Hidden Desires (12 page)

“Hi, Wilma.” She couldn’t find any words to follow.

“Honey, you need to come home. It’s your momma. The police are here.” An ache quickly formed at her temples, her jaw clenched tight and the muscles at the base of her neck began to stiffen. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to deal with it. Just the fact that the police were involved meant this was bigger than a few tire tracks through a neighbor’s lawn.

Anger boiled in her chest. Hattie always had a way of ruining every precious moment in her life, and once again, her mother was about to ruin the start of a beautiful day.

“Rachel,” Wilma continued, “I’m sorry, but your momma’s gone.” Her anger gave way to confusion. She tightened her grip on the phone. “What do you mean Hattie’s gone?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. The police think she died in her sleep.” Her eyes moved to Travis, who had risen and was buttoning up his shirt. As usual, he’d read the shock in her eyes and was already moving to gather his shoes.

Her thoughts turned back to Wilma. “I’ll be right there,” she said, clicking off the phone.

Travis slipped on his shoes and stepped to her, placing his warm, firm hands on her shoulders.

Concern filled his face. “Are you okay?”

She stood, numb of all sensation. The headache had disappeared, the muscles in her neck had returned to their previous state of relaxation, and despite the shocking news she’d just received, she honestly had no answer. Was she okay? She had no idea.

“I think so.”

He gave her shoulders a squeeze before he turned for his jacket. “Get dressed. I’ll take you over.” She opened her mouth to object. Rachel had never allowed anyone into her childhood home. Not even her closest friends. It was a place she kept separate from the rest of her life, and in an automatic response, she began to tell Travis she would go alone.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, her mind reflected on the night they’d shared, his tenderness and concern that told her Travis wasn’t like anyone else. She’d already let him into her bed, allowed him access to the deepest parts of her body and her heart. If Travis was the man for her, she would need to learn to share herself with him completely, the dark side as well as the good.

She stood, unable to move. Half of her needed to share this with him, but the old forces were still screaming at her to keep him away.

“My mother’s dead,” were the only words she could speak.

Travis tucked his arms in his jacket and crossed the room, standing over her, his face coiled with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry.” His hand cupped her cheek, filling her with warmth. “Tell me what I can do.” Perfect words. Travis always had the perfect words. He knew her. He knew the last thing she wanted was a firm embrace and words of consolation. She didn’t need to be consoled. People in sorrow need words of sympathy, and though dozens of emotions were spinning through her chest, sorrow was not one of them.

In fact, sorrow was the farthest emotion from her sights at the moment, and the thought sent an icy chill through her spine.

She took a step back, releasing his touch. “I’m not sad,” she whispered. She didn’t mean to say the words out loud. It must be horrifying for him to see the depth of her ability to be cold and uncaring, and she cringed as she waited for his reply.

His words were spoken carefully. “I wouldn’t expect you to be.” Her breath held tight in her lungs. “No?”

He stepped toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “Rachel, she was never a mother to you. Did she ever once try to straighten herself out for the sake of you and Carrie?”

“No,” she whispered, as tears stung her eyes.

His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t feel guilty because you can’t mourn her death. She doesn’t deserve your sadness or your guilt.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, sinking her face into the well of his hard chest. For the first time in her life, it truly sank in just how deeply she needed someone like Travis Gage in her life. Though she didn’t understand how, in some way, Travis seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.

“Let’s go take care of this,” he said, brushing his hand over her hair.

She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay here, in his arms, where the world was a safe place to live in. When she made no motion to move, he feathered his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s close this chapter of your life.” His words choked her throat and filled her heart with a sense of love. She pulled her face from his chest, noticing the damp spots where his shirt had soaked up her tears.

“She’s at home. Wilma said the police are there.”

He let out a heavy sigh and turned to grab his wallet. “She died at home.”

“Apparently.”

She didn’t understand his sudden look of concern, but if any doubts remained that Travis shouldn’t go with her, they drained away when he made the statement.

“Does that make a difference?”

He pulled her sweater from the chair and placed it on her shoulders. “It could. We’ll need to find out what happened.”

He grabbed his wallet and led her out the door.

Three patrol cars and an ambulance surrounded Rachel’s childhood home. Two others were unmarked, and one simply had a county coroner emblem on the side. Her hands began to tremble as they neared the house. She hadn’t asked Wilma any questions, and had no idea what she would find.

Wilma had said Hattie died in her sleep, but Rachel wasn’t sure. Of all the men who traipsed through the house, Rachel remembered that some could be violent when drunk, and she suddenly wondered if Wilma had told her everything.

As if he heard her thoughts, Travis broke the silence. “This is standard. Don’t be alarmed.” She clasped his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, and he responded by raising it to his mouth and pressing his lips to her skin.

“It will be okay, Rachel. I’m here with you.”

Travis pulled up to the curb and turned off the ignition. “Don’t worry,” he said once more, and though they were just two simple words, they filled her heart and relaxed her nerves. If anyone else had said them, they would have been an empty attempt at reassurance. With Travis, they worked.

They stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. A patrol officer crossed the street to greet them, his hand held up in a gesture that they shouldn’t come near.

Travis held up his badge. “I’m Detective Gage, Chicago PD. This is Rachel Foster, the victim’s daughter.”

The officer relaxed his stance. He introduced himself as Tom Porter, then turned to Rachel and said,

“My condolences, Miss.”

Rachel could only nod.

“The coroner is with her now,” Porter proceeded. “She appears to have passed of natural causes, but the autopsy will say for sure.” He looked to Rachel. “Miss Foster, when was the last time you saw your mother?”

Rachel glanced at Travis, who nodded in gesture that she should answer the question. “Last week. I come by every month to collect the mail and pay her bills. She hasn’t been well.” Porter jotted notes on a pad. “Did your mother suffer from some sort of illness?”

“She’s…she was an alcoholic.”

That familiar look of pity crossed the officer’s features. Rachel stiffened her chin. She would have rather been accused of murdering her mother than look at the shame cloaking the man’s face.

“Do you remember what day last week you saw her?”

Her lips went tight. “Tuesday.”

“And what condition was she in when you saw her?”

“I didn’t. I simply came in the house, gathered the bills and left.”

“So you didn’t actually see your mother Tuesday?”

Her head began to ache as the muscles in her neck went taut. She didn’t want to have to explain the situation any further. She wanted them to take her mother and leave.

Travis’s hand came down on her shoulder, rubbing lightly to relieve the tension. Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, she simply blurted out the truth.

“My mother called to me from her bed upstairs. She still thinks I’m my dead sister. I heard her call my sister’s name. No, I didn’t go upstairs, as I didn’t want to get into it. I simply gathered the mail and left.”

The officer’s jaw tightened and his brow lowered. Rachel would have given anything to slap that lamented look off his face, but Travis’s hold on her shoulder kept her from acting on it.

“How long were you in the house?”

“About ten minutes. It usually takes a while to find all the bills.” Paramedics emerged from the front door with a gurney containing her mother’s body, and Porter’s attention was drawn back to the scene. “Mrs. Sanders has already identified the body. Would you like to see her before we transport her to the medical examiner?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The man paused, apparently wondering if she was going to change her mind. She could see from his expression that he was trying to be sympathetic, but anyone coming from a normal family didn’t quite get it.

“As her next of kin, we’ll need to know how to contact you.” Rachel pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to the officer.

“If there’s nothing else,” Travis said, “I think Ms. Foster would like to lock up the house and go home.”

“I’m afraid the crime unit is still investigating.” The officer attempted a reassuring smile toward Rachel. “It’s standard when a victim is found at home. If you could wait here, I’ll see how long they’re going to be. The detective in charge may have more questions.” It was nearly four hours later before Travis and Rachel returned to her apartment. She stepped into the living room and tossed her purse on the couch, relieved that the ordeal at her mother’s house was over.

Travis closed the door behind her and pulled her back against his chest, digging his solid fingers into her shoulders, massaging away the tension. Her knees nearly buckled from pleasure and in an effort to remain standing, she leaned against him.

“How are you?” he asked.

She had to think for a moment. The firm sensation in her shoulders had wiped away her thoughts.

“Tired and relieved,” were the words she finally chose.

“You put up a good front.” His words came out in a warm breath against her ear. “Are you really okay?”

She allowed her head to fall to her chest when Travis’s fingers moved to the back of her neck. She really didn’t want to talk. She wanted to just stand here in the orgasmic feel of his hands soothing her muscles.

“You make me okay. I really appreciate you staying with me. You didn’t need to do that.” His hands stopped and she nearly cried. She knew she should have kept her words terse to avoid this very situation. He turned her around to face him.

“Rachel, I care about you. What happens to you happens to me from now on, right?” A soft smile curved on her face. “If I say right, will you go back to rubbing my shoulders again?” He smiled and kissed her forehead, tugged at her hand and led her to the bedroom.

“Lie down so I can get a better stab at those knots in your shoulders.”

“Would it help if I were naked?”

“Not if you want a back rub.”

She laughed for the first time today. How a man could make her laugh the day her mother died, she’d never know. She pulled off her shirt, only slightly ignoring his warning, and plopped face down on the bed.

Ecstasy filled every cell in her body when Travis sat next to her and began massaging his strength into her shoulders, easing the stress and draining the thoughts of the day from her mind. His hands worked like a sedative, calming her nerves, soothing away the tension that had ripped through her temples the moment Wilma called.

Fearing she’d fall asleep, she began to talk. “You don’t know how many times I walked into that house wondering if I’d find her dead.” She took deep breaths as Travis continued to work on her muscles.

“I’ve played the scenario over and over in my head so many times, anticipating this day. It actually turned out better than I thought.”

Travis didn’t speak, allowing her the time to collect her thoughts and sort out her feelings without interruption.

“I’m sorry Wilma had to find her, but if I were to be totally selfish here, I’d have to admit, I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

“You deserve to be selfish. You’ve earned it.”

Another flush of warmth swelled her heart, solidifying her notion that she could say anything to this man. “I’m glad she’s gone, Travis. I know that sounds horrible, but I’m so relieved she’s gone.” His hands paused and for an instant she thought she’d crossed the line, but he sighed and resumed, telling her it wasn’t her words but his sorrow behind the pause.

“Were there ever good times for you and Carrie?”

“Before my dad died. I was four and Carrie was almost six. It’s so far in the past, I barely remember those days.”

“What was your father like?”

“He held everything together. He was a doctor. Mom had always been a drinker, but she’d maintained control back then. It wasn’t until after he died that her drinking accelerated.” She stopped for a moment, thinking about those days as Travis continued working magic on her back, neck and shoulders.

“She fell apart when he died. Dad did everything for her. After he was gone, she started drinking more, going out to bars, looking for a replacement, I guess. The sad thing is, she might have remarried if she hadn’t been such a lush. All she had to do was hold it together for a few years, maybe meet a nice man, but she never had the strength.”

“You’re nothing like her, Rachel. You’re a strong woman. You know that, don’t you?” She turned from Travis’s grasp and flipped over onto her back, wanting to sink into the eyes of this man who somehow knew exactly the right things to say at every turn.

“I know. People used to say that I took after my father and Carrie took after our mother. Do you think that’s why Carrie killed herself? Do you think it was just part of their DNA that caused them to be weak?” He reached out and touched her cheek, filling her with a sense of calm that years of paid therapy could never achieve. His fingers laced through her hair, and she turned and pressed her lips to the palm of his hand, holding them there for an extra beat as she breathed in the spicy scent of his skin.