by Jessie Keane
‘Josh was a diamond,’ said Benedict.
‘What about the Milo woman? What about her daughter, Suki?’ said Aysha.
‘What about them?’
‘I dunno.’ Aysha shrugged and looked at his face. ‘I just thought there was something there. A spark of something. You and Suki. Is that crazy?’
Connor opened his mouth to deny it, and then found that he couldn’t say the words.
‘Connor, I wouldn’t mind. You and her. OK?’ said Aysha.
He thought back to the time he had found Suki here in the mud in the cemetery, crying her heart out. Hating her, then. Despising her. Feeling almost ready to wring her neck with his bare hands. But . . . yeah, Aysha was right. There had been something, for sure. A powerful erotic attraction which he thought – or wished – had cut both ways.
‘OK,’ he said, but he didn’t even know where Suki was these days, or her mother. Back in the States, probably.
A month after Josh’s headstone was erected, the Henley house got sold. Connor was there clearing stuff out when he saw someone had left a message on the phone. Shit, he ought to have cancelled the contract, but he’d forgotten. There’d been so much to think about over these last months, none of it pleasant.
The message was from Suki. He phoned her back, and told her all that had happened.
When Suki got off the phone to Connor – she was using Donna’s office phone at Sylvester’s – she went straight in to see Claire.
Suki sat down and looked at her mother. ‘I’ve just got off the phone to Connor Flynn,’ said Suki.
‘Oh?’ Claire put her pen down and eyed her daughter with a smile. ‘You liked him, didn’t you.’
Suki looked embarrassed. ‘Was it obvious? I really liked him. Couldn’t seem to get him out of my mind. So I called Josh’s home number, since I didn’t know Connor’s. Left a message. Heard nothing, and I thought, oh well, that’s it then. But he’s just phoned back. And . . . he gave me some news. Pretty shocking news, really.’
‘Go on.’
‘She’s dead.’
‘Who . . . ?’
‘Shauna Flynn. She . . . she shot herself.’
Claire went very still. Then, to Suki’s alarm, her mother’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh Christ!’ said Claire, putting her hands to her face.
‘It’s over, Mom,’ said Suki, going round the desk and hugging her hard. ‘Don’t cry. It’s all over,’ she repeated.
At last.
166
At Connor’s request, Suki and Claire returned to England. Claire was reluctant, but finally she agreed to meet up with him at the place he suggested. When they got to the campsite by taxi, he was waiting there in the black Porsche. The guard dogs were already out, baying. Trace Milo came down the steps of her parents’ old van and called them off. Connor got out of his car and walked over to her. Claire and Suki got out of their taxi and joined Connor.
Claire looked uncertain as she came face to face with her sister after so many years. Trace stood and stared at her for a long, long time. Then Claire started to smile and so did Trace, and suddenly both sisters were crying and laughing. They ran forward and hugged each other.
‘Fuck it, where the hell have you been?’ Trace gasped out. She pushed Claire back a step and looked at her, smoothing her hands over her sister’s face in wonderment. ‘Jesus, you’ve got older!’
‘Well, so have you,’ said Claire with a laugh, sniffing back tears. ‘Oh, Trace – it’s so good to see you.’
Trace turned and hollered: ‘Dad! Come out here!’
In the doorway of the van appeared an old man, bent over, a stick in his hand. His eyes were squinting against the daylight, and he was shabbily dressed. He stared down at Trace and at the woman with her, and blinked like he couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing.
‘Claire . . . ?’ he said shakily.
Claire detached herself from Trace and slowly walked over to the van. She was crying hard now, finding it difficult to speak. ‘It’s me, Dad. It’s Claire. I’m back,’ she sobbed out.
‘Is it really you?’ Pally was hobbling down the steps.
Claire nodded, unable to say more. Her father came close. Then closer. Slowly, trembling, he spread his arms wide and Claire fell into them, crushing him against her. ‘Oh Dad,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.’
‘Nor me.’ Pally drew back and kissed her cheek. ‘My little girl, my Claire.’
Connor and Suki stood side by side, watching all this. Suddenly Trace turned to them, glancing between the two of them. Her eyes fastened on Suki. Trace swiped at her eyes, swallowed hard and said: ‘And who’s this then?’
‘This is Suki,’ said Connor. ‘Claire’s daughter.’
‘You wha—’ Trace looked gobsmacked. She stared at Suki and then she ran up and enfolded her in her arms. ‘Christ! I’m an auntie! I’m your Auntie Trace!’
‘A daughter?’ Pally had heard what they were saying. He pushed Claire gently away, his eyes on Suki. Then he looked back at Claire. ‘You had a child. I have a grandchild.’ He was shaking his head. ‘I should have known, I should have been told. Ah Jesus, if only my poor Eva had lived to see this.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry how it all turned out. But things will be better now. And I’ll tell you everything,’ said Claire. ‘I’ll explain. I promise.’
‘Christ! What a turn-up,’ said Trace, laughing and grinning for once in her miserable life. She went to Claire and hugged her again. Then she slipped an arm around her dad’s shoulders, another around Claire’s. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on,’ she said. ‘Come on, we’ve a lot to talk about.’ She glanced back at Connor and Suki.
Connor opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise Suki got in first.
‘It’s such a nice day,’ she said with a smile. ‘You three catch up for a while, OK? We’ll take a walk, give you a little time.’
EPILOGUE
The sun beat down as Connor and Suki walked away from the camp and trod the path down past the line of shimmering poplar trees toward the church in the dell, walking between a field that was brown, empty of crops, striped like corduroy from fresh tilling, and another where the corn stubble scratched at their legs as they passed.
When they reached the church, Suki hesitated. ‘This is where it all happened, isn’t it?’ she said, turning anxious eyes to Connor.
‘Yeah. It is.’
Connor pushed open the door. Back at the beginning of the year he’d filled in the grave at the top of the aisle, reburying Blue the dog. He’d even said a quick prayer over the poor little blighter, he didn’t know why; he wasn’t particularly religious. Now, all that showed the grave had ever been touched at all was a split in the stones where he’d struck with the sledgehammer.
He walked in, up the aisle. Slowly, Suki followed, uncertain.
‘This is weird,’ she said, her voice echoing. ‘I was conceived here. By violence.’
Connor looked at her. ‘There’s nothing here now. It’s all gone.’ Finishing the Cleavers and then his mother taking her own life had drawn a line under everything.
‘Yeah.’
Suki gazed nervously around her at the big arch of the roof and the stained-glass windows, feeling she’d come full circle in her life, first finding her mother and now visiting this place where her life had begun. Then she looked at Connor; such a big handsome guy with his pale-brown hair and his light, leonine grey eyes. She couldn’t deny she felt a deep attraction to him, had felt it almost from the moment they met in the solicitor’s office. And that was weird, too, because this was like history repeating itself. This had been Josh and Claire’s special place. And now, here were their children, standing here together.
‘What?’ he asked, watching her.
‘It’s just funny, isn’t it. That we’re here.’
‘Hilarious,’ he said, not understanding.
Suki turned on her heel and led the way outside again. Early autumn storms had
raged for the past few weeks, but for now the sun was shining. She leaned back against the stones of the church and felt their warmth seep into her. Connor came outside and shut the door.
‘So you’re a gypsy,’ she said.
‘Romany,’ said Connor. ‘And so are you.’
‘Tell me some gypsy words then. Mom never did.’
‘My dad used to tell me them all the time. And my mum always chewed his arse over it.’ Connor sighed and leaned back against the church wall beside her, trawling his memory for the words. ‘Jotter? That’s a monkey. My dad used to call me that. Gorgis are house-dwellers. Tan’s a stopping place. Jeal is kin. Yoggers are guns. A tan-tan buggo is someone of mixed race. And the sun is Phoebe.’
Suki flashed him a smile. ‘You ever eat a hedgehog baked in clay? I hear tell gypsies do that.’
‘God, no. You know, I wasn’t a boxer, but I always wanted to be like my dad in his ways. I looked up to him. I wanted to be kushto and tacho, like him.’
‘Kushto and tacho? What’s that mean?’
‘Good. And true.’
Suki was silent for a moment, thinking of Josh. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, more serious. ‘Connor?’
‘Hm?’ He was very close to her, breathing in her scent, which smelled delicious, listening to her voice, which was as warm and smooth as maple syrup, and thinking that she was absolutely fucking fabulous. If she went back to New York again anytime soon, then he was going to keel over and die.
‘You can kiss me, if you want,’ she said.
Connor turned his shoulder to the wall so that he was facing her, staring into her eyes from inches away.
‘If I want?’ He smiled, and put his mouth on hers and kissed her long and slow. When he came up for air, he let out a quivering sigh, rested his brow against hers. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you?’ demanded Suki breathlessly, slipping her arms around his neck, her fingers smoothing through his hair.
‘You seemed afraid of me. Maybe you had good reason.’
‘I was afraid of you. You’re very fierce. In a sexy sort of way.’
‘And you’re fucking beautiful,’ said Connor, kissing her again, deeply, relishing the feel of her in his arms.
‘Let’s not talk about old stuff any more,’ he said when he stopped kissing her. ‘Let’s just be happy we’re here, like this. Why don’t you stay for a while? Let me show you the sights?’
‘OK,’ said Suki with a smile.
Really, there was nowhere else she would rather be.
Right now, she never wanted to leave.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I took a little artistic licence (OK – a lot) with the gypsy funeral of Eva Milo. Romanies often burn the wagon and possessions of the deceased, but I’ve yet to hear of any burning the actual person too. Still, who knows. And it’s a great scene. All the time I was writing it, I could hear my mother saying, ‘You just had to go too far, didn’t you!’ Guilty, Mum. As usual.
NAMELESS
JESSIE KEANE
They took her children away, and she will fight to the end to get them back . . .
In 1941, mixed-race Ruby Darke is born into a family that seems to hate her, but why?
While her two brothers dive into a life of gangland violence, Ruby has to work in their family store. As she blossoms into a beautiful young woman, she crosses paths with aristocrat Cornelius Bray, a chance meeting that will change her life forever. When she finds herself pregnant, and then has twins, she is forced to give her children away. At that point she vows never to trust another man again.
As the years pass, Ruby never forgets her babies, and as the family store turns into a retail empire, she wants her children back. But secrets were whispered and bargains made, and if Ruby wants to stay alive she needs to forget the past, or the past will come back and kill her.
Nameless is a gripping underworld thriller by bestselling author Jessie Keane.
RUTHLESS
JESSIE KEANE
She thought she’d seen the back of the Delaneys. How wrong could she be . . .
Annie Carter should have demanded to see their bodies lying on a slab in the morgue, but she really believed the Delaney twins were gone from her life for good.
Now, sinister things are happening around her and Annie is led to one terrifying conclusion: the Delaneys, her bitter enemies, didn’t die all those years ago. They’re back and they want her, and her family, dead.
This isn’t the first time someone has made an attempt on her life, yet she’s determined to make it the last. Nobody threatens Annie Carter and lives to tell the tale . . .
Ruthless is the fifth book in the compelling Annie Carter series by hit crime writer Jessie Keane.
LAWLESS
JESSIE KEANE
Only the lawless will survive . . .
It is 1975 and Ruby Darke is struggling to deal with the brutal murder of her lover, Michael Ward.
As her children, Daisy and Kit, battle their own demons, her retail empire starts to crumble.
Meanwhile, after the revenge killing of Tito Danieri, Kit is the lowest he’s ever been. But soon doubt is thrown over whether Kit killed the right person, and now the Danieris are out for his blood and the blood of the entire Darke family.
As the bodies pile up, the chase is on – can the Darkes resolve their own family conflicts and find Michael Ward’s true killer before the vengeful Danieris kill them? Or will they take the law into their own hands?
Lawless is the heart-racing sequel to Nameless, from bestselling author Jessie Keane.
DANGEROUS
JESSIE KEANE
Whatever the cost, she would pay it . . .
Fifteen-year-old Clara Dolan’s world is blown apart following the death of her mother. Battling to keep what remains of her family together, Clara vows to protect her younger siblings, Bernadette and Henry, from danger, whatever the cost.
With the arrival of the swinging Sixties, Clara finds herself swept up in London’s dark underworld where the glamour of Soho’s dazzling nightclubs sits in stark contrast to the terrifying gangland violence that threatens the new life she has worked so hard to build.
Sinking further into an existence defined by murder and betrayal, Clara soon realizes that success often comes at a very high price . . .
STAY DEAD
JESSIE KEANE
When you bury your secrets, bury them deep
Annie Carter finally believes that life is good.
She and Max are back together and she has a new and uncomplicated life sunning herself in Barbados. It’s what she’s always dreamed of.
Then she gets the news that her old friend Dolly Farrell is dead, and suddenly she finds herself back in London and hunting down a murderer with only one thing on her mind: revenge.
But the hunter can so quickly become the hunted, and Annie has been keeping too many secrets. She’s crossed and bettered a lot of people over the years, but this time the enemy is a lot closer to home and she may just have met her match . . .
Stay Dead is the heart-stopping sixth book in Jessie Keane’s bestselling Annie Carter series.
Jessie Keane is a Sunday Times top ten bestselling author. She’s lived both ends of the social spectrum, and her fascination with London’s underworld led her to write Dirty Game, followed by bestsellers Black Widow, Scarlet Women, Jail Bird, The Make, Playing Dead, Nameless, Ruthless, Lawless, Dangerous and Stay Dead. Jessie’s books have sold more than 800,000 copies.
She now lives in Hampshire. You can find her on Facebook
WWW.FACEBOOK.COM/JESSIEKEANE
or Twitter @REALJESSIEKEANE
By Jessie Keane
THE ANNIE CARTER NOVELS
Dirty Game
Black Widow
Scarlet Women
Playing Dead
Ruthless
Stay Dead
OTHER NOVELS
Jail Bird
The Make
Nameless
Lawless
Dangerous
Fearless
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To all my Romany and bare-knuckle sources, thank you. You truly are Fearless, and you’ve been so generous with your time. To my other sources, way to go, guys. To my editor Wayne Brookes and the rest of the team who have helped my books achieve bestseller status – and to my ever-patient agent Jane Gregory – thank you.
I have to mention here the people who keep me sane throughout the long process of writing a book – Tess Gerritsen’s right when she says it’s like climbing a mountain. Cliff, of course, who gets the food in order when I forget to eat, and Steve and Lynne Ottaway for the belly laughs and the lunches. So many contacts, helpers, friends, comrades and fellow panellists – Laura Wilson, Susan Wilkins, Fanny Blake, Jake Kerridge, Louise Marley, Elly Griffiths, Peter James and all the rest, thank you so much for all your invaluable input along the way. Also the Crime Writers’ Association, who have been so fabulous when I’ve been under pressure, and the International Thriller Writers . . . thanks to one and all.
And last but never least, my Facebook and Twitter pals and everyone else who joins me online from time to time and has helped propel my books into the Sunday Times Top 10 bestseller charts.
Happy reading, folks. Keep going. There’s plenty still to come.
First published 2018 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2018 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-4472-5437-9
Copyright © Jessie Keane 2018
Cover Photo © Colin Thomas
Background Photo © jcrosemann/Getty Images
Author Photo © Alexander James
The right of Jessie Keane to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
