Secrets We Keep

by Barbara Freethy

  "This one will surprise you," he said. "My dad was an actor when he was in college. He even performed in a play in San Francisco when he was in his twenties."

  "No way. Your father? He doesn't seem like the acting type, although he did have a loud, deep voice. I bet that was good for the stage. Why did he quit?"

  "He got married, had six kids, and worked a demanding job. He put the needs of the family ahead of his own. He was that kind of man."

  "Six kids is a lot," she murmured. "I always wanted a sibling, but my mom said she had a terrible pregnancy with me and she just couldn't risk having another baby."

  "Do you want to have kids some day?" he asked curiously.

  "I would," she admitted, immediately thinking of some little Hunters running around with dark hair and blue eyes. "And you?"

  "Sure. If I met the right person."

  "Right." She cleared her throat. "We should get our check." She waved to the waiter, who came over with the bill.

  "I've got it," Hunter said, pulling out his wallet.

  "I can split it with you."

  "Have I ever let you pay for anything?" he countered.

  "We're not dating, Hunter. You're not…you know…getting anything for this."

  "I didn't get that much in high school," he said dryly. "We went out for two months before…you know."

  "It was worth the wait, wasn't it?"

  "More than worth it," he said, a glint in his eyes. "And, as proven yesterday, there are still a few sparks."

  "That we're going to put out every time they appear," she said firmly. "You're a firefighter; you should know how to do that."

  "I also know how to stoke a fire. In fact, I'm pretty sure I remember exactly what you—"

  "Stop. We're not going to talk about that."

  "I wasn't actually thinking about talking."

  "Or doing." She picked up her iced tea, thinking she definitely needed a drink to cool her down. Before the tea could hit her lips, two kids went running by the table, one smashing into her chair, knocking the glass out of her hand and sending cold liquid all over her T-shirt.

  "Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," a woman said, grabbing both boys in a tight grip. "Let me pay for your dinner or your shirt or something."

  "It's fine." She dabbed at her shirt with her napkin, but it didn't help much. She was completely soaked.

  "I feel so bad," the woman said with apology in her eyes.

  "It's nothing, really. Don't worry about it."

  The waiter came over, offering her a stack of napkins, but what she really needed was a new shirt. "It's all good," she told the waiter and the woman. "I just need to go."

  Hunter put cash down for the bill. "I don't need any change. We can leave."

  As they exited the restaurant, she paused to wring out her shirt. "I really wish I hadn't gotten that last refill."

  "Sorry about that."

  "It wasn't your fault. The kids were just playing. It's going to be a long drive back to Half Moon Bay," she muttered as they walked to his car. "Although, maybe I can change into my sweaty shirt from earlier today."

  "I have a better idea. Why don't we stop at my apartment? It's only a mile or so from here. I can give you a T-shirt or sweatshirt to get you home."

  Going to Hunter's apartment seemed like both a bad idea and a good one.

  "It will take five minutes," Hunter added. "Don't waste time arguing."

  She slid into the passenger seat and decided to take his advice. She really wanted to change out of her shirt, and she wouldn't mind getting a peek at Hunter's home. But that's all she was going to do—change clothes and take a look around.

  The icy-cold tea shower had doused the sparks between them, and she wasn't about to let them come back to life, no matter how appealing the idea might be. She hadn't just grown in confidence over the past several years; she'd also learned how best to protect what little was left of her battered heart. And if there was one man who could break it, it was Hunter. She couldn't give him that chance.

  Within minutes, Hunter pulled into a short driveway, stopping in front of a closed garage door. "We can leave the car here while you change."

  So, Hunter wasn't planning on having her stay long, either. She told herself that was a good thing.

  As she got out of the car and followed him toward the front of the building, a figure suddenly came out of the shadows.

  Startled, she put her hand on Hunter's arm, as he instinctively shielded her from whoever was there.

  Then she heard a woman's voice say, "Hunter? It's me. It's Lindsay."

  She moved around Hunter to see her old friend, only Lindsay was no longer a fourteen-year-old girl. She was a beautiful brunette wearing a short dress and high heels that showed off her bare legs.

  "Lindsay?" she said in surprise.

  "Oh, my God, Cassidy. Is that you?" Lindsay squealed.

  "What are you doing here, Lindsay?" Hunter asked.

  "I saw that you called me earlier. I thought I'd come by. And here you and Cassidy are together. Wow! It feels like old times."

  Cassidy nodded, but in her gut, she was thinking it felt nothing like old times.

  Fourteen

  "Let's go inside," Hunter said, a trace of tension in his voice. He led them up the stairs and into his building, then up another flight of stairs to the second floor.

  She'd been curious about where he lived, but now with Lindsay in between them, Cassidy was feeling a lot more curious about the relationship that Lindsay and Hunter had had. Hunter had said that he'd never slept with Lindsay, that he hadn't felt the same way about her as she'd felt about him, but he hadn't given her any other details.

  It shouldn't matter to her, but it did. Lindsay was the one girl she'd confided in. She'd told Lindsay after she'd slept with Hunter. She'd told Lindsay that she was in love with Hunter.

  But once she was out of the picture, Lindsay had apparently not cared about any of that.

  Hunter opened the door and waved them inside.

  She glanced around his apartment, noting the comfortably large gray sectional sofa, the oversized TV on the wall, the golf clubs in the corner, and a racing bike hanging off the wall. Through the open bedroom door, she could also see a king-sized bed that hadn't been made.

  Hunter's home was very much like him—carefree, casual, sporty, and inviting. Only, it would have felt more inviting if Lindsay hadn't been there. And seeing Lindsay in her pretty dress and heels and beautifully styled hair and makeup, Cassidy felt like a mess, very aware of her still sopping T-shirt and the jeans with the dirt and grass stains.

  "I'll get you a shirt," Hunter said, heading into his bedroom.

  "Someone dumped iced tea on me," she said, in response to Lindsay's questioning look.

  "You were having dinner together?"

  "We got some pizza."

  "You look different, Cassidy. Your hair is a lot lighter, longer."

  "I spend a lot of time in the sun. I'm a landscape designer."

  "You and your gardens," Lindsay said with a smile. "That's appropriate. I work in an art gallery."

  "That fits you, too. You always liked to draw."

  "I don't do much of that anymore. I sell other people's work." Lindsay shifted her weight, crossing her arms in front of her ample breasts. "Did Hunter tell you we went out a few times back in high school?"

  "He mentioned it. So did your mom. She said you went to Hunter's senior prom."

  "He was heartbroken when you left. So was I. I thought we were best friends. I couldn't believe you wouldn't say good-bye to me. Hunter felt the same way. You abandoned him. And you didn't just leave, you went with Tommy."

  She frowned at Lindsay's characterization of her departure, but she couldn't really deny any of it.

  "Although, I guess you didn't leave with Tommy. I spoke to the police earlier, along with my parents, and my sister. They told us that Tommy's remains were found in the Faulkners' garage. We were stunned. Do you know what happened? Was he killed bef
ore you left? Is that why you ran away?"

  "No. I had no idea Tommy had been killed until yesterday."

  Hunter returned with a T-shirt. "Will this work?"

  "Sure. Thanks. I'll go change." She was actually happy to have a minute to get her head together. Lindsay's attitude was a mix of happy to see you and wish you'd never come back. She couldn't quite get a read on her.

  As she moved into the hall bathroom, she didn't close the door all the way, curious to hear what Lindsay would say now that she was out of the room.

  "I missed you, Hunter," Lindsay said. "But you look good, really good."

  Cassidy's heart twisted at the sultry note in Lindsay's voice.

  "So do you," Hunter replied in a polite tone.

  "It's been a long time, and once again it's Cassidy who brings us together. That's ironic."

  "What are you doing here, Lindsay?"

  "I want to help."

  "Do you know something that could help us figure out who killed Tommy?"

  "I don't know. But I definitely think we should talk about it."

  Cassidy had a feeling Lindsay wanted to do more than talk. Deciding she'd heard enough, she closed the door and stripped off her shirt, replacing it with a navy-blue shirt with an SFFD logo.

  Wearing Hunter's shirt made her feel like his arms were around her, which was a silly thought. It was just a shirt, nothing more.

  She splashed some water on her face, ran her fingers through her hair, and then gave herself a brief pep talk. She didn't have any reason to be jealous of Lindsay and Hunter. She'd left. She'd made her choice. He could have dated whoever he wanted. And she had no reason to hide out in the bathroom. She hadn't done anything wrong. And she'd been invited into his home. Lindsay was the one who'd shown up unexpectedly.

  She might have been a little afraid to come out of the shadows when she was in high school, but as Hunter had pointed out over dinner, she'd changed. She had confidence now, and maybe it was about time she showed Lindsay the new Cassidy, too.

  * * *

  Hunter stared at Lindsay with a frown, not quite sure what to make of her sudden reappearance in his life, the flirty gleam in her eyes, the hint of nervousness in her smile. And the fact that Cassidy was steps away only made the situation more uncomfortable.

  "Is this too weird?" Lindsay nervously played with the ring on her right finger.

  She'd always loved rings, always fiddled with them when she was tense or on edge, and just as he remembered, she had three on each hand, but the third finger on her left hand was bare.

  "It's weird," he agreed. "But it's not your fault."

  She seemed relieved by his words. "You're right. It's not my fault." She shot a glance toward the hallway where Cassidy had disappeared. "I feel like Cassidy is angry about the fact that we went out together. What did you tell her?"

  "Not much, and I don't think she's angry."

  "She is the one who left. I would have never gone out with you if she hadn't. I was her friend."

  He would have never asked Lindsay out if Cassidy hadn't left, because he'd barely noticed her until he realized she was the one person who was also missing Cassidy, which had given them an unexpected bond.

  "I always thought we could have been something…if Cassidy's shadow hadn't been between us," Lindsay added.

  He didn't feel that way at all, but he couldn't see the point in arguing that fact, and he was more interested in talking to Lindsay about her experience with the Faulkners than their past dating situation. "Let's talk about Tommy. Did you ever notice anything unusual going on at the house next door?"

  "No. Cassidy never said much, but I knew she wasn't happy there. Donald and Geralyn were friendly enough to me and my parents. They came over a few times for dinner, but they never brought the kids. I only spoke to Tommy a couple of times and that was usually when he was looking for Cassidy or wanted to get Cassidy to go somewhere with him. I can't believe he was killed in that house. I'm kind of glad it burned to the ground. It's really hard on my parents knowing they've been living next door to monsters all these years, and they had no idea."

  "Do your parents think the Faulkners killed Tommy?"

  "What else can they think?" She dropped her voice down a notch. "Do you think they hurt Cassidy? Is that why she ran?"

  "You'll have to ask her that," he said, not wanting to reveal anything Cassidy had said to him.

  "Cassidy never said that she was being abused or threatened. I wish she'd been more candid. Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe she wouldn't have had to run away."

  "I don't think you could have stopped anything; you were a kid."

  "We both were. I hope you're not blaming yourself now."

  She took a step forward, getting closer than he wanted.

  "I don't blame myself," he said.

  "That's good. You suffered so much when she left you. I hope you haven't forgotten what she put you through."

  He cleared his throat and moved away as Cassidy came back into the room, wearing his T-shirt.

  "Did I miss something?" Cassidy asked.

  "Not really," he replied. "We were just talking about Tommy, about the Faulkners being the most likely suspects."

  "They were the adults in the house," Lindsay said. "Although, Tommy wasn't that big. One of the other boys could have done something to him. I know Jeremiah didn't like him."

  "Why do you say that?" Cassidy asked.

  "We hung out a few times after Tommy and you disappeared. Jeremiah said he was glad you were both gone. He said you were trouble, and you were messing things up in the family."

  Based on what he'd heard at the bar from Jeremiah himself, Lindsay's words rang true.

  "But I can't imagine Jeremiah killing Tommy," Lindsay said. "Or being able to hide him in the garage. You know, there was a time when we thought there was a dead skunk under the house. Now I'm wondering…" Her mouth curved down in distaste as she visibly shuddered. "Anyway, I hate even thinking about it."

  "You don't need to think about it," he told her.

  "Well, I want to help. Let's keep talking," Lindsay said, giving him another flirty look.

  Cassidy frowned, then said, "I need to go home. But you two can stay and chat."

  "I need to give you a ride to your van," he reminded her.

  "I can call for a car to take me to the Holmans' house."

  "No. I'll take you," he said firmly. "Why don't we talk another time, Lindsay? It's been a long day."

  "All right," Lindsay replied. "You have my number. I hope you'll call. I mean it when I say I want to help."

  "Before we break this up," Hunter cut in, knowing he was probably going to piss Cassidy off with his words, but who knew when they'd have a chance to talk to Lindsay again, and they needed as much information as they could get. "Do you remember a girl named Molly living at the Faulkners' house?"

  Cassidy sucked in a quick breath, giving him a worried look before her gaze turned to Lindsay.

  "Molly?" Lindsay repeated on a questioning note. "I don't remember the name, but there were a lot of kids who went through the house, and to be honest, my mom didn't really like me playing over there. She thought some of the kids were kind of rough. The only one she really liked was you, Cassidy. She thought you were a lost soul, and she wanted to mother you. That's why she let us walk to school together and why she let you work in the garden."

  "Your mom was very nice to me. Molly lived in the house for only three weeks. She had long, black hair and dark eyes. She was of Native American heritage. She wore a turquoise necklace around her neck."

  "Like that one?" Lindsay asked, motioning to the necklace around Cassidy's neck.

  "Yes. Just like this one."

  "I think I remember seeing a girl with long black hair in one of the upstairs windows. But I don't believe I ever spoke to her. What happened to her?"

  "I don't know," Cassidy said. "The Faulkners told me she was moved to another home. When I went looking for her, the story changed, that she
had never existed. And all of the kids went along with the Faulkners' lie."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "I'm pretty sure they didn't want to disappear like she did."

  "Is she why you ran away?" Lindsay asked.

  "Molly was part of it."

  "I wish you'd told me about her. Why didn't you?"

  "I don't know. You were part of a different life—a life outside the house, just like Hunter was. And I felt the need to keep the two parts separate. But it's all merging together now."

  "Well, I'm glad you're all right, Cassidy. Is there a man in your life?"

  "No, but I'm busy with work, so it's all good."

  Lindsay smiled at that piece of information. "I'm glad you're happy. I'll let you two go. Promise you'll stay in touch."

  "We will," Hunter said, with Cassidy nodding her head in agreement.

  The tension seemed to have dissipated in the last few minutes with Cassidy opening up about Molly, and it was a much more comfortable silence that accompanied them down the stairs.

  "Did you park far away?" he asked Lindsay. "Do you need a ride?"

  "No, I'm just across the street. I'll see you both later."

  "Okay." He kept an eye on Lindsay until she got in her car, and then he and Cassidy got in the Jeep and headed toward Pacific Heights.

  Cassidy didn't say anything for the first few minutes, but he had a feeling words were coming; he just wasn't quite sure what those words were going to be. Waiting for her to speak started to get on his nerves, so he broke the silence. "Are you okay? Want to talk about anything Lindsay had to say?"

  "What she said about Jeremiah rang true. I don't think he and Tommy got along."

  "How did Donald and Tommy interact? Were they hostile? Was there a lot of friction?"

  "Not until Tommy took my side on the Molly situation."

  "I don't think you ever told me Tommy's story. Where did he come from? How did he end up in foster care?"

  "He was abandoned, left at a fire station when he was two years old. He wasn't old enough to tell anyone who he was. The firefighter who took him in—his name was Tommy, and that's the name he was given. He was in foster homes his entire life. I think he was born with fetal alcohol syndrome. He had trouble with school work, couldn't always concentrate, was sometimes hyperactive and distractible. So he was never adopted; he just kept getting moved from house to house."