Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  Jamie, Skye, and Lorna.

  Five photos of them at different stages of their lives.

  It was the final photo that made me slump down on the bed in confusion.

  It was a photo of me on my own, one of a bunch Skye had taken with her phone and printed later. I was sitting down, my elbow on a bench table, my chin resting in my palm, and I was laughing at the person behind the camera—Skye. My eyes were bright, my dimple creased my left cheek, and I looked happy.

  I caressed the image with my fingertips, tears burning in my eyes.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I was that happy.

  Remembering the day it was taken, I choked down building emotion. I was seventeen, and Skye and Lorna and I had spent a girls’ day at Disneyland. I’d had a secret that day.

  Jamie.

  We were seeing each other in secret, and despite our secrecy, I was in heaven. In love. Excited for the future.

  Why did Jamie have this picture? Why did he keep it?

  After he had Lorna deliver his letter to me, she’d packed up his stuff and put it in storage. I’d have thought she would have destroyed all evidence of my existence, but this photo must have escaped her.

  And Jamie had kept it.

  If someone didn’t love you anymore, if someone did, in fact, hate you, why would they hold on to a photograph like this? Why would they keep it close?

  Deciding I didn’t have time to ponder the complex nature of Jamie’s feelings toward me, I shoved the photos back in the drawer and tried to force them out of my mind. Back at his desk, I flipped through his little black book, ignoring a few phone numbers written beside women’s names, until I found his password list.

  There was one password that didn’t have any information next to it, and I guessed this was his main one.

  I guessed correctly.

  Shaking with anticipation and the knowledge that what I was doing was not only very wrong but illegal, I made my way through the folders on his desktop. The curious bookworm in me wanted to read his works in progress, novels and short stories, but if I could refrain from reading Doe, I could refrain from reading those too.

  I groaned at that realization, eyeing the manuscript I wanted to steal but knew I wouldn’t.

  Finally, I came across a folder titled The Count of Monte Cristo. Frowning, I clicked on it and my breath caught.

  Laughing under my breath, I shook my head. “Jamie, you sneaky bastard.”

  It was his revenge folder.

  He’d named it after a famous revenge novel about a guy who was framed for a crime he didn’t commit.

  There were five folders with people’s names on them.

  Foster Steadman.

  Frank Kramer.

  Elena Marshall.

  Ethan Wright.

  Jane Doe.

  Foster: The producer who raped Skye and framed Jamie for armed robbery.

  Frank Kramer: Foster’s right-hand man, and the guy Jamie had deduced was the one behind the setup.

  Elena Marshall: the cashier who lied and identified Jamie as the robber.

  Ethan Wright: the crooked cop working for Foster.

  I clicked on my folder first. Jamie had collected a copy of my legal name-change document, a detailed and correct résumé, my closest friends (pitifully short list of one: Asher), my work colleagues, the films I’d worked on, and my Hollywood connections. He had a list of all the galleries in California who bought and sold my artwork.

  There were photographs of me. They looked like surveillance shots.

  And that’s when I found Jamie’s notes file. This document was written almost like a diary. Every time Jamie found a new piece of information, he wrote it down next to the date and time. I scowled as I read his emotionless descriptions of my relationship with Asher. He questioned why Asher didn’t spend the night with me, and vice versa, and pondered the depths of our connection. He surmised, however, that we spent enough time together to be important to one another.

  I cursed him under my breath when I read his notes on bribing my neighbor Sheila to sublet her apartment to him. He’d told her it was because he’d grown up in the building and wanted to “come home.” In reality, it was so he could get a “better handle on Jane’s personal life and what was important to her.”

  There was a document on Asher, and I realized why when I saw a single file titled “Jane: Most Important.” Written on it were two things: Asher and art career.

  Feeling more than a little sick, I went through the other folders, making my way backwards, starting with Ethan Wright. Each person had the same last file with that “Most Important” list.

  It wasn’t until I got to Frank Kramer’s folder that I realized exactly what Jamie was doing. On Kramer’s Most Important list was one name: Juanita Kramer. His wife. Unbeknownst to me, and obviously Asher because he’d never mentioned it, Frank Kramer had been abusing his wife.

  For years, it seemed.

  Jamie had police reports and photographs of Juanita after Frank had put her in the hospital. The charges never stuck, however, which Jamie attributed to Foster Steadman’s influence. Unlike the other lists, Juanita’s name was crossed off. Reading Jamie’s notes, I knew why. It would seem Jamie had discovered the most important thing in Frank’s life was his wife, Juanita. In fact, Jamie seemed certain that Frank was dangerously obsessed with her. She’d filed several reports against him over the years. Jealous attacks, locking her in a room for five days, and a plethora of other domestic abuse reports. No one had helped her.

  The injustice of it made my blood boil.

  According to Jamie’s entries and via talks with her family, they’d tried to help Juanita run away, but Frank always found her. Jamie was determined to help Juanita get away. Reading between the lines, he’d used his own connections from prison to help her disappear. He admitted in writing what he might not have admitted to me. Yes, it served him that he wanted to take away the thing Frank coveted most, but Jamie was also glad he could assist in Juanita’s escape.

  His latest notes detailed that Frank was searching for her, but he wasn’t even close to finding her.

  Closing his file, I felt a complicated mix of emotions. As much as I was pissed at Jamie—unforgiving, hurt, and furious, and worried just how far prison and injustice had pushed him—I was also proud of him for helping Juanita Kramer. It gave me hope that he hadn’t completely lost touch with the Jamie I’d loved.

  Reading these files, I realized what Jamie’s goal was. In order not to incriminate himself, he’d researched his targets to discover what was most important in their lives. And he’d decided to take it away.

  “Because that’s what they did to you,” I muttered.

  I still didn’t understand my part in all this, other than that Jamie thought I was sleeping with Asher.

  As for Ethan Wright, Jamie suspected the cop was taking bribes. However, he didn’t have evidence. Wright had no personal ties either, so Jamie deduced his career—and the power trip he got from it—was the most important thing in his life. Take away his career, and he had nothing.

  Elena Marshall, the cashier, had no deep, dark secrets. Jamie had searched her financial records, her personal life, and there was nothing on her. Yet, her daughter had a criminal record a mile long. Jamie had the daughter written on Elena’s list, but there was a question mark next to her name.

  I narrowed my eyes on the screen.

  Don’t you dare, Jamie McKenna.

  I would not let him drag an innocent person into this mess.

  Finally, I clicked on Foster Steadman’s file.

  There were photographs and videos in that file I wished I could unsee. I was right: Jamie had sent this stuff to Rita Steadman. Her name was crossed off Foster’s Most Important list.

  The last two on the list weren’t: Asher Steadman. Career.

  I didn’t know how Jamie intended to take those things away from Foster Steadman, but there was no way I’d let him hurt a hair on Asher’s head.

  The
lock turning in the door made my heart jolt.

  Shit.

  Before I could think how to react, Jamie strode into the room and came to an abrupt halt when he saw me sitting at his desk. Giving nothing away, he pushed against the door and it slammed so loudly, I flinched.

  Then he turned the lock.

  Sweat collected beneath my arms as I stood. My knees shook.

  This is Jamie, I reminded myself. He won’t really hurt me.

  Will he?

  His eyes flicked to the laptop as he moved toward me, throwing his keys in a bowl on a side table. He dumped the brown paper bag of groceries on the couch. Heart thundering, I found I couldn’t move as he strode casually across the living room and stopped by my side. His gaze shifted to me as he reached out and closed the laptop.

  “You have a key to this apartment,” he murmured, his tone calm.

  That tone was a dangerous lie.

  I knew it.

  I nodded, not wanting to get Ivy in trouble. “I used to water Sheila’s plants.”

  “Did Sheila have plants?” Jamie mused, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t remember that.”

  “She had plants.” I lifted my chin stubbornly. Staring up into those familiar ocean eyes, one of the foremost emotions I’d felt as I pored through Jamie’s research hit me like a punch to the gut.

  Fear.

  Not for myself.

  But for Jamie.

  If Foster Steadman realized that Jamie was taking down the people involved in his wrongful incarceration, he’d come after him, and this time I worried he’d shut Jamie up for good. If Jamie’s plans were to hurt innocents, I was way past concerned for him. No matter what he wanted to believe, I knew him. I knew his heart.

  It might be all tangled and fucked up right now, but beneath the scarring was his goodness. He would never come back from hurting people who didn’t deserve it.

  “I saw everything,” I admitted.

  The muscle in his jaw ticked, letting me know he was pissed, despite his bland expression. “Am I supposed to be shaking in my boots now? Or congratulating you for surprising me? Because I am surprised.” He reached out to chuck my chin and I jerked it away, glowering. He smirked. “My little Jane Doe and her hidden spunk.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to not be condescending, but at least give it a try.”

  Jamie leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suppose you came in here with a master plan, not just to ruin my day by making me look at your face again. It’s amazing how something once so beautiful can be so ugly to me now.”

  I lowered my gaze, not wanting the hurt that splintered through me to be reflected in my eyes. Straightening my spine, I looked back up at him. “Funny, I’m pretty sure I felt your hard-on digging into me down in the laundry room. Guess it still finds me attractive. On that note, never do that to me again.” I walked away, crossing the room to stand by the sectional. I needed space from him.

  Jamie flicked his eyes up and down my body and shrugged. “Get to the point, Jane. I’m bored.”

  No one made me want to rail and scream like Jamie McKenna. Swallowing the urge, I took a breath. “I know you’re planning to take down everyone involved in putting you away. That you’ve already dealt with Kramer. That you’re looking for an ‘in’ with the cashier, the cop, and Steadman.” I gestured to myself. “I’m your ‘in.’”

  This time Jamie couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “What?”

  “I’m your ‘in.’” I took a step toward him. There was no way I would let him take vengeance against these people without having their back, and his. If I was in control of this thing, I could control the line. I’d make sure Jamie didn’t cross it. “In your notes, you state you can’t get close to the cashier or the cop. He’s paranoid, and she’d remember you. Well, no one will remember me. I can get close to them.”

  “You think I’ll let you work with me when you’re on my hit list?” He chuckled darkly. “Do you think helping me will save you, Jane?”

  No. I think it’ll save you. “This isn’t a discussion. I want justice for what happened to you, Jamie. You and I might not like each other very much, but once upon a time, you and Skye were my family. If we can’t give her justice for what happened to her, we can take Foster down a different way, and take down the others for what they did to the Jamie I used to love.”

  Jamie narrowed his eyes as he bit his lip. Hard. Like he wanted to say something that would cut me to the quick. Instead, he released his lower lip and replied, “No. I’d rather spend another five years in prison than make you the Bonnie to my Clyde.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  He snorted. “You think you can force me to allow this?”

  “I think I’m close, personal friends with Asher Steadman, and one phone call to his father would make him aware of your activities here.” The words were like ash on my tongue. I might not forgive Jamie for breaking my heart and choosing to believe the worst of me, but I would never betray him. However, he didn’t need to know that.

  “You really are a heartless bitch now, huh?”

  It was hard not to flinch, but I managed it. “Don’t act like you’re above blackmail, Jamie.”

  He sneered at me. “Fine. And Steadman?”

  “He’ll never know, as long as you keep me involved. As for how to take him down … We’ll figure it out.”

  “You’ve been plotting with Asher for years, and you still haven’t figured it out.”

  How did he know that? I verbalized the question.

  “You think everything’s on this laptop? No.” He pushed off the desk and crossed the room to tower over me.

  I wanted to retreat.

  I forced myself not to.

  “You’ll use Asher.”

  “Never.”

  His lips twitched. “I have a feeling one day, I’ll change your mind. For now, we go after the cashier and the cop.”

  Relief eased through me. “Good. Where do you want to start?”

  “Why don’t we start with you giving me back that key?” He held out his palm.

  Not seeing any reason to argue, I slipped it out of my back pocket and dropped it into his hand without touching him. If I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes danced with laughter, like he knew I was afraid to make physical contact.

  He closed his hand around the key. “Now, get out.”

  I glared at him. “The plan?”

  “Well, I need to think about it now that I have a new player in the mix, don’t I,” he said in a tone that suggested I was a moron. He turned his back to me and walked toward the laptop. I flipped him off. It was childish, but it made me feel better. “I’ll be in touch …” His voice trailed off, and I realized why when I saw what he was looking at.

  The manuscript on his desk. Doe.

  He looked back at me, his expression guarded.

  “I didn’t read it,” I assured him.

  After a moment of speculation, as if trying to gauge if I was telling the truth (the bastard), he turned his back on me again. “You can leave.”

  But I wasn’t quite ready to. “Why?”

  “Why what?” he snapped.

  “Why is your new book titled Doe?”

  Jamie laughed, his shoulders shaking a little with the movement. “Do you think it’s about you, Jane?”

  “It’s a little coincidental …” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  I hated that he could make me feel so small and stupid.

  He turned toward me, leaning on the desk as his hand rested on top of the papers. “I guess I wanted to feel what it was like to ruin you before I actually do it.”

  Pain lashed across my chest, so acute, it was like six years hadn’t passed. Like I was reading his letter all over again and wondering how my Jamie could do this to me.

  He studied me, a deep melancholy slowly washing through his eyes. The darkness in them made my heart beat faster. “I want to ruin all of you. A lifetime of misery ought to do the tr
ick.”

  Holding back the tears, I gave him a tight nod. “Well, they say misery loves company.”

  “Look at you. I think you’re finally beginning to understand.”

  Marching away and slamming out of his apartment, I railed at him in my head. What did he think? That he was alone in his wounds? That the rest of us weren’t in pain too?

  All those years ago, I’d taught him to look beyond himself.

  It would seem Jamie McKenna had forgotten that lesson.

  I glanced back at his closed door as I leaned against mine. “It’s up to me to remind you.”

  Chapter 22

  JAMIE

  * * *

  “What was the name again?” the security guard asked.

  I leaned out of the car window and peered up at him through my dark sunglasses. “Jamie Stone.”

  “Here to see?”

  Jesus Christ, how many times did I need to repeat myself? “Margot Higgins.” I bit back my attitude, knowing it would get me nowhere. I’d save that for Jane.

  A few minutes later, they opened the gate to the Chimera Studios grounds and I drove in, wearing a satisfied smirk. I knew Jane would let me in. She seemed determined to stick close. Blackmailing me. I was almost proud.

  I should’ve known she wouldn’t just sit back and let my plans unfold around her. Jane was made of tougher stuff than that. Would she hand my ass over to Steadman? I’m not sure I believed that. So why indulge her?

  She might prove useful; it kept her where I could keep an eye on her; and it meant I could figure out what really made her tick. What would really screw up Jane? Personally, I hoped I could, that underneath her attitude, there was still a part of her that was attracted to me. That I could do to her what she had done to me:

  Make her love me.

  Only to abandon her.

  I’d have to play it by ear. She definitely appeared moonstruck over that asshole Asher Steadman. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. God, she pissed me off.

  It was the most alive I’d felt in a long time, and I had to admit I was looking forward to our future interactions.

  As I pulled up to the hangar the security guard had directed me to, I saw a door open and there she was, hovering in the doorway. My blood pumped as if I’d just downed a quart of caffeine.