Redeeming Travis

Why was he hiding his anger and why the nervousness? Even more at odds with his reaction was the fact that, though Vance was an upstanding member of the community, he should be no threat to Hadley.

Then Travis’s father said something else and walked away with a shrug. He sauntered to his car as if he didn’t have a care in the world, flipping his keys around his index finger just as Travis always had. She followed his progress, snapping a few shots till he climbed behind the wheel of his silver Mercedes and left the area. He seemed cool and unaffected by the meeting, but when she scanned back to the top step, she found Hadley still staring after Vance, looking openly tense now. His anger was no longer disguised, either.

She reminded herself the meeting could mean nothing but found herself worried anyway. Max Vance had seemed so very deliberate in the way he’d approached Hadley. Was this encounter linked to Captain Taylor’s displeasure at the drop yesterday? Taylor had demanded the swarthy man’s boss get in touch with his. Officially, General Hadley was Taylor’s boss. Could he be Taylor’s boss in this illegal business, as well? Could Maxwell Vance be the man her Hispanic bag carrier answered to? Had Vance come there in answer to the general’s demand? If so, he’d told the general something he didn’t like hearing.

Her heart suddenly heavy, Tricia felt as if her own hero was teetering on the brink, ready to fall off his pedestal instead of Travis’s. She wanted to reject the notion out of hand but couldn’t because it could endanger the lives of his sons, daughter and wife. She pursed her lips. Whatever the truth was, she had to find it. She sighed. This was just one more reason to find all the Diablo connections on the base and help rid the community of a growing menace.

She lowered the camera and checked her watch. Time to report in with General Fielding. It wasn’t a meeting she looked forward to, but she couldn’t keep a three-star general waiting. Not even with information guaranteed to make him hit the roof over the culpability of Air Force personnel and all the civilian interference she’d run into thus far.

Tricia went back to her office and did a quick and dirty search of Maxwell Vance’s military records. It netted her lots of questions and absolutely no answers. Vance had spent decades in the Army yet he’d retired a lowly sergeant. His family lived too well for his pay grade and they’d never lived at a duty station with him. Max Vance didn’t add up at all.

Two hours later, whether she was ready or not, she walked in and saluted Lieutenant General Charles Fielding standing at attention in front of his desk.

The general kept his nicely appointed office free of all clutter so that the highly polished mahogany desk and bookshelves gleamed in the sunshine that poured in through the windows behind him. Photographs of his late wife and grown son were dotted throughout the room between an odd assortment of mementos. The room somehow managed to look homey and businesslike at once.

“At ease, and be seated, Major,” he said. “And tell me something I want to hear.”

General Fielding was a tall man in his very early sixties who’d given up on hair when it had given up on him. He simply shaved it all off the same way he shaved his youthful face. His most memorable feature was blue eyes that had all the cutting power of a laser when he aimed them at a junior officer. She felt that heat now as she settled into the leather chair in front of his desk.

Tricia swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir. The autopsy report on Ian…uh…Major Kelly showed exactly what the prelim did. He was forced to his knees and shot in the back of the head at point-blank range. His body was moved off base, I would imagine in the hope of throwing suspicion out into the community. The medical examiner turned up no other useful evidence. But Luminol and DNA tests show Major Kelly was killed on the flight line, in hangar four. Sir, there’s a killer somewhere on base with blood not only on his hands but on his uniform, as well.”

“Unless he or she managed to dispose of it when they got rid of the body. It’s Hadley or one of his pilots, right?”

“I’d say so, sir.”

“The Air Force went to a lot of trouble to move Hadley and his wing here where they could be watched. We aren’t in the habit of temporarily shutting down bases, even one as small as Cascade.”

“That story about a geological survey showing a major fault line running under Cascade was brilliant, sir.”

Rather than smile at the comment, the general frowned. “Yes it was, Major. And this idea apparently cost Major Kelly his life. Are you closer to proving who killed him?”

Tricia hesitated. She knew General Fielding felt terribly responsible for Ian’s death, though he’d never say so. “Not yet, sir. But on that front, I tailed Captain Taylor from the Meadow Lake Airport where the Buccaneers keep their F-100 Super Sabre. Taylor went straight to the general after reporting in at the flight line. He left twenty minutes later, however. The general’s secretary wasn’t on duty during that time so he may not be involved. General Hadley’s office door and his desk line up with the outer office door and the approaching hall. The general left both doors open so I’d have been seen if I’d tried to get close enough to hear what was being said. Money was the subject, though. I heard Captain Taylor say something about it. Even though I don’t know the context, it ties in with something I heard later.”

She caught the glitter in General Fielding’s eyes before she continued. “Taylor left the general and went immediately to the warehouses close to the Colorado Springs airport. There he met with a swarthy man and exchanged the duffel bag for a briefcase. I got a few black-and-white shots of the meeting and the exchange. They appeared to argue, but I couldn’t hear all of what was said. I was able to hear Taylor demand more money then tell the subject to give a message to his boss to contact—” She hesitated. “I’d have to say he meant General Hadley, sir, but he didn’t use his name. Right after that I ran into trouble.”

General Fielding shot her his infamous scowl. “What happened?”

“Do you recall the police detective who originally had Major Kelly’s murder case?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. Charles Fielding truly had a mind like a steel trap. “Vance. He seemed annoyed but he was cooperative.”

“Yes. That would be Sam. His older brother—Travis Vance—is the trouble I ran into. He’s an ex-cop turned corporate counterespionage, counterterrorism expert. He caused me to miss the chance to follow the new subject and the bag. Nor did I get a positive ID on the subject because of him.”

Hoping the general wouldn’t want to go into what happened further, she flipped open her notebook and went over the chronology again. “I can tell you Captain Taylor landed at Meadow Lake at 1730, checked in at the flight line at 1800, met with General Hadley at 1845. He then went to the meeting behind the warehouse at approximately 1900 and immediately passed on the bag that he’d kept with him since he landed. That was when I heard money spoken of again.”

The scowl on the general’s face grew more pronounced when he slapped his desk. “It has to be drugs. I want these men, Major. Your promotion is riding on how fast I get them. Tell me how this Travis Vance stopped you from following up on the subject and where that bag was headed.”

Tricia felt her face heat and made sure her response didn’t sound too familiar. “Vance is not a small man, sir. And I gathered we were spotted when I ran into him.”

“Ran into? Literally?”

She fought the urge to grimace. “Yes, sir. That’s why he had to create a diversion, so we wouldn’t be recognized, but that meant I couldn’t follow the subject.”

“And what exactly did Vance do to create this diversion?”

Tricia gritted her teeth. She’d kill Travis for this. “He kissed me, sir. It…ah…managed to hide our identities nicely. Actually, it worked out quite well because I was able to hear the unidentified subject’s voice. From that little snippet of conversation, I’m pretty sure I was able to determine his ethnic background and social placement.”

“And that is?”

“Hispanic, and I would say at best, lower middle class.”

“And what did he say to help you determine all that in—what did you call it—a snippet?”

Tricia squirmed a bit in her seat. “He called Mr. Vance ‘amigo’ and he spoke in accented English. And—” She hesitated but the general motioned with his hand for her to continue. “He told Travis to get a room, sir. Hardly the comment of a gentleman.”

General Fielding coughed. “I see,” he said at last. It looked to her as if he was actually fighting a grin, but she wouldn’t have sworn to it. Charles Fielding was a real hard-liner so a grin during an interview would be a first, she was sure. What she was also sure of was that the three-star general on the other side of the desk didn’t see half of the effect that kiss had had on her and she sincerely thanked God he didn’t.

It was Tricia’s turn to clear her throat before she went on with her explanation. “As soon as both subjects were out of our hearing, I demanded to know what Travis was doing stumbling around in the middle of my investigation. He made reference to legwork for his brother and a friend. Later, I remembered who that friend probably is. Dr. Adam Montgomery is a member of my church. He was working in Venezuela at a clinic when he interrupted a robbery and was shot. He was flown back here for treatment.”

“I remember that story in the news this summer. It was another doctor who shot him. And he made a second attempt here in Colorado Springs. Right?”

She nodded. “A Dr. Valenti turned out to be the perp. And it was more than one more attempt here. But he was killed in the jail by—” she checked her notes”—an inmate named Jorge Jaramillo. Detective Vance saw the note the crime scene investigators found in Major Kelly’s pocket as the break he needed in his investigation of the Diablo problem here in the city.”

“So he involved his brother rather than make official waves?” the general asked.

“It could be that this is Travis Vance’s idea. Adam Montgomery has been a close friend since childhood. Sir, I don’t see us dissuading him. He’s as stubborn as the day is long. And there’s something else.”

The general frowned. “Something else? Major, you aren’t making me a happy man.”

Sighing, Tricia said, “I know that, sir. And I apologize for disappointing you. A little while ago I was tailing General Hadley. He met with Maxwell Vance at the academy.”

“Another brother?”

She shook her head. “Their father. It could have been innocent but…well, sir, I’m concerned. The general seemed agitated. Mr. Vance was cool and calm.”

“What is your take on General Hadley?”

“I don’t think he’s a stupid man,” she said, not wanting to condemn a senior officer without proof. “And he seems to meet excessively with the Buccaneers…that is with most of the seven pilots who co-own the F-100.”

“It was a lucky break Captain Johnston was more loyal to the Air Force than the other Buccaneers and decided to approach Major Kelly. I shudder to think how long this might have gone on with no one the wiser.”

“Ian—Major Kelly—logged several flights for each of the Buccaneers in the past four months since they transferred here. And Captain Taylor took the duffel bag with him off the flight line to the general’s office, though he did leave it locked in his vehicle during their meeting.”

“Are you convinced of Hadley’s guilt, too? Don’t pull punches. You’re my eyes and ears out there, Major. I want your opinion.”

“He’s up to his bull neck, sir.”

“Then you get out there and nail him. I want an airtight case. If he killed Ian Kelly, I want a front seat at his execution. What about Maxwell Vance? Is he Hadley’s contact with Diablo?”

Once again her training helped Tricia keep from wincing at the thought, but her conscience forced her to add a qualifier. “I couldn’t say, sir. He is, however, a respected member of the community as well as my church.”

“I seem to remember hearing about a certain nationally known preacher who had his hand in the till not that long ago, so I don’t think church attendance proves anything.”

“But my church is—”

“Not my concern,” General Fielding growled. “Leave your faith in God and in your fellow man at that front gate, Major. You have a job to do and I expect you to do it sans religious blinders. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, acknowledging the order, but at the same time planning ways to share her faith with a man she’d seen as a father figure from their first meeting. He really didn’t understand what faith in God could mean.

“Now, what about his sons?” the general said. “If their old man is up to no good, are they? Or would they try to cover for Maxwell Vance if they learned he was?”

Tricia stiffened. “Absolutely not, sir,” she said, a little outrage showing on behalf of both brothers.

That arching eyebrow climbed his forehead a notch. “You seem very sure of that. Members of your church again?”

“Detective Vance is, yes. He’s a soloist with our praise choir. But he’s trying to find out more about Diablo himself. And as far as I know, Travis Vance hasn’t darkened the door of a church in ten years. But I do know these two men. They’d never break the law.”

“I think you’re letting personal issues cloud your judgment. I do, however, see your point about Travis Vance causing problems if he’s out there on his own and in the dark about what it is you’re up to. And I don’t want anyone destroying evidence, so here’s what I want you to do….”

Chapter Three

Travis pivoted left, keeping one foot firmly planted then faked back, trying to get away from his attacker. It was a successful move, but his opponent was a cagey, free-thinker from way back. In a blink, he was there blocking Travis’s path. His standard five-second window of opportunity was nearly up, so he faked left, then whirled right. He took his shot and buried the opposition.

“Score, little brother. Twenty–sixteen. Age and experience win out once again.”

Sam was bent at the waist, sweat soaking his shirt in spite of the cool October temperature. “I’m just out of practice,” he huffed. “Too much rich food, I guess.”

“I’ll remember to thank Jessica,” Travis said, grinning as he snatched up two old towels they’d left on a bench near the driveway.

“I’ll get you next time, big brother.” Sam stood straight and winced as he caught the towel Travis tossed toward him. “Or the time after that. How come you just get harder to beat? You’re older. You’re supposed to fall apart and this is finally supposed to get easier.”

Travis grinned. “In your dreams, bro. So, are you going to pretend you didn’t know Patricia Streeter was the Air Force investigator who took over your murder case?”

“Why should I?” Sam asked, apparently a bit amazed by the question. “You’ve been telling Mom for months Tricia was ancient history. Is there a reason I should have mentioned it?”

For a long moment Travis could only stare at Sam. Caught, he could neither press his brother for his reason for keeping silent nor could he protest the fact that he had. Not without revealing the embarrassing truth that he’d been carrying a secret torch for his ex-girlfriend for years—right through his marriage to Allison.

He shrugged, reaching for nonchalance. “No. I just thought you might have thought to mention it in passing. She hasn’t changed much. Still drives like they gave keys to a lunatic let loose from an asylum.”

Sam gave Travis a sidelong look. “That’s funny. I thought she’d changed a lot. I remembered you bringing home a skinny, long-haired, tomboy who played the guitar.”

Travis scowled. “And your point is? Now she’s a skinny short-haired tomboy who plays with guns. Not much of an improvement, if you ask me.”

“When I had to hand over the case, the chief promised me she’s a top-notch investigator. I somehow doubt she was playing when she got that sharpshooter’s medal she wears on her dress uniform.”

“But then I didn’t see her in uniform. Or maybe I did. She had on a black turtleneck and Air Force-blue slacks.”

“She’s a conservative dresser. She usually attends church in her uniform. She sometimes wears a golf shirt and blue slacks when she volunteers at Galilee Women’s Shelter. But Jessi says Tricia stepped back from her volunteer works since taking over the case. I gather Ian Kelly was a special friend of hers.”

Travis hated the shaft of jealousy that shot through him. How could he be jealous of a dead man or his relationship with an old girlfriend? He pushed the thought away because it didn’t bear thinking about.

“Yeah, well, I’m out of here. There’s a shower waiting at home with my name on it. Let’s go, Cody,” he shouted, and gave a sharp whistle. Bounding out of the backyard came his best friend and almost constant companion. Three-year-old Amy followed, looking a bit forlorn.

Amy was Sam’s stepdaughter. Travis and Sam’s wife, Jessica, had a lot in common. They’d both lost spouses in accidents, but she’d been luckier. Her daughter had lived. His hand went instinctively to the small gold initial ring he wore on a thick sturdy chain. The ring that lay at the base of his throat had been his third birthday gift to Natalie. He rarely took it off.

It had been hard for Travis to even look at Amy Mathers at first, though the little blonde and his dark-haired daughter, Natalie, looked nothing alike. It was the shy but bright look in her eyes that sharpened his loss into such painful clarity whenever he came in contact with her. Yet like a moth to flame, he was drawn to her just the same.

Amy ran up to him and he found himself instinctively squatting down to her level. “Cody left his ball,” she announced.

Sure enough when Travis looked down, clutched in Amy’s hand was Cody’s slimy, muddy ball. Her dress was no better than the ball from a messy game of doggy catch. “Uh-oh, Mommy’s going to have my head for this one,” Travis said.

Sam scooped Amy up and the little blonde hugged him around the neck. “You can get dirty all you want. Right, Amy?” he said, his tone so full of love it made Travis’s throat ache.

Nodding vigorously Amy added, “Cody can stay?”

Sam shook his head. “He has to go now, but he’ll be back.”

Amy turned toward Travis, her bottom lip trembling. “Cody can’t stay?”

Travis groaned. “Aw, Sam. Get the kid a dog, will you? Every time Cody and I come over I feel guilty leaving with him.”

“You want a doggy?” Sam asked the apple of his eye.

Amy’s big blue eyes went round as saucers. Her blond ponytail bobbled as she somehow managed to hop up and down while still in Sam’s arms. “Can I, Daddy? Can I?”

Sam shot Travis a helpless look.

Travis held up his hand. “Don’t even try to put this one on me. You asked the kid. And let’s face it. If she called you Daddy in the same sentence with ‘Can I have the moon?’ you’d start calling NASA to see if there was a way to get it for her. I’ll catch you later, bro. Have fun explaining a puppy to your busy wife,” he said, and turned, snapping his fingers for Cody to follow.

“So, Cody, my boy, I’d say it looks as if you’re going to have another playmate soon.” He, of course, said this loud enough for his dumbfounded brother to hear. Sam was fast learning that fatherhood took practice, and with a three-year-old suddenly bursting into his life, he was going to have to speed up his learning curve…fast.

“Go home,” Sam yelled.

Travis turned and saluted his brother with a chuckle, then took off at a jog, dribbling his lucky boyhood basketball down Goldmine Lane. Cody ran ahead then doubled back to run alongside him until some woodland creature got his canine interest and he took off at an energetic run.

Tricia climbed out of her car, tugged her uniform jacket into place and squared her hat. There, she thought, armor in place, she was ready to beard the lion in his den.

Travis must be at home or Sam wouldn’t have given her the code when she called and asked for help getting past the gate at the entrance to the gated community. Besides, sitting in the drive were Travis’s two questionable vehicles—both she was sure he considered vintage. One of them brought back too many memories so she forced her gaze away to knock on the door to his pueblo-style house. No one answered, however. It looked as if all that mustering of courage would go to waste.

Not one to waste anything, even energy—nervous or otherwise—she looked around. She was curious about how Travis lived these days, this man whose life she’d once thought was too far removed from the one she’d known. So Tricia stepped back to analyze what she saw, rather than just leave.

She looked back to the driveway, her eyes drawn to the dark green 1969 Firebird, and the memories rolled over her. Glorious ones. The night he almost single-handedly took the college’s basketball team to the state championships. The day she’d aced the first final in her major. Then devastating ones. The morning on the way to school when they learned two friends had been killed in a car accident. And most especially the night he proposed, when she’d tried to put him off, ending their relationship almost by default.

Tricia shook her head. The past was past. There was no shame in having made mistakes as long as you made up for them—or at least tried. She’d hurt Travis by turning him down so clumsily. He’d hurt her by turning to Allison. Now she was going to make sure he and his family were protected from his father’s folly even if not exactly on her terms. Thinking of the general’s terms, she turned her mind back to his house. She needed to size up her opponent.

Travis’s deep terra-cotta-colored house looked a bit forlorn. There was a rock garden that artfully tumbled away from the walk to the lawn but both lawn and garden were sadly neglected. There were the craftily placed pots scattered on the steps and in the entranceway but those were as empty as the house.

The hollow slapping sound of a bouncing ball and the deep woof of a large dog drew her attention. Tricia turned and looked down the hill in the direction of the noise. It was Travis jogging along the street while he dribbled a basketball. Her heart ached at the sight as she walked back down the drive to meet him. How many times had she seen him like this in her memory…in her dreams?

Reality was different, though, because a huge German shepherd galloped happily along at his side. Travis laughed at the dog’s antics but a frown took over his expression the second his gaze fell upon her. He stopped in his tracks at the foot of the drive, the ball falling to the ground and rolling behind him into the street.

The dog immediately trotted to her side and sat, smiling up at her, encouraging affection with his big brown eyes and a raised paw. “I wondered if we could talk,” Tricia said to Travis as she automatically stooped to shake the dog’s proffered paw. Rather than focus on Travis’s thunderous expression, Tricia gave the dog a chance to sniff her hand before petting his soft fur. He very nearly purred.

The dog—not Travis.

Travis was the one who growled, “This is a gated community. How’d you get in?”

“Actually, I called your brother and he gave me the code to the gate.”

“I’ll have to remember to thank him. I can’t imagine that he thought we’d have anything to talk about.”

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance as she straightened, her hand resting on the big dog’s head. She didn’t want Travis to think she wanted this partnership General Fielding had outlined. Though she did indeed want it because it would mean she’d know he was safe. And if she refused to examine that particular reason, using instead the excuse that she liked his mother and worried that his father had put Lidia Vance in danger, then so be it. She could stay up nights worrying and thinking about only so many problems at once.

“I thought you were interested in Diablo. The increase in Colorado Springs’s drug problems. La Mano Oscuro,” she challenged him.