“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 in 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.