Larger than Life (3 page)

It wasn’t difficult to discover what Saber’s travel plans were—not, at least, for a man experienced in unearthing information. In fact, by ten the next morning, Travis knew that Saber’s band members were on a commercial flight to Detroit, her manager on one to Los Angeles. He knew that Saunders was cutting short his participation in the tour with two performances left to go because of business appointments in L.A. And he knew that Saber would fly to Detroit in a small private jet.

It was a bit more difficult to get himself aboard that jet before she arrived, but he managed, conscious of his own wry amusement at what he was doing. He had realized during the night that his interest in Saber was no longer purely literary, but he was more than a little surprised to discover that his growing fascination was almost wholly due to her eyes. Or, more correct, what shone in her eyes. Beneath the silver-gray serenity of her gaze lay something else, something that had reminded Travis irresistibly of a wild thing crouched in waiting
behind iron bars. There were secrets imprisoned behind those cool, serene eyes, secrets and a powerful but elusive part of her that Travis suspected had been born during the year of her disappearance. He was positive that the published accounts of her life up until she’d begun singing were wholly fictional, but of that missing year not even a
fictional
report had been given. Saber the performer had ceased to exist; Saber the woman, he felt intuitively, had walked through some kind of metaphorical fire.

He meant to find out exactly what had happened. And he was bemused to discover that his professional interest in that question had become very personal indeed.

He shelved that thought for the time being as he slipped aboard the jet and hid himself in the tiny bathroom. His patient wait consumed three-quarters of an hour before he heard Saber’s low, cheerful voice speaking to someone else. He listened to the noises of the jet’s engines and of the door being closed. The jet taxied for a bit, paused,
then taxied again before increasing speed and lifting from the runway.

Travis waited until the aircraft had leveled off before he quit his hiding place. Out in the cabin, however, he experienced a considerable shock. It was empty. No Saber. No anybody else. If she wasn’t here … Frowning, he gazed toward the closed door leading to the cockpit.

When he opened the door and squeezed his way inside, he found Saber Duncan alone and at the controls.

She swung her head around to stare up at him, surprise widening the silvery eyes. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“I think it’s called stowing away.” Gingerly, he took the copilot’s seat, careful to touch nothing. “And I’d appreciate it if you kept both eyes on the road.”

Saber turned her attention forward again and, to his surprise, laughed quietly. “Well, I’ll say this for you: you don’t give up easily.”

Travis studied her for a long moment. Gone was the sequined, explosively powerful performer of
the night before. Gone was the soft-spoken and somewhat weary lady of the silk blouse and veiled eyes. This lady was casually dressed in jeans and a workshirt open over a cowl-neck sweater, her tiny feet encased in scuffed western boots. The only jewelry she wore was a broad, masculine watch on her left wrist, and her delicate golden face was bare of any makeup.

She looked amazingly small, incredibly young, and as frail as the hothouse flower he’d compared the earlier Saber to. Yet there was something about her, something he sensed more than saw.

“You’ll know me if we ever meet again,” she said dryly.

Travis blinked and forced his mind away from the speculation. “Sorry. It’s just that … you seem so different.”

She obviously had no trouble following his vague comment. “From the stage performance, you mean? That’s because I am different. Every performer has two sides, one for the stage and one for the personal life. We can’t be ‘on’ all the time, you know.”

He frowned a little, listening to the soft, educated voice, the crisp, clean tone. “I know that. But you aren’t … ‘off’ now. You’re just different.”

Her light eyes moved ceaselessly over the instrument panels and her small hands gripped the controls a little too firmly. “Does it matter?”

Travis noted the signs of tension and made a surprising discovery. “You’re afraid of something, aren’t you?”

She threw him one startled look and then returned her attention to the controls, making an odd little grimace. “Very perceptive of you. And since,” she added wryly, “I’m not particularly concerned with the nerves of my stowaway, I’ll confess that what I’m afraid of, Travis, is flying.”

“You’re afraid of flying?”

“That’s right. Almost a phobia, in fact.”

“Then what the hell are you doing flying this jet?” he demanded incredulously.

“A very wise man told me once that a person should always try to control fear. And since the only way I can control my fear of flying is by doing the thing myself, that’s what I do. I
am
a licensed
pilot. I learned to fly years ago. I’m fairly new to jets, though.”

“Great.” But in spite of his doubtful tone, Travis was impressed by her method of handling fear. It told him a great deal about her personality; she was one who would always confront a problem head-on and set about solving it. And his silent observation was proven when she took her present problem by the horns.

“I told you I didn’t want a book written about me, Travis. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“And I haven’t given up.”

“Obviously.”

“All I’m asking,” he said with persuasive charm, “is a chance to get to know you, Saber. No probing questions, I promise. I just want to get better acquainted with a very beautiful and talented woman.”

“D’you generally get results with that line?”

So much for my vaunted charm
, he thought, not without a trace of self-mockery. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to try, uh—”

“You have a very effective voice,” she observed.
“Just the right blend of coolness and charm. I’m not surprised your exposés are so penetrating; it would be very easy for your victim to forget that you’re always after some little tidbit of information.”

He stiffened, then relaxed suddenly. “But not this
victim?”
he drawled.

She was smiling, though still not looking at him. “No, not this one. You can save your subtly probing tactics, Travis, for your next exposé. My life is my business. I accept that my profession puts me in the public eye, but I see no need of sharing my life before I stepped onstage. You go ahead and write an unauthorized version of my life,” she added imperturbably.

“And what’ll you do if I uncover the real story of your life?”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Quite sure. I’m not throwing down the gauntlet, you understand; I’m simply stating a fact. You won’t find out anything I don’t want you to know.”

After a moment, Travis said softly, “That kind of cover-up demands money.”

She was mildly surprised. “Did I mention a cover-up?”

“That’s what it amounts to.”

“Not at all. You just won’t know where to look, that’s all.”

“I know where I’ll start.”

“Oh? Where?”

“With the lady herself.”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” she said politely, “I happen to be on rather a tight schedule. A performance in Detroit tonight, then one in Chicago tomorrow night.”

“Then a vacation.”

Saber threw him one quick glance, annoyance warring with reluctant amusement in her light eyes. “So you know that, do you? Phil must have let that slip.”

“Yes. To do him justice, I don’t think he realized just how determined I am.”

“Well, be that as it may, the information won’t help you.”

“Really? I find most information useful—eventually.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a curiously dry voice, she said, “Short of pushing you out, I can’t stop you from coming to Detroit. And though I’ll take good care you don’t board this jet again, I can’t stop you from taking a commercial plane to Chicago. But from that point, Mr. Foxx, you’ll be at a standstill. My flight plan will be filed, of course, but—for security reasons, you understand—you won’t be able to find out where I’ve gone. If you’re a betting man, bet on that.”

Travis was well aware of the dangers of arguing with a woman who literally held his life in her hands, but the cool and certain strength of her voice intrigued him past the point of worrying about it. He gazed forward for several minutes, his keen mind working. The struggle he had with himself was brief, then his idea for the book was cast into the limbo of things unremembered and unregretted.

“I am a betting man,” he said finally. “In fact, I’m a bit of a gambler, and when I want something
badly enough, I’m quite prepared to pay the price.”

“And so?” She sent him a curious glance.

“And so … I’ll make a deal with you, Miss Duncan.”

“I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret this—but what kind of deal?”

“Something for something. You agree to allow me to accompany you until, say, midway through your vacation. In the interests of our getting to know each other, you understand.”

Noncommittally, she said, “And your part of the deal?”

“I’ll agree—in writing if you like—to write nothing about you. No book, no article … nothing at all.”

Saber was frowning. “There’s a hook in there somewhere,” she said.

“Not at all. I’ll promise not to write about you if you’ll promise to let us get to know each other … without prejudice.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you give up your idea for a book that has been your driving motivation to this point just for a couple of weeks in my company?”

“Because you were right about me. I hate unsolved mysteries. What the public does or doesn’t know about you doesn’t particularly concern me, but I very badly want to understand you.”

She was still frowning. “Why?” she asked again.

“Because… you fascinate me,” he answered, turning his head to study her profile. “Maybe it’s that larger-than-life part of you—”

“Stage presence,” she dismissed impatiently.

“No. No, there’s more to it than that. Saber, you wouldn’t believe me if I explained what I’m feeling, and I’m no more anxious than any other man to look like a fool. So you’ll just have to accept that I want to get to know you. Period.”

For the first time, Saber’s attention to piloting the jet was only automatic; she was entirely caught up with what Travis was saying. After a long moment, she said, “Maybe you’d better define your idea of ‘accompanying’ me for a couple of weeks.”

Bluntly, he said, “I’m not asking you to sleep
with me to avoid my writing the book. No strings, Saber. The only promise I demand is that you treat me as you would any man who was interested in you as a woman. The only promise I’ll give is that I won’t write about you.”

As blunt as he, she asked, “You’re trying to tell me you’re attracted to me? That’s why you’re willing to give up the book idea?”

Amused at her dispensing with the euphemistic niceties, he nodded. “That can’t surprise you, surely?”

Saber, with a year of superstardom behind her and twenty-five years before that of male attention, wasn’t surprised; men found her attractive, and she would have had to be blind not to know that. But to say that she distrusted Travis Foxx’s professed admiration of her would have been a gross understatement.

“I don’t trust you,” she said matter-of-factly.

Travis chuckled. “I know that. But you have a choice, Saber. You can refuse my terms, which will only make me very determined to find out what I can about your mysterious past—and I think it
only fair to warn you that I have sources of information you wouldn’t think possible. Or you can accept my terms, thereby keeping your past hidden as long as you want.”

Saber was smiling now. “I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if you’re counting on the well-known feminine response to a challenge. Which are you hoping for? That I’ll dare you to uncover my sordid past? Or that I’ll invite your wonderfully
uninquisitive
self into my life—however temporarily?”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing. “You’re a very sharp lady, Miss Duncan. We both know I plan to get my answers by whichever path. So it’s up to you.”

“Isn’t it, though.” Her tone was dry.

Sobering, Travis said, “In all honesty, I’d rather spend time with you than spend time researching you. And in the former case, you have the satisfaction of knowing that your past will remain hidden to the public.”

“You’re very sure you can … persuade me to tell you all about myself, aren’t you, Travis?”

“Quite sure,” he said coolly.

Her smile widened. “I wonder which of us is more stubborn,” she murmured.

“Shall we find out?”

Saber was not a reckless woman, but the challenge in this man’s green eyes was impossible to ignore. “Let’s,” she said suddenly, briskly. “And devil take the hindmost.”

Travis smiled and nodded. That the lady looked upon this as a challenging game was obvious; that his own motives in playing were quite serious was something he had no intention of trying to persuade her at this early stage.

An expert sportsman, Travis was hunting this time with more than a story at stake. Much more.

The Detroit performance went off without a hitch, as Travis was privileged to see from the wings. Saber had treated him casually and companionably all day, allowing him to watch the rehearsal and take her to lunch. She’d seemed not the least bit on guard, but Travis had realized that her
serene silver-gray eyes were shields in and of themselves.

As for himself, he shelved questions about the past and simply absorbed the present. He noted that the members of Saber’s band treated her with affection and respect. The feeling of family was unmistakable and, for Travis, significant, considering that these people lived in the fast-paced and—as far as the public was concerned—decadent world of popular music. They were also quite protective of her: more than one suspicious eye had been cast at him when she’d casually introduced him.

Travis met suspicion with blandness and watched quietly from the sidelines studying Saber’s professionalism and marveling at her talent. He didn’t attempt to flatter her but acknowledged to himself that her manager had been quite right in his belief that the world would fall at her feet.