Blue-Eyed Devil (9 page)

He went to the other side, got in and started the car. The Cadillac purred smoothly as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I heard the sound of a cell phone being flipped open, and a number being dialed. “Gage,” Oliver said after a moment. “Yeah, I got her. Headed to
DFW
right now. Have to tell you, though . . . he knocked her around pretty good. She’s a little out of it.” A long pause, and Oliver answered quietly. “I know, man.” More talking on the other end. “Yeah, I think she’s okay to travel, but when she gets there . . . Uh-huh, I think so, definitely. I’ll let you know when she takes off. No problem

There was no softer ride than a Cadillac — the closest thing to a mattress on wheels — but every delicate bounce sent fresh aches through my body. I tried to grit my teeth against the pain, only to gasp at the burst of fire in my jaw.

I heard Oliver’s voice between the loud throbs of the pulse in my ears. “Feel like you’re going to get sick, Miss Travis?”

I made a small negative sound. No way was I going to do that — it would hurt too much.

A small plastic trash receptacle was settled carefully in my lap. “Just in case.”

I was silent, my eyes closed, as Oliver maneuvered carefully through the traffic. Lights from passing cars sent a dull red glow through my lids. I was vaguely worried by the difficulty I had in thinking coherently . . . I couldn’t seem to come up with any idea of what would happen next. Trying to grab hold of a coherent thought was like standing under a big cloud and trying to catch raindrops with a teaspoon. I felt like I would never be in control of anything again.

“You know,” I heard Oliver say, “my sister used to get beat up by her husband. Pretty often. For no reason. For any reason. I didn’t know about it at the time, or I would have killed the son of a bitch. She finally left him and brought her kids to my mama’s house, and stayed there till she got her life back together. Saw a shrink and everything. My sister told me the thing that helped her the most was to hear it wasn’t her fault. She needed to hear that a lot. So I want to be the first one to tell you . . . it wasn’t your fault.”

I didn’t move or speak. But I felt tears leak from beneath my closed eyelids.

“Not your fault,” Oliver repeated firmly, and drove me the rest of the way in silence.

I dozed a little and woke a few minutes later when the car had topped and Oliver was opening the door. The roar of a departing jet tore through the cushioned quiet of the Cadillac, and the smells of fuel and equipment and humid Texas air drifted over me. Blinking and sitting up slowly, I realized we were on the tarmac.

“Let me help you out,” Oliver said, reaching for me. I shrank from his outstretched hand and shook my head. Clasping an arm across the place on my ribs where Nick had kicked me, I struggled from the car by myself. When I got to my feet, my head swam and a gray mist covered my eyes. I swayed and Oliver caught my free arm to steady me.

“Miss Travis,” he said, continuing to grip my arm even as I tried to shake him off. “Miss Travis, please listen to me. All I want to do is help you get on that plane. You’ve got to let me help you. If you fall trying to get up those steps by yourself, you’d have to go to the hospital for sure. And I’d have to go there with you, ‘cause your brother would break both my legs.”

I nodded and accepted his hold, even as my instincts screamed to throw him off. The last thing I wanted was to be touched by another man, no matter how apparently trustworthy or friendly. On the other hand, I wanted to be on that plane. I wanted to get the hell out of Dallas, away from Nick.

“Okay, now,” Oliver murmured, helping me shuffle toward the plane. It was a Lear 31A, a light jet made to accommodate up to six passengers. With four-foot-high winglets and delta fins attached to the tail cone, it looked like a bird poised for flight. “Not far,” Oliver said, “and then you’ll get to sit again, and Gage will be there to pick you up at the other end.” As we ascended the stairs with torturous slowness, Oliver kept up a running monologue as if he were trying to distract me from the agony of my jaw and ribs. “This is a nice plane. It belongs to a software company headquartered in Dallas. I know the pilot real well. He’s good, he’ll get you there safe and sound.”

“Who owns the company?” I mumbled, wondering if it was someone I’d met before.

“Me.” Oliver smiled and helped me to one of the front seats with great care, and buckled me in. He went to a minibar, wrapped a few pieces of ice in a cloth, and gave it to me. “For your face. Rest now. I’m gonna talk to the pilot for a minute and then you’ll be on your way.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, holding the shifting icy weight of the bag against my jaw. I settled deeper into the seat, gingerly molding the ice bag to the swollen side of my face.

The flight was miserable but mercifully short, landing in southeast Houston at HobbyAirport. I was slow to react when the plane stopped on the tarmac, my fingers fumbling over and over with the seat belt fastener. After the Jetway stairs were brought to the plane, the copilot emerged from the cockpit and opened the entrance door. In a matter of seconds, my brother was on the plane.

Gage’s eyes were an unusual pale gray, not like fog or ice, but lightning. His black lashes and brows stood out strongly on his worry-bleached face. He froze for a millisecond as he saw me, then swallowed hard and came forward.

“Haven,” he said, sounding hoarse. He lowered to his knees and braced his hands on either chair arm, his gaze raking over me. I managed to free myself from the seat belt, and I leaned forward into his familiar smell. His arms closed around me tentatively, unlike his usual firm grip, and I realized he was trying to keep from hurting me. I felt the trembling beneath his stillness.

Overwhelmed with relief I laid my good cheek on his shoulder.

“Gage,” I whispered. “Love you more than anybody.”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Love you too, baby girl.”

“Don’ take me to River Oaks.”

He understood at once. “No, darlin’. You’re coming home with me. I haven’t told Dad you’re here.”

He helped me out to his car, a sleek silver Maybach. “Don’t go to sleep,” he said sharply as I closed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

“I’m tired.”

“There’s a lump on the back of your head. You probably have a concussion, which means you shouldn’t sleep.”

“I slept on the plane,” I said. “I’m fine, see? Jus’ let me — ”

“You’re not fine,” Gage said with a savagery that made me flinch. “You’re — ” He broke off and modulated his tone at once as he saw the effect it had on me. “Hell, I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid. I won’t yell. It’s just . . . not easy . . . to stay calm when I see what he’s done to you.” He took a long, uneven breath. “Stay awake until we get to the hospital. It’ll only be a few minutes.”

“No hospital,” I said, pulling out of my torpor. “They’ll want to know how it happened.” The police would be told, and they might file assault charges against Nick, and I wasn’t nearly ready to deal with all of that.

“I’ll handle it,” Gage said.

He would too. He had the power and money to circumvent all the usual processes. Palms would be greased, favors would be exchanged. People would look the other way at precisely the right moment. In Houston the Travis name was a key to open all doors — or close them, if that was preferable.

“I want to go somewhere and rest.” I tried to sound resolute. But my voice came out blurred and plaintive, and my head throbbed too much for me to keep up an argument.

“Your jaw might be broken,” Gage said quietly. “And hell knows what he did to the rest of you.” He let out an explosive sigh. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I shook my head. Sometimes a simple question could have a complicated answer. I wasn’t really sure how or why it had happened, what it was about Nick or me or both of us together that had resulted in such damage. I wondered if he realized I was gone yet, if he’d gone out to the front doorstep and found it empty. Or if he was sleeping comfortably in our bed.

Gage was silent during the rest of the drive to the HoustonMedicalCenter, the biggest medical district in the world. It consisted of many different hospitals, academic and research institutions. I had no doubt my family had donated new wings or equipment to at least a couple of them.

“Was this the first time?” Gage asked as we pulled up to the emergency room parking lot.

“No.”

He muttered a few choice words. “If I’d ever thought the bastard would raise a hand to you, I’d never have let you go with him.”

“You couldn’ have stopped me,” I said thickly. “I was determined. Stupid.”

“Don’t say that.” Gage looked at me, his eyes filled with anguished fury. “You weren’t stupid. You took a chance on someone, and he turned out to be . . . Shit, there’s no word for it. A monster.”

His tone was grim. “A walking dead man. Because when I get to him — ”

“Please.” I’d had enough of angry voices and violence for one night. “I don’t know if Nick realized how much he hurt me.”

“One small bruise is enough to warrant me killing him.” He got me out of the car, picking me up and carrying me as if I were a child.

“I can walk,” I protested.

“You’re not walking through the parking lot in your socks. Damn it, Haven, give it a rest.” He carried me to the emergency room waiting area, which was occupied by at least a dozen people, and set me gently beside the reception desk.

“Gage Travis,” my brother said, handing a card to the woman behind the glass partition. “I need someone to see my sister right away.”

I saw her eyes widen briefly, and she nodded to the door on the left of the reception desk. “I’ll meet you at the door, Mr. Travis. Come right in.”

“No,” I whispered to my brother. “I don’ want to cut in from of everyone. I want to wait with the other people.”

“You don’t have a choice.” The door opened, and I found myself being pushed and pulled into the pale beige hallway. A wave of anger rushed over me at the manhandling from my brother. I didn’t give a shit how well intentioned it was.

“It’s not fair,” I said fiercely, while a nurse approached. “I won’t do it. I’m no more important than anyone else here — ”

“You are to me.”

I was outraged on behalf of the people in the waiting room, all taking their turn while I was whisked right on through. And I was mortified at playing the role of privileged heiress. “There were a couple of children out there,” I said, pushing at Gage’s restraining arm. “They need to see a doctor as much as I do.”

“Haven,” Gage said in a low, inexorable tone, “everyone in that waiting room is in better shape than you. Shut up, settle down, and follow the nurse.”

With a strength fed on adrenaline, I jerked away from him and bumped against the wall. Pain, too much of it, too fast, came at me from various sources. My mouth watered, my eyes began to stream, and I felt a rising pressure of bile. “I’m going to throw up,” I whispered.

With miraculous speed, a kidney-shaped plastic bowl was produced as if by sleight of hand, and I bent over it, moaning. Since I hadn’t eaten dinner, there wasn’t much to disgorge. I vomited painfully, finishing with a few dry heaves.

“I think she’s got a concussion,” I heard Gage tell the nurse. “She has a lump on the head, and slurred speech. And now nausea.”

“We’ll take good care of her, Mr. Travis.” The nurse led me to a wheelchair. From that point on, there was nothing to do but surrender to the process. I was X-rayed, run through an
MRI
, checked for fractures and hematomas, then disinfected and bandaged and medicated. There were long periods of waiting between each procedure. It took most of the night.

As it turned out I had a middle rib fracture, but my jaw was only bruised, not broken. I had a slight concussion, but not enough to warrant a stay in the hospital. And I was dosed with enough Vicodin to make an elephant high.

I was too annoyed with Gage, and too exhausted, to say much of anything after I’d been checked out. I slept during the fifteen-minute ride to Gage’s condo at 1800 Main, a Travis-owned building made of glass and steel. It was a mixed-use structure with multimillion-dollar condos at the top and offices and retail space at the base. The distinctive glass segmented-pyramid surmounting the building had earned 1800 Main a semi-iconic status in the city.

I had been inside 1800 Main a couple of times to eat at one of the downstairs restaurants, but I had never actually seen Gage’s place.

He had always been intensely private.

We rode a swift elevator to the eighteenth floor. The condo door was open before we even made it to the end of the hallway. Liberty was standing there in a fuzzy peach-colored robe, her hair in a ponytail.

I wished she weren’t there, my gorgeous, perfect sister-in-law who’d made all the right choices, the woman everybody in my family adored. She was one of the last people I would want to see me like this. I felt humiliated and troll-like as I lurched down the hallway toward her.

Liberty drew us both into the condo, which was ultramodern and starkly furnished, and closed the door. I saw her stand on her toes to kiss Gage. She turned to me.

“Hope you don’ mind — ” I began, and fell silent as she put her arms around me. She was so soft, smelling like scented powder and toothpaste, and her neck was warm and tender. I tried to pull back, but she didn’t let go. It had been a long time since I’d been held this long by an adult woman, not since my mother. It was what I needed.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmured. I felt myself relaxing, understanding there was going to be no judgment from Liberty, nothing but kindness.

She took me to the guest bedroom and helped me change into a nightshirt, and tucked me in as if I were no older than Carrington.

The room was pristine, decorated in shades of pale aqua and gray. “Sleep as long as you want,” Liberty whispered, and closed the door.

I lay there dizzy and dazed. My cramped muscles released their tension, unraveling like braided cord. Somewhere in the condo a baby began to cry and was swiftly quieted. I heard Carrington’s voice, asking where her purple sneakers were. She must have been getting ready for school. A few clanks of dishes and pans . . . breakfast being prepared. They were comforting sounds. Family sounds.