“Hi, Frank.” Candy flashed a friendly smile to go along with her composed response.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“The Queen of England.” His anger pushed the words out. “Roxanne...who do you think?”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” Frank said. “You’re going to tell me where she is.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
“You will.”
“I won’t.”
Frank looked around the club, as if trying to keep his cool. Slowly, he turned back to Candy. “Let’s just say you have one of two choices. You can tell me where she is. Or you can show me.”
This didn’t feel like much of a choice to Candy, but it’s all she was going to get from Frank.
“Hold it.” Rich stepped in. “I’m sure we can come up with a compromise that’s agreeable to everyone.”
“Go ahead.” Frank at least indicated his willingness to listen.
“Let’s suppose that when Candy leaves…unbeknownst to her you could follow her home.” He offered a solution to the problem. “That way, Roxanne can’t be mad at Candy for taking you there.”
Reluctantly they both agreed to Rich’s plan. In Candy’s eyes, she was still taking Frank to Roxanne. But what could she do?
“Candy,” he said, “you better not try to lose me.”
Some fifteen minutes later, Frank followed Candy into a gated community near the intersection of Dale Mabry and Busch Boulevard. Her car came to a screeching halt at the front door of a two-story corner lot. She charged toward the house as Frank and Rich’s cars lined the driveway behind her Targa. She veered away from the house and stormed toward Frank’s car, motioning him to lower the window.
“You stay here.” She tossed him a ferocious glare. “I’ll go find her, and she’ll decide whether or not you can come inside.”
“We’re either going to have it out inside the house, or out here in the front yard.” Frank propped his hand up in the window and gave a dismissive wave. “Makes no difference to me.”
While Rich and Candy went inside, Frank looked at the house, studying it. He could feel Roxanne’s presence all around. It suited her. Clearly, this house was not a home for every budget, but it didn’t indicate a showy celebrity status either. Practical elegance. Exactly the kind of house he would’ve imagined her to live in.
Roxanne and Candy. He reminded himself of the agonizing fact that she lived there without him. “Damn you, Roxanne.”
This should have been their home. His and Roxanne’s. If she would’ve had a little faith and trust in him, he would have accepted the kid—even if it wasn’t his.
Rich came back outside and leaned down to look at Frank through the open window. “She’s not here, man.”
“What kind of car does she drive?”
“Candy says a red Carrera.”
Frank nodded and revved the engine, recalling the red Porsche speeding out of the parking lot back at the club. He looked at his friend and smiled. “I know where she is.”
“Listen, buddy…” Rich straightened and tapped the car door a couple of times. “You be cool, okay?”
Frank laughed softly. “Cool is my middle name.” He hit the gas and sped around the other cars, leaving Rich standing in the driveway.
If Frank knew Roxanne like he thought he did, there was only one place she could be. Sunset Beach. Without further ado he headed straight for the freeway. On the drive across the bay Frank thought of little else but finding Roxanne.
By the time he reached Sunset Beach, his resolve was still intact and stronger than ever. He cruised along the shore until he spotted a red Porsche. Moving closer, he was able to read the license plates: ROXIE. Luckily for him, that was a dead give-away.
Frank parked his Ferrari beside the Porsche and got out as quietly as possible, careful not to shut the door too loudly. He knew she was there. Somewhere very near. He didn’t want to give her any forewarning that she had company—namely him. Walking from the pavement to the sand, he could see her silhouette sitting out there in the darkness. Quietly, he crept up behind her.
Finally he had her. No way could she get away again. Not this time. He stopped a couple of feet behind her and stood there with his hands in his pockets, fighting desperately to collect his emotions.
Little did he know, but she knew he was there. She could feel his presence even though she couldn’t see him. If she wanted to, turning around would do the trick. That’s just it, she didn’t want to look at him. If she did, there was always the chance that all those old feelings might come flooding out again. Being so close to him now, she knew that was a very real possibility.
A chill shivered through her as she searched the ocean’s calm, seeking inner peace. “Why did you come here?” she asked with difficulty.
“I think I’m the one who should be asking questions.” His stoic voice gave nothing away about what he was feeling.
She made no effort to turn and look at him as he continued to stand behind her. And she didn’t say anything more. She only stared out at the ocean.
“Why did you leave like that?” he asked calmly.
Roxanne didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound.
“Did he mean so much to you that you could just up and leave me like that?” Bitterness invaded his tone. “Without a word.”
Confusion washed over Roxanne. Surely he wasn’t talking about Frankie. Curiosity pushed her to glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t attempt eye contact.
All at once, Frank’s temper enraged him. He snatched her up by the arms, pulling her to her feet.
Roxanne closed her eyes as he shook her.
“Damn it! Look at me when I talk to you!” he ordered viciously. “Did you leave me for that English faggot?”
“What?” Slowly, she opened her eyes, expecting to see those piercing baby blues. Instead, she only saw the sunglasses. “Take those off,” she said, “if you want me to tell you anything.”
Frank ignored her. “I have just one question for you…and you better tell me the truth.” His burning hatred seeped out in his tone, his glare, his grip. “God help you. It better be the right answer.” If she answered wrong, he was going to kill her right then and there.
Roxanne closed her eyes again, fearing what was coming next.
“Is he my son?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Frank pushed her away.
And Roxanne started to cry.
“Why?” His pain seeped out in his voice.
She didn’t know what to say. What could she say after all this time? Nothing. Nothing that would make it okay.
“Why did you let someone else publicly claim to be his father?” He couldn’t understand what she was thinking when she decided to let that happen. “Why did you hide our son from me?” How he hated her for that.
Hiding Frankie’s paternity hadn’t been something she’d gone to great lengths to plot against him. But after all this time, Roxanne knew that any attempt at an explanation was fruitless. “It just happened,” she said helplessly.
“It just happened?” His skeptical laughter shot through her like hot shards of jagged glass. “Come on, Roxanne…you’re a writer. You can come up with a better one than that.”
“You know…” Roxanne was tired of taking all the blame. “When I left, we weren’t exactly the picture of perfection. You hated me. Do you remember that?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But it wasn’t hate. I didn’t hate you then.” Oh, but how he hated her now.
“Jesus, Frank...I was your prisoner.”
“I was just trying to protect you.”
“From who?”
“From you, Roxie,” he said. “From you.”
“If I’d told you I was pregnant,” she said. “What would you have done?”
“I would have taken care of you and our baby.”
“Hell, Frank…” Her
laughter had a bite to it. “You couldn’t even take care of yourself,” she said. “Much less me and a baby.”
There it was. The cold hard truth. She’d never had faith in him.
“Roxanne,” he said in a quiet, calm tone, “I would have done what I had to do.”
“You would have had to quit the band…is what you would have had to do.”
“So what!”
“So what?” Her words tore at him. “You would’ve ended up hating us for that.”
“That was not your decision to make.” He cleared his throat and wrangled with his anger. She wasn’t going to hang irresponsibility on him, not when he hadn’t been given the chance to prove he would’ve done otherwise. “It was my decision. Not yours.”
He was Frankie’s father. By depriving him of that knowledge, she’d taken away his God-given right. She had no right and he hated her for that. Frank intended to see to it that she paid. It might be the last thing he ever did, but—somehow, someway, someday—Roxanne Simon was going pay.
“I know you hate me for what I’ve done to you,” Roxanne said. “And you have every right.”
Damn right I do.
She was starting with the waterworks again, but that didn’t carry much weight with Frank.
“And I know there’s no way I could ever make it up to you, but I truly am sorry,” she offered with apologetic honesty.
Frank didn’t care about all that. “You’re sorry?” He laughed. “Well I’m sorry, too. It’s not enough, Roxanne.”
“I know.” She waded through her tears. He hoped she choked on them. “I know you hate me.”
“Well you’re right about that. I do hate you.”
Roxanne’s tears magnified and everything went blurry. Racked with sobs, she turned away.
“Come here.” He embraced her with consoling arms. “Don’t cry.”
After five long years Frank found a ray of hope. He thought maybe, just maybe, things were finally going to go his way.
“Please...” Roxanne fell into his trap, succumbing to the faux comfort he offered. “He’s all I’ve got in this world…please don’t turn him against me.”
Her futile pleas did little to sway him. Even as he held her close and comforted her, his actions meant nothing. They were just a ploy, a simple tactic to gain her confidence, allowing him the chance to get back into her good graces. But only one thing interested Frank right now—making sure that Roxanne Simon rued the day she ever met him.
He hadn’t figured out the particulars yet, but the details would come to him. Just like everything else had.
Early the next morning, Candy found little Frankie downstairs watching television. He loved music videos as much as she did, and the two of them often tuned in to MTV together.
She dropped onto the couch beside him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Started without me this morning, huh?” she asked playfully.
Frankie wiped his cheek and looked at Candy, his blue eyes heated with his annoyance over the kiss. The displeasure shooting out from his eyes was so hauntingly familiar. It hit Candy a surge of anxiety.
“They’re going to play Garrett-Hollander,” Frankie said knowingly.
“Well of course they are.” Candy never got tired of the irony over Frankie’s favorite band turning out to be Garrett-Hollander. And she wasn’t surprised when the music to “Wild She-Cat” filtered out from the television’s speakers. “See. There they are now.”
Frankie zeroed in on the TV as Frank started to sing.
She does her best work
Under the cover of night
And no matter what she tells you
She just wants to avoid the fight
You’re looking at her
But she’s looking away
And I can tell you it's going to cost you
Nothing is free here today
Frank parked his Ferrari in front of Roxanne’s house. In the highest of spirits, he grabbed the brown teddy bear as he got out of the car. Jubilantly, he sauntered up to the door and rang the bell. Feeling totally entitled, he waited for someone to open up and let him in.
The door opened, and some guy stared blankly at Frank. “May I help you, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m here to see Roxanne,” Frank said insolently.
“Ms. Roxanne is still sleeping.” The guy made no move to extend an invitation inside.
“I’d like to see Frankie then.” Frank wanted very much to push his way inside.
“Frank...” Candy appeared from around the corner. “It’s all right, Jameson.” She called him off.
“I want to see him,” Frank said to her. “I want to see for myself.” He knew when he laid eyes on the boy, he’d know if he was his. If it turned out to be true, Frank planned on telling him.
Candy had to know it was useless to fight with Frank or try to talk him out of it. With a bit of reluctance, she pointed to the living room.
To his surprise, Frank found his son watching a Garrett-Hollander video. He strolled to the couch and sat down beside the boy.
Frankie’s eyes never left the TV. “Shhh...” He gestured with a finger over his mouth. “This is my favorite band,” he whispered a fair warning to be quiet while he watched the rest of the video.
She’s a wild she-cat
And her heart is cruel
She’s a wild she-cat
You better watch your back boy
With the video just about over, Frankie cut his eyes toward Frank. His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open. Frankie looked back at the TV and then back at Frank again.
“Do you know who I am?” Frank asked.
“Yeah.” Frankie nodded. “You’re my favorite singer.”
Frank took off his shades and smiled. “Hi, I’m Frank Garrett.” He offered his hand to Frankie.
“Wow!” Frankie exclaimed as they shook hands. “Your name is like mine.”
“That’s true. Do you know why that is?”
Frankie shook his head.
“Because your mother named you after me,” Frank said.
That statement confused Frankie. As far as he knew, he’d been named after his father and his grandfather. But Frankie was distracted by the bear Frank had and didn’t say anything more about his name.
“Here,” Frank said, offering the toy to him. “This is for you.”
Frankie reached out but he stopped short as a wry look crossed his face, and he slumped back against the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked.
“My mommy says not to take gifts from strangers.” His distressed expression showed his disappointment.
“I think it’ll be okay,” Frank said. “But just in case, we’ll ask your mom.”
Frankie’s face lit up.
“Has your mom ever told you about your father?” Frank asked, realizing Frankie did have his eyes. But he’d known the truth the moment he walked into the room.
“My Daddy can’t be with us,” he told Frank. “But Mommy says he loves me.”
“Have you ever met your father?” Frank wanted to know if Roxanne had taught him that Kirk Bronson was his father. “Do you know who he is?”
“I never met him…but his name is Frank.” His face tightened. “He loves me. My Mommy said so.”
“She’s right, Frankie…I do love you.” A sad and distant smile curved on Frank’s mouth. “I’m your father.”
“Frank Garrett!” Candy entered the living room.
“Don’t start, Candy,” Frank said calmly, putting his Vaurnets back on. “Frankie—” He turned to the boy. “—Why don’t you go upstairs and tell your mom I’m here, okay.”
“Okay.” Frankie nodded. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“No, I won’t leave without saying goodbye first.”
Candy watched Frankie run out of the room and then she turned to the uninvited guest. “Frank...” she scolded him. “How could you tell him that without talking to Roxanne first?”
“You know what Candy...?�
�� Frank said in a less than friendly manner. “He shouldn’t have to be told who I am.”
Frank had a point, but Candy remained forever the optimist and eternally on Roxanne’s side. “You should have given Roxanne the opportunity to tell him.”
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