry, Travis. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you.”
Sorry? Sorry for what? She looked to Travis for answers, but he kept his eyes on Layla.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Thoughts of her sister’s death quickly took a back seat to questions surrounding Travis, but Layla managed to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand.
“But why would you be investigating Carrie?” She took on a look of shock. Placing a hand to her cheek, she asked, “You don’t think she was murdered, do you?”
The question struck Rachel as if it were actually true. Growing more confused as each second passed, she stood, her mouth open, a dozen thoughts spinning in her head.
“No,” Travis interjected. “We’re just trying to get some clarity on a few things that happened during the weeks prior to her death.”
From the corner of the garage, a blonde little toddler peeked out, a wide grin brightening her rosy cheeks and fair, cherubic face. When Rachel and Travis smiled back, the tiny waif let out a high-pitched squeal and went scampering back to the front door.
“That’s my daughter, Tessa,” Layla said fondly. “Why don’t you come in?” She turned and followed the toddler down the path.
Travis motioned for Rachel to come along, although she had no idea how she would be able to get her legs to make motion. She was still stunned by the revelation and the questions surrounding Travis’s wife.
“This will be okay,” he said, his eyes warm and reassuring.
She broke from her trance and followed Travis into the house, taking a seat in one of the flowery wing chairs that adorned the grand front room. The house had Layla written all over it. Tasteful pastels and soft yellow carpeting spoke of Layla’s eternal optimism and sunny personality. The room was adorned with photos that displayed the functional, loving family Carrie and Rachel always admired.
As Layla went to the kitchen to prepare lemonade, Tessa emerged from the hallway, carrying a plastic cup. She made a beeline directly to Travis, who had taken a seat on the couch. In her chubby wet fingers, she held out a Cheerio, and without the slightest flinch, Travis accepted the offering, popped the morsel in his mouth, and rubbed his stomach.
“Mmmm,” he said.
The toddler climbed on the couch, instantly enamored with Travis, and Rachel couldn’t help but return the sentiment. He seemed so comfortable with the child, so fatherly, that she suddenly wondered if he had children of his own.
“Do you have kids?” Layla asked, entering the room with a tray of iced drinks.
Travis accepted another Cheerio and answered, “No.”
Layla chuckled. “Well, you’ve made a fan out of Tessa. If she’s bothering you, just let me know.”
Tessa held out another tidbit and Travis playfully snatched it from her hand, tossed it in the air and caught it between his lips. The toddler let out another screech of delight and climbed onto his lap to settle in.
“Oh, Tessa,” Layla said, but Travis cut her off.
“She’s fine.”
Layla’s attention turned to Rachel. “You look so good. How have you been?”
“I’m good, thanks. Your house is beautiful,” she said, taking in the sight of the impeccably styled room.
She laughed. “Thanks. It’s not easy keeping it this way. Tessa’s not usually allowed in this room, but with another on the way,” she said, tapping her belly, “I think I’m going to be outnumbered soon.”
The three made small talk as they sipped the lemonade. Though it was nice seeing Layla, Rachel couldn’t hold back the discomfort of being there. The sight of her in this beautiful home and Travis playfully doting over her daughter brought back those searing pains of remorse. Not only had she never been blessed to grow up in a loving household like Tessa would, she doubted she would ever have the warm, stable life Layla had come to find. She felt like the odd-man-out in a room full of normal, functional people. It was how she always felt when surrounded by friends and their families.
“What is this about Carrie? Has something happened?”
Rachel shook from her thoughts and, once again, looked to Travis for help in answering Layla’s question.
“Well,” Travis started, adjusting in his seat, “Rachel came across Carrie’s diary, and there were things written in it we thought you might be able to shed some light on.”
“Really?” Layla said, turning her eyes to Rachel. “Gosh, it’s been a long time, but I can try.”
“We’re interested in the month between prom and graduation,” Travis went on. “She broke up with me just after prom.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“Did she tell you what brought that on?”
“Well, yes. She didn’t want any attachments. She’d cut off everyone except for me. She wanted to sever all her ties with everyone, to make it e
asier.”
“To make what easier?” Travis asked.
“Her death, of course.”
Rachel’s heart began to race. She set her lemonade on the table, fearful that the trembling in her hands might cause her to spill some on the spotless carpet. She was unprepared for Layla’s words. She felt the blood drain from her head and she quickly became dizzy.
As if seeing the expression on her face, Layla added, “Oh, Rachel. I don’t want you to think…I mean, I had no idea what she was planning. You have to know that. The way she talked, I thought she was going on a trip. It wasn’t until after that I realized what she’d been talking about.”
The room went ice cold, despite the morning sun that cast through the large picture window. Goose bumps flashed over her skin and her chest went tight, making it hard to breathe. Though Rachel was quickly unraveling, Travis kept his professional calm, probing Layla’s memory in between the occasional Cheerio.
“Let’s assume for a moment she really was planning a trip. Do you remember anything specific she said about it?”
“She wouldn’t say. It was a big secret. She was leaving. She didn’t want to have anyone left behind after she was gone. That’s why she broke up with you. She’d stopped seeing all her other friends as well. I was the only one she confided in, but even then, she wouldn’t tell me any specifics.” Pain creased her features. “Of course, after…I realized why.”
“So you think she was planning suicide all along?”
“Well, of course. It all fits, doesn’t it?”
Rachel opened her mouth to object. She knew Carrie wasn’t planning suicide, but Travis held up a hand and continued.
“In her diary, she talks about a man with the initials of BF. This man led her to believe he would take her somewhere. Does that ring any bells?”
Layla’s eyes went wide. “You don’t think she was planning suicide?”
“Not from what we saw in the diary.”
She sank back in the chair and placed a hand on her chest. Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, I never wanted to believe it. I’ve always felt I should have known. I should have done something.”