Travis Justice (11 page)

Luckily, they were far too intent on their battle of wits and wills to pay him any heed. On one of her trips toward the windows, Hana tested the bullet holes in the window with her gloved fingertip. Even more restive, she stalked from one side of the study to the other, answering John's rapid-fire questions all the while.

“No, I'm not a good shot with a long-range rifle—”

“Yes, I'm dressed this way because I've been in Ernie's ring most of the day practicing.”

And: “No, I had no idea your house was under surveillance the night I broke in. I've already told you my source was a maid fired from your service. I assure you Kai and I have not been sharing information.”

She paused long enough to hear Zach's explanation about the likely weathering of the tree rest they'd found that possibly matched the date of her visit. She said curtly, “Kai knew I was coming for the blade, so it's possible he sent someone to keep an eye on me. But I used that tree to climb over your wall and there was no one there that night. That I'm sure of.”

“Who in Kai's organization has the skill to use a sniper rifle like that?” John demanded.

Hana shrugged. “They all train with weapons of every type, including pistols and rifles. Ninja stars, blowing darts, everything. I've also seen them use night-vision technology.” She looked at the holes in the heavy leaded glass windows and then back. “I'd suggest you cover your windows with shutters and rearrange your furniture so your desk is away from any possible surveillance with heat-sensing goggles.”

Finally, John's stiff posture began to relax. He said, “Of course. We've thought of that. He won't get another chance.”

Hana looked at him as if he were crazy. “You really don't understand what you're dealing with, do you?”

John scowled. “A particularly vicious drug dealer. We nail them all the time.”

Hana stopped her pacing directly in front of his desk. She shook her head in an almost pitying manner, her hair flying like a black warning flag. “No. He's much worse than that. Kai believes he's the last of the samurai, but his only fealty is to himself. The fact that he wasn't born to that lineage makes him much more dangerous. He feels all the allure of the power and triumph over enemies, but very little of the counterbalance of honor. This is why he wants our sword so badly. It legitimizes him, not just in his own eyes, but it will frighten his rivals because they will know what he wants to do with it and its long legacy of bloodletting.” She pulled it from its sheath and held it so it caught the dim light.

Even in the illumination of the single wall sconce, the polished steel edge gleamed as she turned the blade from side to side. “Do you remember all the tales of Excalibur? How the legend said that removing it from the stone gave Arthur the throne? Well, amp that legend up by about ten and you come close to understanding the significance of a Masamune blade to the Japanese. The annals of Japan are much bloodier than the mists of Avalon, with decapitated heads our measurement of valor, and seppuku the ultimate choice between death or dishonor. And while modern Japan is much too civilized to practice such things, Kai was brought up in the Yakuza. When he came here, he decided to create his own near-religion by combining the cultures of the samurai, the ninja, and El Chapo.”

Even John paled a bit at that analogy. He looked at his son. Zach saw his father remembering Abby and Ross's slide show warning about this very mix and its influence on the illicit drug trade in central Texas.

Zach said quietly, “You sound like you were almost a convert yourself.”

She turned on him. She bit her lip savagely, leaving it red. He suddenly longed to kiss her again, not passionately as he had in the hospital, but gently, sweetly, like the champion she so sorely needed—whether she knew it or not.

She had to swallow hard to master her emotions, but the glitter of tears was hidden when she shuttered her eyes with long, dark lashes. She began haltingly, but her voice grew stronger with every word. “Yes. I was. I was an impressionable sixteen-year-old. My father had just died and he was my anchor. My mother left me to return to Japan when I would not conform to her notions of a marriageable young woman.” She looked back at each man in turn, her face now composed. “I won't make any excuses for that. I wouldn't have Takeo otherwise. But yes, I lived firsthand under the power of Kai's twisted ideals. He is very charismatic. So please heed my warning not to take him lightly. And there's one more thing.” She braced herself, as if she knew they wouldn't like her next remark.

“It would not surprise me if he has an informant somewhere in your division.”

John started a protest but Hana interrupted him. “I suggest you quietly start checking on that. The last thing we need is for Kai to know the date and time of our incursion.” Again, she looked between both men. “Just be aware as you plan your raid that Kai will use any tactic of his three religions that will help him win his territory against rival gangs, and—”

She brought the sword straight up before her face in a salute “—against the Texas Rangers. Including implicating me in murders I didn't commit and acts of violence I'd never countenance.” She cradled the sword over her bent arm, as if for comfort, as she added, “Kai wants my son for his heir. Probably even now he's indoctrinating Takeo, or trying.” For the first time, she smiled and such love transformed her face that Zach's breath caught in his throat. She looked over John's head at the wallpaper, but she was obviously seeing her son.

At that moment, Zach knew he'd been kidding himself ever since the strange night they'd met. Even when he was having her arrested, he was in lust with this woman. And if she proved to be as honest and reformed as Ernie claimed, he knew he'd fall deeply in love with her too. Family approval would then be immaterial to him.

At that moment, he also vowed to see that expression again, except with a very adult, female focus. Of one thing he was certain: Since that passionate kiss, she lusted for him too.

Hana's next comment brought him back to the present. This time, his thoughts had made his predicament quite hard, literally, and he had to take a magazine from his dad's desk and hold it on his lap. He pretended to leaf through it to distract himself.

Hana gave him a curious look at his seeming inattention, but finished: “But my son is quite perceptive for a five-year-old. He's also very intelligent. I believe he's smart enough to see the vicious inconsistencies in his father's teachings. So . . . we have a few days to prepare, anyway.” A long pause, then she added, “There's something else you must know.”

She waited until both men had fixed their worried gazes on her. John had been recording her the entire time, and Zach knew from his expression that his father was deliberately letting her talk. John Travis knew from many interrogations that when persons of interest spoke, it was best to let them ramble, because that's usually when the most useful information surfaced. Zach gave his father a look. John didn't even glance his way.

Hana said quietly, “No matter what happens during the raid, once we get Takeo and hopefully Ernie out of danger, I'm expendable. Use me however you will, but don't let Kai get away with this sword. He'll believe himself invincible then. If I have to fight him hand-to-hand to protect it, I will, but he's practiced much more than I have over the last few years—”

Zach surged to his feet, the magazine falling to the floor. “No! You're just an informant, not a—not a—” He was relieved when Hana's gaze switched to his face. He also felt his father's stare at the wrong place, but he'd have to deal with that later.

Hana was obviously too offended to notice or care about his other feelings. For the first time, she showed a tinge of anger. “Samurai? You think females in Japan didn't act as samurai? You'd be wrong. Many women died in battle, protecting their lands and loved ones. I have that right too.” Without asking, she grabbed a pen off John's desk and scribbled a name.

John read out loud, “Nakano Takeko?” He stumbled a bit over the pronunciation.

“I suggest you both look up her history. She was one of many valiant samurai women who fought against the emperor's men in the 1860s. She took to the field of battle, leading women from her household to protect their lands because their men were away. She fought so fiercely that one of the soldiers fighting for the emperor was afraid to engage her hand-to-hand. He resorted to shooting her from a distance. When she lay dying on the battlefield, she begged her sister to cut off her head rather than leave it as a trophy for the enemy. Her sister did so and today her head is interred in a place of honor beneath a Japanese shrine.”

While both men digested this, she stepped back, admiring her family blade again. “There are worse deaths than dying beneath an enemy's blade.”

Over their silence, after a slight bow, Hana shoved the sword back in its sheath. With the sound of steel brushing against steel ringing in the air, she added softly, “Our goals are aligned, Mr. Travis. We both want to stop Kai. We both want to protect my son and the sword.”

She smiled sadly at Zach. “Did you not consider when you convinced your father to let me borrow the blade that I'm the only one who knows how to use it?”

H
ours later, with dawn finally tingeing the sky orange, Hana signed the affidavit recording her third interrogation. The trooper returned with the video footage showing her practicing in Ernie's ring for hours, confirmed both by the GPS tracking data emitted by her ankle bracelet and the video time stamp. They told her she was free to go.

She didn't need to be told twice. They'd rearranged her trip to find the compound for the following night and still hadn't heard from Ernie. She was making a beeline for the front door when she found her path blocked. The short, rotund woman in an apron had a full, winsome face that looked as if it had not been constructed for such a severe expression.

Hana almost laughed at the assessing scowl in those dark eyes made for laughing.

She looked Hana up and down and then moved two steps to block the door. “You come with me. The mistress wishes to meet you.” She crossed her arms over her generous bosom. “We have coffee and biscuits on the patio.”

The twinkle in Hana's eyes went out. She'd been bossed around enough by these people, and now the housekeeper too? “Thank you, but no. I accept the fact that I'm not welcome here, and I don't feel comfortable. It's best for all concerned if I just go.”

She moved aside a few steps, but the woman closed the gap by likewise stepping sideways.

“No. Just a moment, please.”

Hana opened her mouth to refuse again, but before their confrontation could escalate, Zach entered the foyer from the study. He caught his housekeeper from behind to give her a bear hug. “
Numero dos mamacita, qué pasó?
”

With the familiarity of a second mother indeed, she whacked his hands away. “
Basta
! Tell this impert—impur—”

“Impertinent,” he corrected her gently. Then he looked back at Hana. “She is that. And much more . . .”

The way that blue gaze ran over her, head to heels, heated away the last of her cold desolation along with her willpower. How much more fun it had been to let him lead in Jiji's hospital room. But such thoughts brought pink to her cheeks, so she pretended to study the art-filled niches lining the foyer.

“Please stay long enough for a cup of coffee,” he asked Hana. Nicely. Like a true Southern gentleman instead of a Texas Ranger who suspected her of gruesome murders.

How could she say no after that? For once he wasn't being lord of the Travis dynasty. His expression put his dimples on display, and his eyes were such a sunny blue she found herself nodding.

With old-fashioned courtliness, he offered his arm. “Shall we? I promise if you let me lead, you won't regret it.”

Sensing but ignoring his double entendre, she rested her gloved fingertips very lightly on his arm and followed him through the kitchen to a back exterior patio. It was screened in and had shutters for warm or cold days, but the sun was rising above the horizon and the shutters were raised.

A very pretty, middle-aged woman sat at the head of the table. The minute she heard their steps, she poured them each a cup of coffee from the stainless-steel carafe at her elbow. “Good morning, son,” she said cheerfully, as if she were used to all the commotion out on her front lawn.

She cocked her head to the side as she appraised their peculiar guest. But if she disapproved of Hana's strange garb and even stranger choice of cutting implement, she didn't show it. She waved a gracious hand at the empty chair to her right.

Inwardly, Hana groaned. One interrogation had been enough for this day. She was still smarting from the Travises' obvious suspicion she'd been aiding Kai all along, so being grilled by Zach's mother was enough to send her temper, never mild at the best of times, soaring.

She took a sip of coffee, using the excuse to hide her expression in her snowy linen napkin. Her eyes met Zach's over the fabric. His mellow expression had hardened to a warning.

Do not upset my mother,
he said clearly without saying a word.

Incongruously, his protectiveness soothed her wrath. This evidence of his love for his mother brought a lump to her throat. For the first time in a long time, she admitted how badly she missed her own. Except for the occasional duty phone call on holidays or Mother's Day, she seldom even spoke to her mother, who had happily remarried to a very wealthy, traditional Japanese businessman after her return to her homeland.

She hadn't seen her mom in almost six years. Hana took another fortifying gulp of coffee.

Mary Travis gave her son a look. He scowled, but obediently rose. With a curt nod to Hana, he exited, closing the double French doors behind him, leaving the two women alone.

“There, now we can have a comfortable chat,” Mary Travis said, offering a plate of biscuits. “The men in our family can be so intimidating, don't you agree, dear?”

Hana concentrated on buttering her biscuit, but managed a sincere nod.

“I'm sorry if John was a bit . . . insistent, but that's one reason he's very good at his job. And quite frankly, financially he could have retired many years ago, but the oath he took so long ago as a Texas Ranger means a lot to him. And to me, and to Zach, by extension.”

Hana added a bit of prickly-pear jam to her biscuit, on one level admiring the gorgeous rosy color, but on another wishing herself back pacing before John's desk. That brand of torture was less excruciating than this one. She'd never been good at cotillions, proms, or fancy breakfasts. She especially resented the fact that this tea, scones, and ersatz sympathy was designed to elicit intimate confessions from her. She was tempted to spring up and bolt like the intruder they obviously still considered her, but she couldn't bring herself to be that rude.

Mary eyed her with unsettling blue eyes. “You miss your mother, don't you?”

Hana froze with the last half of the biscuit partially buttered. For the first time, she looked at her hostess. Really looked at her. There was more to her than met the eye. Hana saw a sweet woman, happily married for many years to a very conservative, traditional man, but Mary Travis also relished her place as mistress of the household. And her timeless elegance despite the early hour, her graying blond hair secured on the top of her head, crisp white-lace blouse and sleek black skirt, reminded Hana of Grace Kelly. She was a woman who might seem fragile and biddable, but Hana had seen the immaculate house, the manicured gardens, and she knew who was responsible for that order. She suspected John Travis had no idea of who really ruled this household. However, Hana had no wish to be managed too.

Meeting those not-so baby blues dead-on, Hana said stiffly, “I'm sorry to be the fly in your ointment, ma'am. I know when I'm not welcome. I tried to leave, but Zach and your housekeeper insisted I stay for coffee.”

“Of course they did. I asked them to. I seldom make demands, but when I do they are always obeyed, even by Zach.” Mary gave a little trill of laughter that made her lovely face crease with laugh lines that, instead of aging her, somehow brought back to life the girl she'd once been. “Even John obeys, for the most part.”

After one polite bite of biscuit, Hana shoved her plate back. “Very well, then. Why did you ask for this meeting? How do I fit into your neat household?”

With a mirthless smile, Mary folded her napkin beside her plate. “You don't.”

For an instant, mutual hostility fed the almost electrical spark between black eyes and blue. But then Mary sighed and patted Hana's gloved hand. “You do, however, seem to fit my son's notions quite exquisitely. So I made it my business to check into you.”

At Hana's lifted chin, Mary shook her head sadly. “You're all alone, aren't you? I'm sorry for that, my dear, and I understand how you feel more than you know.”

Hana's eyes narrowed. “If you want to psychoanalyze me, at least quote me a going rate. Three or four hundred an hour?”

Mary, with the next remark, shocked Hana into silence and made her regret her cutting remark.

“You shouldn't treat your possible future mother-in-law with such impertinence, my dear.”

When Hana's mouth dropped open, Mary gently used her fingertip to close Hana's mouth, teasing, “Just listen for a moment, please, and all will be clear.”

Mary rose and began to pace the small area. Her slim skirt flared slightly at the knee, allowing her strides to be long and restless. A prickling at the back of Hana's neck put her on edge, as her senses warned of danger. She looked around at the peaceful yard and patrolling guards and dogs. Why was she suddenly so antsy? The urge to run became more acute, and she had to twist the napkin in her lap into a knot to make herself be still. Why couldn't she pinpoint the source of her unease?

Then Mary stopped and seemed to peer into her head again with those strangely piercing blue eyes. “John and I have introduced Zach, at one time or another, to most of the eligible debutantes in our immediate circle. But he didn't want any of them. As he told his father, he isn't attracted to ‘nice' girls.”

Then she said something very strange: “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

Hana was still trying to decipher that when Mary walked up to her on almost soundless feet. “And he is very much like his father in another way: He will love once, and forever. He hasn't been so interested in a woman since a disastrous college fling.”

Using that imperious finger, she tilted Hana's chin up until she could read every curve and line of her face. “So I made it my business to get to know you. I know you had Takeo when you were very young. I know you adore your grandfather and worked two jobs to try to help him save his house from foreclosure. I know you're very bright and very brave. And very rebellious of anything or anyone trying to restrict you. And most of all, I know that—adversaries or not—you are very drawn to my son, as he is to you.”

“How could you possibly know all that? We haven't even met before today.”

“John never hides anything about our son from me. We both adore Zach and we both want only the best for him. He's seen the way the two of you react to one another. He doesn't like it. Whereas I . . .”

Hana surged to her feet. “In that case, I'll wish you ‘good day' because I am definitively not good for him, nor is he good for me.”

Nimbly, Mary moved in front of her to block her exit. “Sit back down, please. This won't take much longer.”

Short of making a scene, Hana could do nothing else but sit. But her mouth was set in that mulish slant her grandfather would have winced to see. “Mrs. Travis, what did your husband tell you about Kai?”

“That he's a drug lord with a peculiar set of skills.”

Hana had not been able to get through to either Zach or John Travis the dangers they were facing, so she decided to try with Mary Travis. She also, perversely, wanted to prove she was not a good match for the brilliant, handsome, rich, and powerful Zachary William Barrett Travis. To think she might be a fitting wife for him led her down a dangerous path she dared not follow, especially when Takeo was in so much danger.

“Kai had a very strange upbringing, as did I.
Ya ku za
. . .” she said quietly. “Do you know what it means phonetically?”

Mary shook her head.

“There's an ancient card game that's been played for countless years in Japan called
oicho-kabu
. The sum of eight, nine, and three is twenty, which is the worst possible hand. The phonetic sound of eight, nine, and three is
ya ku za
, meaning ‘worthless.' However, the more subtle modern meaning is a societal misfit.”

Mary had to laugh at that. “Then both of us, my dear, are
ya ku za
.”

Hana bristled. “While I admit that might have fit me in my rebellious teens, I've spent the last five years trying to do what's right.”

Mary raised a questioning eyebrow, and Hana had the grace to flush at what the other woman was obviously thinking.

“In the final analysis, I have more right to that sword than a rich family with no Japanese heritage that wants to flaunt its power to the world.”

At Mary's unyielding stare, Hana exhaled slowly to tamp down her rising temper. “You're not Japanese. You don't understand. Kai is very dangerous because he doesn't recognize societal norms. No justice, no mercy, no fear, no compassion. He will act only in his own best interests, including practicing the eight cuts on living flesh.” Hana rose. “His goal all along has been to implicate me in these murders and attempted murders. I'm the one who has to face him, not your son. He will not stop, he will not rest, he will not halt his campaign of violence until he's dead. Even then, his men will probably carry on his work if they're not arrested.”

Mary frowned, reading between the lines. “You can't possibly mean to face him alone.”

Hana evaded with the biggest truth she knew. “Since I can't get Zach to understand, perhaps you will. This sword is both a gift and an obligation. The blood of my ancestors obliges me to fight for my own honor, and the honor of my son, and his descendants.”

Mary was not deterred. Her hand rested on the top of Hana's shining hair as if she almost hoped she could impart some of her own hard-earned wisdom into Hana's head. “I know that you will do anything, risk your own life, to save your son from this man, this Kai person. Again, I respect you for that. But you don't have to do it alone.”

Mary sat back down, resting her hands in her lap, looking every inch the lady to the manor born. “Thank you for your honesty. I will give you the same: My reason for this meeting, and my question to you is quite simple: If you succeed, what then?”