Redeeming Travis. Kate Welsh

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ