Travis Justice Read Free Page A

gifted with money, power, and sex appeal. She was still smiling when she made it halfway over the wall by the time he reached the porch, his hips sheathed in the towel again.
    On top of the wall, she looked back at him. He’d never reach her now and they both knew it. Somehow, they also both knew they’d meet again. He was lit by the motion-activated porch light and she was shocked to see a half smile about his lips. He blew her a kiss that promised retribution and a continuation of the strange competition that had begun this night.
    Hoping he could see her in the darkness, she blew a kiss right back. She saw him wave something black like a battle flag.
    Then she’d dropped to the ground and was sprinting toward the nondescript car she’d parked several streets away. As she sedately drove off, she looked down the street at the Travis mansion. She heard the alarm cease, saw more lights come on, and knew he must be explaining to his parents what had happened. She’d thankfully reached the freeway entrance ramp by the time she heard distant sirens.
    Back to square one . . . her gloved hands tightened on the wheel as she pictured going to Kai with empty hands. Only then did she realize her hood was gone. Zachary had ripped it off and she’d not had time to retrieve it. A chill ran up her spine: hair samples. She should have worn a stocking cap over her hair, dammit . . . they were almost certain to have at least one of her hairs to test for DNA.
    And she was on file because of her priors.
    * * *
    An hour later, across town overlooking the Loop 360 bridge in the Buckhorn Estates, several athletic black shapes, garbed like Hana, slipped inside a large mansion. They’d deactivated the alarm with the tools in the small backpack one of them had strapped to his back. One held an iPad and the other two looked over his shoulder at the display, which showed the plan of the mansion. Two of them slipped up the long, curving staircase, pulling the swords they carried on their backs, while the third one stayed downstairs, scanning every window and door he could see from the central corridor. Standing guard. Just in case.
    As the other two disappeared above, he looked at the black Hublot watch on his wrist, activating the timer. “Ichi seichi,” he said under his breath, Japanese for “one minute.” A few seconds later, a woman’s scream was choked off. A man’s guttural grunt came next, full of both pain and outrage, followed by a few sounds of fists landing. A second choked scream, male this time. Then silence.
    The waiting man checked his watch again, snapping off the timer at exactly 58 seconds when the swordsmen came back down the stairs, their soft shoes eerily silent, as if they were wraiths . . . or demons. One sword still gleamed sticky red and the swordsman, with an adroit movement of his wrist, flicked off the blood, leaving a spatter stain on the wall.
    The waiting man didn’t chastise him; instead he looked at the stain and nodded approvingly. As the three gathered together again in the spacious front hall, the man with the expensive watch pulled a hood from his zippered pocket. It was exactly like the one Hana had worn. He dropped it in a crumpled heap in a corner. Then all three of them walked out the front door.
    * * *
    The next day, Hana was still shaken from her close escape as she parked at the sprawling hospital complex. She hurried up the stairs, the local paper folded under her arm. Since he’d been here, she’d tried to read to her grandfather Jiji every day, and she was glad she had the paper. This time she’d read all the local news buried in the third section she usually ignored. She was glad that, so far at least, her intrusion hadn’t been noted in the papers. Then again, she imagined even enterprising reporters would keep her raid quiet, given John Travis was so respected in the state. It wouldn’t do for the public to learn the