Keeping Secrets Crane

by Cindy Crane

  And it didn’t matter which way Jake looked at it—however much he blamed her father, he’d still let her down and left her to live with his betrayal for twelve years. Maybe it would be better to let her think it was his fault after all. The truth was still too painful to imagine. At least this way she’d only ever be angry with one man in her life. She’d already shown resentment at his suggestion that her father could have taken advantage of the situation.

  “Too much had happened. Too much time had passed. I was in a mess. And I thought you’d have met someone else by then.” It was, in part, the truth. The whole experience had totally knocked his confidence. He’d hated himself for having been so weak. It took him a long time to come to terms with what had happened.

  Frankie bristled, her emotions now riding a roller coaster. He was just making excuses. “Liar,” she snapped. “You must have read some of my letters. You knew I loved you. That I was waiting for you. You could have answered them. If I was never going to be part of your life again, you could have told me it was over. Not left me dangling like that. You broke my heart.” And for a moment her voice caught in her throat as she fought the tears prickling the corners of her eyes. The man was infuriating. He was still hiding something.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at her fresh attack. “But by your own admission you ended up hating me. Your last few letters were starting to make it quite clear on that score. That’s why I sent the last three back unopened with address unknown. I couldn’t bear to read any more.”

  Frankie gave a little snort of disbelief and shook her head slightly, a wry twist to her lips. “And you believed it, of course. How convenient for you.” Her sarcasm was clearly evident. How could he have given up on her so easily—especially when those last letters could have told him so much and could have changed everything?

  Jake fixed her with the hard stare he’d hoped to keep locked away in the far reaches of his own insecurities. “You don’t have sole rights to play the injured party,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget, while you were professing your love, presumably you’d already made your new friends.” He didn’t need to elaborate. It didn’t take a genius to work out the maths. Debs must have been conceived shortly after Frankie’s arrival in her new home.

  He was sorry he’d hurt her. But he’d had no choice. She’d made her choices freely, and so quickly. Much as he hated himself for having been so weak, she’d betrayed him too. She must have been screwing around while she was writing all that stuff about missing him. He was suddenly tired of shouldering all the guilt. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he had already, but she had to understand she didn’t own exclusive privilege to suffering.

  Frankie bit her tongue. There was more she’d been going to tell him too on this visit. But she was now unsure. The physical attraction between them might still be strong, but twelve years absence was making them suspicious and uncertain of each other. With lies told and secrets hidden, she wasn’t sure she was ready to impart her news yet, after all.

  Suddenly she needed space. She’d been fantasising about screwing the living daylights out of him all week, naively imagining things to be just as they used to be. But they weren’t. Too much had happened. She wanted to trust him, but he was still holding back. She could feel it, taste it. She’d known him too well. And it was obvious he didn’t fully trust her.

  She pushed her chair back forcefully and stood up. “Maybe we’re being a little too hasty getting together like this. I think I’d better go. I’ll get a room at the motel. I want to get my head round everything.”

  Jake was on his feet too—quickly—blocking her path to the door as she snatched up her handbag. This wasn’t what he’d intended at all. Yes, he’d been hurt by her revelation, but he was trying to understand why she’d done it. He’d hoped to show he could deal with it like a mature adult, not a petulant child. His head had already been filled during the past week with pictures of playing happy families and being a father to Frankie’s daughter: taking her to football games, or skating, or whatever it was that girls of that age did these days.

  “No. Don’t go,” he pleaded, fighting the panic suddenly engulfing him. It was like a monster, filling his belly with fear; its cold tentacles of steel taking grip and working their way up into his chest, tightening round his heart. He couldn’t let her go. Not when they were on the verge of being together again.

  Frankie heard the alarm in his voice but stood firm. She searched his face, wishing she could see deeper into those pools of brown, wishing she could see what secrets he was hiding; and wishing she could trust him with her secret too.

  The air between them shimmied with static. It was tense; each encompassed in fear, worrying about what each had to tell the other and fearing their reaction; and that what might be, might never be because of it.

  The knot in Frankie’s stomach tightened and travelled into her throat, settling in a large, uncomfortable lump that she had to swallow down hard. She didn’t want to go, not really. But she wasn’t sure where things would end up if she stayed. They’d never fought or argued—not seriously. But it was brewing, like a storm cloud hovering over them with thunder rumbling in the distance, threatening to rain—serious rain—on their parade.

  “I have to,” she said. “I think we need more time. Our hormones are getting in the way of common sense. Twelve years is a long time. Too much water’s gone under the bridge. For both of us,” she added as an afterthought. “Let’s have some breathing space. We’ll see each other tomorrow. I promise. Then it’s cards on the table. No holds barred. There are things I need to tell you too about those friends.”

  “And if we don’t like what we hear?”

  Much as he didn’t relish listening to all the gory details, he was sure he could handle it. It was his secret that still worried him the most—and how Frankie would deal with it.

  Chapter 21

  Jake busied himself with the dishes. There’d been no dissuading her. She was determined to go. But at least they parted on good terms. They were still talking.

  A little smile finally flickered across Frankie’s face as she pecked him on the cheek before climbing into the driving seat. She promised to phone him, to let him know she’d checked in safely at the motel. Then they’d meet for lunch the following day.

  As Jake placed her weekend bag in the boot, he’d half-joked it was the shortest stop-over he’d ever known. But he’d not argued further. She was obviously wrestling with her own demons. Though how they could compare to what he still needed to tell her about her father, he was at a loss to recognize.

  Maybe she felt she had cheated on him. Though what was there to cheat on? It had all happened after he’d finished with her, even though he’d never actually told her that—coward that he was. He’d let her go thinking they were still an item.

  He scraped the cold spaghetti from the plates into the bin. He felt such a louse. He ought to go after her and get it all out into the open now. What was the point in torturing himself another night? He was never going to get the man off his back. Maybe once he’d come clean with his daughter, things might be different. And if he and Turner were determined to go through with their threats, then so be it.

  It was the saucepan’s turn. Cold bolognese sauce now congealed in the bottom of the pan. Normally he’d have polished off the lot, but his appetite was well gone. And the metal spoon squawked angrily against metal as he tipped it up to follow the rest of the dregs into the bin.

  It missed.

  Damn.

  It slid down the side of the stainless steel drum onto the floor.

  Shit.

  He kicked the bin—hard.

  It splattered remains over the rest of the tiles.

  Double shit.

  That was all he needed. The kitchen floor was a replica of his life, reminding him what a mess he’d made of it. It was about time he took control and started cleaning it up. His life, not the floor—the latter could wait. He’d lived amongst the garbage for too long. All
his problems were nicely tucked away, but were still festering and rotting. They’d never go away fully until he dumped them once and for all. There was no point blaming Frankie’s father, or Turner. If Frankie was prepared to open her heart and tell him about the other men, knowing how it would hurt him, then he had to open up to her too—and if it hurt her too, then tough. At least they’d be quits. Then maybe they could start over again.

  He snatched up his car keys. She’d be at the motel by now. He’d go there and tell her everything. No more Mr Nice Guy trying to spare her feelings. No more wimping out. And if she didn’t believe him, then so be it. At least his conscience would be clear. And he’d be free to set about clearing his name and making sure Richardson and Turner got what they deserved.

  He flung open the door, nearly tripping over Frankie in the process. Her hand was poised over the doorbell.

  “What?!” he spluttered, blinking in surprise.

  Frankie gave him a sheepish smile. She’d wanted to be angry with him: for letting her down, for still not talking, for suggesting her father wouldn’t have helped, but she couldn’t maintain it. She was as bad as he was; with secrets of her own she’d failed to share with him. How was she to know he wouldn’t be angry with her too?

  She placed her hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him backwards into the flat. “I can’t do it,” she confessed. “I’ve had the bloody hots for you all week. And the thought of spending another night alone in a double bed isn’t boding well. I think we’ve wasted too much time on that score.” The sheepish smile was already morphing into a sexy, smouldering one. “Let’s do what we planned to do tonight and face the demons tomorrow.”

  She lifted her face to his and kissed him softly on the mouth. It was putting things off yet again, but if tomorrow was to bring unhappiness once more, at least they’d remember the sex. She’d always remembered the sex. Sex with Jake had been out of this world—steamy, sensual, and carnal. And she’d been without it for too long.

  His face melted with relief. “Sounds good to me,” he smiled, as he wrapped her in his arms, tossing his keys onto the shelf at the side of the door.

  “Where were you going?” she asked.

  “To find you.”

  “Same reason, I hope.”

  He squeezed her closer to him.

  “Something like that,” he murmured into her soft, shiny hair, inhaling the delicate scent. Procrastination was his biggest downfall. One more night wouldn’t hurt.

  Chapter 22

  Frankie stirred, enjoying the sensation of skin against skin—the warmth, the touch. Legs entwined, her cheek rested against Jake’s strong chest as he cradled her in his arms. She felt the tremble of breath in his throat as he too surfaced from the depths of sleep. The noise had disturbed him too.

  The bedroom door burst open and the overhead light dazzled, blinding them both as they struggled out of the blissful aura surrounding them.

  “What the fuck…?” Jake began, eyes screwed against the glaring light, as they finally came into focus.

  DS Turner filled the doorway with his huge frame. And four uniformed police officers surrounded the bed.

  Frankie snatched the sheet, pulling it tightly to her breasts, hiding her naked body from the smirking faces around her.

  “Get dressed, Wilkes. You’re coming down to the station.”

  Frankie’s heart skipped a beat as she threw a fearful glance towards Jake, all her father’s earlier revelations scaring her afresh.

  “Jake?” she queried. She barely trusted herself to speak. Then she looked at the DS. “Sam?” Uncertainty quivered in her throat. What was her father’s old friend and partner, her godfather, doing here too?

  “Sorry you’re here to witness this, Frankie,” he apologised. “But there are some enquiries this scumbag needs to help us with.”

  He nodded towards one officer who grabbed Jake’s arm, ready to haul him from the bed.

  Jake shrugged it off.

  “All right, I’m coming,” he growled. Then he fixed the DS with a hard stare of his own. “And just watch who you’re calling a scumbag.” He should have known the bastard was still prepared to go through with his threats.

  He flung the sheet from him and stood naked before the intrusive audience. The eyes of the only female officer there were drawn approvingly to his lean physique—and everything else on display, still in its early-morning state of erection. Lying so close to Frankie’s soft, warm body never failed to arouse him—even in sleep. The policewoman’s appreciative stare wasn’t lost on any of them, Jake included.

  “Sorry, love, no can do. I’m choosy about my women,” he snarled. He couldn’t help the sardonic curl to his lips as he saw her cheeks turn pink; as he pulled on his jeans and dragged his t-shirt over his ruffled hair and day old stubble.

  He knew he was asking for trouble, allowing his mouth to run away with itself. But it was better than giving in to the overwhelming urge to lash out and put a fist into D.S. Turner’s fat, ugly face. Anyway, he’d never been one for violence. Too bloody soft, that had been his trouble—too soft, too weak, and too scared.

  Frankie pulled the sheet even more tightly around her, until just the smooth, creamy white skin of her shoulders was exposed. She too was attracting more than just admiring glances; with her tousled hair, and eyes, shiny and wide with disbelief. Lecherous smirks passed between the uniformed officers. By the time their graphic descriptions of her had gone round the station, they’d have seen her lying there naked.

  In their dreams.

  “And you lot can keep your eyes off,” he snapped, his eyes black and full of hate for what her father’s crony was putting her through. She looked scared to death. She shouldn’t be witnessing this. And he wanted to wipe the arrogant sneers off their stupid faces. Because they were stupid; they were being manipulated as much as he was. Frankie’s father was abusing his position of authority once again.

  “Jake, what’s happening?” she asked, small-voiced. Then she continued before he had chance to answer, “Sam, why are you here?”

  “Sorry, Frankie,” he said, “but you have to realise he’s a bad ’un. Always has been. You had a lucky escape last time and it looks like you might have done this time round too.”

  He caught Jake’s arm.

  “Are you arresting me?” he asked, pulling it away. The less contact he had with the man, the better.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Turner growled. “Let’s just say you’re helping with some enquiries for now. We’ve got an officer, from out of town, coming in to talk to you.”

  With no prizes for guessing who that was.

  Frankie stumbled out of bed, the sheet still pulled securely around her body, and her heart thumping. “Jake, I’m coming with you.” Then she turned to the police officers. “Just get out, will you, and let me get dressed.” Her earlier fear was now transforming into anger. How dare they spoil everything?

  “No need for that, Frankie,” Turner said. “I suggest you just go home and forget about all this.”

  He was already pushing Jake through the door, thinking there was nothing he’d like better than to have the young buck resist and throw a punch, confirming he was the dangerous criminal they said he was. But Jake had regained his composure, turning briefly to Frankie as he left.

  “Talk to your father, Frankie. He’ll put you in the picture. Only when he does, just remember he’ll be lying—just like he did twelve years ago. That’s what I needed to tell you. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have helped me. The drugs, the missing needle—he was responsible for all of it.”

  Chapter 23

  Jake sat alone in the interview room—four blank walls, a door, a table with four chairs. It had déjà vu written all over it. Because it was exactly the same room he’d sat in last time he was here. Except back then, it had been all Carly’s fault, in her bad choice in boyfriends, and her stupid party. It had given DI Richardson all the excuse he needed to get Jake out of his daughter’s life.

 
The memories came flooding back. How he’d tried to dissuade Frankie from going to the party, and then given in to her delightful persuasions. If there was one thing Frankie could do, it was persuasion. He was putty in her hands. But he would be careful to keep a keen eye out for any hint of drug use. Carly’s boyfriend already had a reputation on the estate. And he knew Carly and her little group of cronies were smoking dope. Word was some of them weren’t averse to trying the stronger stuff too.

  Well, he and Frankie weren’t going to be a party to that. But they were Frankie’s friends, and she was desperate to go.

  Her parents were already packed and ready to leave. Richardson was ready to start his new job. And he was ready to take Frankie with them by force, if need be.

  She was a wreck. She wanted to stay here. She begged Jake to let her stay with him, despite what had happened with his father. She needed to get out of their way that night, and what better than at Carly’s place. So, he agreed but said they’d leave at the first sign of trouble. He’d be her guardian angel: he’d make sure she didn’t get dragged into their little games. So they found a quiet corner, where they made plans, whispered ideas, and discussed getting a place together. But Jake insisted she’d still go to college. Somehow he’d afford it, working extra hours if need be. She was too intelligent to waste her education. And it would prove to her parents that he could be responsible and care for their daughter.

  And they were so engrossed with their plans; they never noticed how the house stank of weed. And they soon forgot about everyone else too, including Carly’s boyfriend, even though all Jake’s earlier fears were confirmed. The latest drug dealer on the block, he was already feeding Carly the beginnings of a habit. And in an area with no hope and no jobs, her party was the ideal place to attract a few more buyers.

  But he wasn’t so clever. He’d been watched for some time by CID .