A Good Man Walks In

  A GOOD MAN

  WALKS IN

  ❖

  Ginna Gray

  Chapter One

  Travis awoke instantly. He lay still—listening.

  It came again, the soft sound that had jerked him from sleep. A thump followed, then another. The hair on Travis's nape prickled.

  He slipped his hand beneath his pillow and pulled out his 10 mm automatic. Silent as a cat, he rolled from the bed. He stepped into the denim cutoffs he'd tossed onto the bedside chair hours "before and moved toward the open bedroom door.

  Arm bent, Travis held the weapon at ready beside his right shoulder, the barrel pointed at the ceiling, and flattened himself against the wall beside the doorway. Cautiously, he peered out.

  Except for the faint glow of moonlight seeping in from the other bedrooms, the hallway was shrouded in black shadows. It appeared empty. He heard another muffled thump. Then came the sound of something being dragged across the living room floor.

  Travis slipped out of the room. He moved swiftly down the hallway toward the sounds. Hugging the wall, he darted past each doorway, a lethal, silent shadow flitting through the darkness, his bare feet soundless on the wood floors of the beach house.

  At the point where the hallway opened into the living room he halted and flattened himself against the wall again. Hesitant footsteps tapped against the floor, moving away from him. Travis edged forward and peered around the corner.

  Long rectangles of moonlight spilled into the room through the two sets of French doors. The pair nearest to him stood open. In the center of the room, a shadowy figure groped through the darkness.

  The guy was small, but Travis knew that didn't mean a whole helluva lot, since he was probably armed. He debated on barking out an order for the man to halt but decided against it. If he was nervous, he just might turn and fire. Travis crouched and moved into the room.

  When he'd crept to within a few feet of the man, he stuck his automatic into the back pocket of his snug cutoffs. He launched himself at the intruder and caught him in a flying tackle that sent them both sprawling.

  The man let out an "Oof," and Travis cursed when his elbow whacked the hardwood floor. He cursed again when the guy almost wriggled out of his grasp.

  Though small, his opponent was agile and desperate. Making frantic, gasping sounds, he kicked and bucked and twisted, at one point nearly unmanning Travis with a sharp thrust of his knee. Amid grunts and thumps and scuffling noises, they grappled together in the darkness, but the intruder was no match for Travis. The fierce struggle lasted only seconds, and when it was over Travis sat astraddle the man's back, holding him face down on the hard floor with his arm twisted behind his back.

  "All right, knock it off," he snarled when his captive continued to buck and pitch. "You give me any more trouble and so help me, I'll break your arm."

  The intruder sucked in a sharp breath and froze.

  "Tra-Travis? Travis McCall? Is that you?" a feminine voice asked.

  "What the hell!"

  Travis raised up on his knees just long enough to flip his captive over, then sat back, straddling slender hips, and swiftly skimmed his hand over the body penned beneath him. He cursed long and fluently when his palm cupped a full breast.

  The woman jerked at the contact and make a shocked sound, but when she squirmed and tried to bat his hand away, he grabbed her wrist.

  ^"Be still." Holding both her wrists in one hand, he stretched out his other arm and switched on the lamp on a nearby end table.

  The woman was still gasping, her chest heaving with each agitated breath, and he could feel the tremors that shook her whole body. At the base of her throat her pulse hammered wildly. During their tussle, her rich mahogany brown hair had come loose from the chignon coiled at the back of her head, and several curling tendrils lay across her face. Frightened blue eyes stared back at him from between the wild strands.

  Frowning, Travis roughly brushed the tangled locks aside. At first he didn't recognize her. Then her gaze skittered away from his and settled somewhere in the region of his chest. The reaction struck a familiar chord, and Travis's eyes narrowed. He examined the classically beautiful features, carefully set now in a cool mask, and his jaws clenched.

  It had been years since he'd seen her. Nine or ten at least. She'd grown up, gotten older and, if possible, even more lovely than the nineteen-year-old he remembered, but he'd never forget that face.

  "Rebecca Quinn." He muttered her name in a flat, hard voice that held not the slightest trace of gladness or welcome. "What the hell are you doing here? And why were you sneaking around in the middle of the night?"

  Her gaze jerked back to his. "I—I wasn't sneaking around. I co-couldn't find the light switch, and I was feeling around for a lamp." She paused and licked her lips, watching him warily. "And I'm, uh...I'm here at Erin and Elise's invitation. They said I could stay here for the next few months."

  "What!"

  Rebecca felt Travis's body jerk. His head snapped back as though he'd received a punch to the jaw.

  "The hell you say! You must have misunderstood. They told me I could use the beach house for the rest of the summer."

  She stared at him, appalled, and drew in several more deep breaths, trying to bring her galloping heart under control. The terror she had experienced when he attacked her was fading, but a new uneasiness was rapidly taking its place. "Bu-But... there must be some mistake."

  "That's right. And you made it, lady." Releasing her hands, Travis sat back, crossed his arms over his bare chest and pinned her with a blistering stare.

  To Rebecca's surprise and dismay, she experienced a long forgotten but familiar stab of hurt. Without a doubt, Travis McCall had the sexiest, most come-hither eyes of any man walking the earth. Silvery gray and surrounded by long dark eyelashes that any female would kill for, they surveyed the world with lazy amusement, and surveyed women with a sensual gleam that was both flattering and wicked...except when they focused on her. On those occasions they invariably turned hard and cold. How many times, growing up, had Travis looked at her in just that' way? she wondered sadly.

  Shaking off the depressing thought, Rebecca strove, as she always had, to hide her feelings behind a facade of cool dignity. "I had breakfast with Erin and Elise not more than sixteen hours ago. When I flew into Albuquerque, they drove over from Santa Fe and met me at the airport to give me the keys to this house. They assured me I would be safe h—" She stopped and bit her lip, appalled at what she'd nearly blurted out. "Uh... that I'd have plenty of privacy here. They didn't mention you at all."

  She should have known that Travis would catch the slip. For all his lazy, laid-back air, he was quick and intelligent and his training as an FBI agent had honed his powers of observation to the point where almost nothing got past him.

  He frowned. "Are you in some kind of danger?" His scowl deepened and so did his voice. "You're not in trouble with the law, are you?"

  "No! Of course not. That was just a poor choice of words. That's all."

  He studied her through narrowed eyes, clearly doubting.

  Apprehension fluttered through Rebecca. Unable to meet that penetrating stare, she lowered her eyes, but her uneasiness worsened when her gaze skimmed over wide, bare shoulders and down his muscular chest and the thatch of golden hair covering it.

  She became suddenly aware of the intimacy of their position, and the shocking alignment of their bodies. His bottom was pressing against her upper thighs, his sex nestled warmly at their juncture. Through her her slacks, she could feel his heat, the hard strength of his legs clamped against her sides.

  Rebecca's gaze trailed down over his flat belly, then lower still, and she nearly gasped when she encountered the widespread V of his unbutton
ed cutoffs. She stared at the spot where the thin line of silky blond hair that arrowed downward over his belly began to spread and merge with the thatch of tighter, darker blond curls, barely visible at the base of the open placket.

  Her heart picked up speed and her eyes widened. Shocked, she realized that, except for those threadbare cutoffs, Travis didn't have a stitch on. It dawned on her then that he must have been sleeping when she arrived. Completely nude.

  The thought so rattled Rebecca that she experienced a rush of panic. Every nerve in her body twanged with awareness. The incredible intimacy of their position had an alarming effect on her sensory perception as well, making it suddenly acute.

  She felt his strength, his hardness, his heat. She became aware of the muscular breadth of his chest and shoulders, the sleekness of his bronzed skin, his male scent—tantalizing and musky, and tinged with soap. She could even smell the minty aroma of toothpaste on his breath, see each individual eyelash and the tiny flecks of charcoal floating in his silvery irises.

  A trembling began deep inside Rebecca, and she instinctively sought to hide it. Tipping up her chin, she met Travis's skeptical gaze with cool politeness. "Since you surely know by now that I am not a burglar, would you mind letting me up? This floor is not exactly comfortable.'' Nor are you, she thought, but she was doing her best not to draw his attention to their position.

  The attempt was wasted; she could tell the instant Travis became conscious of their erotic closeness. His mouth hardened even more, and he jerked off of her as though she had suddenly become hot to the touch.

  "Sorry," he said curtly.

  He sprang to his feet, hesitated, then extended his hand to help her up. The instant she was standing, he released her and stepped away, putting several feet between them.

  Rebecca's heart leaped. "Oh, my word! You've got a gun!" she exclaimed, staring at the weapon sticking out of his back pocket.

  Travis turned back and looked at her. "That's right. You're lucky I didn't blow your head off.''

  He was trying to scare her, Rebecca knew. And he was succeeding brilliantly. Her nerves were already frayed. It didn't help matters any that he still had not bothered to button his pants.

  She watched him pace the spacious,room, and gradually she became aware of things about him that she had been too shaken to notice before.

  Travis had always been a laid-back, daring devil who sauntered through life with a cocky grin and a twinkle in his eyes, laughingly defying convention. But even in his wildest high school days, she had never seen him look quite the way he did now. His thick, blond hair, though cut short on the top and sides, hung below his shoulders in the back. His face sported reddish brown stubble that was at least three days old and he had a tattoo of a snarling leopard on his upper right arm. A round, puckered scar, which Rebecca had the sickening suspicion was the result of a gunshot wound, decorated his right thigh. But the crowning touch was the two-inch long earring in the shape of a dagger that dangled from his left ear. He looked rakish and tough and sexy... and dangerous.

  "Look," he said suddenly, startling her. "There's obviously been some sort of foul-up. We both can't stay here all summer."

  "No, of course not," Rebecca agreed nervously. Watching him, she plucked the remaining pins from her hair and tried to finger-comb the heavy mass into some order. "I, uh... I suppose we should call Erin or Elise and straighten things out."

  "Yeah. But it's too late to call tonight. Elise would probably have heart palpitations if I called her at two in the morning, and if Sam didn't have my head for scaring her, Erin would." His mouth twisted. "Somehow, I doubt that either one of my cousins would consider this situation an emergency."

  "True," Rebecca agreed with a wan smite. Elise and Erin, though identical twins whom most people could not tell apart, were as different as night and day. Bold, outspoken Erin wouldn't hesitate to tear a strip off of Travis for waking her over anything less than a catastrophe, and she was as protective of her more gentle sister as a mother grizzly was of her cub.

  "By the way, how did you get here at this hour? There are only two ferries a day between the main island and this one, and the last run was hours ago."

  "I know. The only plane I could get to Alhaja Verde was the red-eye, so when we landed, I hired a fisherman to bring me over." "I don't suppose you asked him to wait, did you?" Rebecca shook her head.

  Travis's mouth twisted. "Well, I guess we'll just have to make the best of it. It will be hours before we can call Santa Fe and straighten this mess out, so we might as well get some sleep."

  "Fine. If you'll just point me toward the bedrooms, I'll say good night."

  "Take your pick. Erin and Elise and their husbands own the place jointly, so it was built to accommodate two families at once. It has two separate bedroom wings," he said, pointing out the hallways that opened off either side of the living room. "Each with a master suite and two guest rooms. Although... since I'm staying in Erin and Max's wing, you might want to choose a room in Elise and Sam's."

  In other words, stay as far away from you as I possibly can, Rebecca interpreted silently. She felt again that old stab of hurt, but her face remained impassive. "Fine," she repeated, and headed for the pile of luggage she had managed to drag inside from the deck, where the fisherman had deposited it for her.

  "Good grief! Is all that yours?"

  Rebecca looped the strap of a shoulder bag over her arm and reached for two more cases. "As I explained, I came to spend the summer. That requires more than just a few changes of clothes."

  "Huh. Looks to me like that's everything you own."

  It was, but Rebecca wasn't about to tell him that. "Which wing is Elise and Sam's?" she asked, hefting the cases.

  "C'mon, I'll show you," Travis grumbled, and snatched up the other four.

  He led her to an airy bedroom in the right wing, and dumped the cases at the foot of the queen-size bed. "The bathroom is through there. It's stocked with anything you could possibly need, so make yourself at home. For tonight, anyway," he added pointedly, giving her a hard look. Before Rebecca could reply, he headed for the door. "I'll see you at breakfast."

  Rebecca stared after him for a moment, then walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Sighing, she shook her head. It seemed that some things never changed. Travis McCall was still handsome as sin, even with his current, scruffy rebel look. He was still lean and fit, and he still moved with that easy, hip-rolling saunter that drew a woman's eye to his body and her thoughts to the bedroom. No doubt, he still had that heart-stopping smile as well, though it certainly hadn't been in evidence tonight.

  And, of course, he still didn't care much for her.

  With a rueful grimace, Rebecca picked up her overnight bag and headed for the bathroom, dismissing the man from her mind. She had more serious things to worry about than her hometown's local hunk and his opinion of her.

  Like how she was going to elude Evan.

  By now he would be looking for her. Rebecca set her cosmetic case down beside the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. God help her if he managed to track her down.

  The thought sent stark fear slicing through Rebecca. She closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the counter hard with both hands. For a moment she gave in to the terror and trembled violently, as though in the grip of a hard chill.

  She gulped in several deep breaths and struggled for control. When she bad regained a modicum of calm, she opened her eyes and stared into the mirror at the pale woman with the wildly disarrayed hair and haunted eyes. What would she do if Erin and Elise said she couldn't stay? She had no place else to go.

  Don't be silly, she told her reflection, tamping down a fresh rush of panic. Erin and Elise were her oldest and dearest friends. They knew how desperately she needed to stay and why. They wouldn't ask her to leave. They wouldn't.

  Rebecca's lower lip trembled, and she caught it between heir teeth. No... but Items would.

  "Rebecca Quinn." Travis muttered the name with
utter disgust. Of all the women in the world, why the hell did he have to get stuck on a remote island with Rebecca Quinn?

  He lay sprawled on his back, legs spread, his hands stacked beneath his head, scowling through the darkness at the ceiling above the bed. Every muscle in his body was drawn taut as a fiddle string.

  Dammit! What had Erin and Elise been thinking of? They knew why he had asked for the use of their beach house. He had some heavy thinking to do, decisions to make—decisions that would affect his whole life. He sure as hell hadn't taken a leave of absence from the Bureau just to he on the beach in the sun all day. Or to entertain their friends.

  Unable to lie still another moment, Travis made an aggravated sound and bounded from the bed. Naked, he stomped to the window.

  The guest bedrooms ran along the back of each wing of the house. From them the view consisted of sand dunes and salt grass, tinted a pale blue by the moon. Beyond the sand, the forest took over and began its climb toward the mountains. Travis stared out, his feet braced wide, fists propped on his bare hips, blind to the eerie beauty.

  He flexed his shoulders, but the tightness did not ease. The taut restlessness was foreign to his nature, but it was not new. It had been plaguing him off and on for the past year or so—in the past few months with more and more frequency. He felt...antsy...and vaguely dissatisfied, and he didn't know why or what to do about it.

  When his cousin David had gotten him the job with the FBI, it had seemed like a dream come true. Going away to college had whetted Travis's appetite and made him anxious to experience more of the world outside the sleepy little east Texas town of Crockett where he'd grown up. He'd craved excitement and adventure, longed to-see new places, experience new things, flirt with danger.