TENDER BETRAYAL (Mystery Romance): The TENDER Series ~ Book 3

by H. Y. Hanna

  TENDER BETRAYAL

  The TENDER Series ~ Book 3

  by

  H.Y. Hanna

  Dedication

  To my lovely brother-in-law, Adam,

  for always being so enthusiastic and supportive.

  I’m lucky to call you family.

  Author’s Note

  This book follows British English spelling, grammar and word usage.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1)

  Other Books by H.Y. Hanna

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  It was almost becoming an addiction. Leah waited until she heard the sound of the front door shutting and Toran’s footsteps fading into the distance before she hurried to the bathroom. She switched on the light and as the fluorescent bulb flickered into life, she caught brief glimpses of her own face in the mirror with each strobe-like flash. She almost didn’t recognise herself. Her blue eyes were wide, haunted by shadows, and there was a tight set to her mouth.

  She approached the bathroom cabinet where she had been given the drawers on the right side for her own stuff. She hadn’t hesitated when Toran invited her to move in with him last week—staying at his place had seemed preferable to living alone with the ghosts in her father’s old villa. Still, Leah had found it strange adapting to the new intimacy of living together. In many ways, although they had known each other since childhood, they were still strangers—still tiptoeing around each other’s personal space, still not quite sure where the lines blurred between friends and lovers.

  It seemed silly after everything they had been through—the threats on their lives, the danger and deception that they had survived, the sacrifices they had made to be together—it should have been simple now that they were finally returning to the normality of everyday life. It should have been a time filled with love and trust.

  Trust. Leah’s mouth twisted. Maybe that was the problem. Because trust was the one thing she desperately craved and yet trust was the one thing she knew she didn’t deserve. She was hiding a secret from Toran—a secret that could tear them apart. It festered inside her. It tormented her and taunted her during every waking moment. She had tried to bury it—she had told herself that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t change anything—but her mind wouldn’t let it go. She kept returning to it, picking at it like a scab over a painful wound.

  Leah opened the top drawer and pushed aside the various bits of bathroom paraphernalia: packets of cotton wool, loose hair pins, a half-open bottle of shampoo, spare toothbrush… and pulled out the rolled-up, old towel behind the box of tampons at the back of the drawer. Leah unrolled it carefully to reveal a bundle of papers inside, held together by an old elastic band. She peeled the elastic off and, with trembling hands, took out one of the sheets, smoothing it flat on the marble surface of the vanity counter. Her father’s dark, shaky handwriting leapt out at her. She knew the passage by heart now and yet still her eyes devoured the words hungrily, as if hoping that this time they would say something different.

  …when it’s late and I’m alone, I hear your mother’s voice, Leah. She talks to me. She wants to know why. And I can’t tell her why. I don’t know why myself. Ah Song brought the news last night and all I could think was: what have I done? I made a terrible mistake with Black Buddha—I didn’t realise the price I had to pay—but it’s too late now. Nothing can bring them back and no one can know the truth about the accident. It’ll be buried anyway—the riots are keeping everybody busy—and by the time he gets back in the country, it’ll be forgotten. But I can’t forget, just like I couldn’t forget the first time. And she still keeps asking me why! What do I say? I don’t know what to say to her… and yet I want to answer her, to keep her beside me. Anything to keep her beside me…

  There were pale brown stains on the page, like splotches of spilled liquid, and she knew that her father was probably drunk when he wrote this. But that didn’t change the implication held there in those words. Despite the long, rambling, disjointed sentences, they had a ring of truth in them. Her stomach shrank again in denial. Could it be true? Could her father have been responsible for the accident that had killed Toran’s parents?

  Leah couldn’t believe it—she didn’t want to believe it—but she knew she shouldn’t have any illusions where her father was concerned. David Fisher had shown that he could be cold and ruthless. But the question was why? She had spent hours mulling over this question. Why would her father have wanted to harm Toran’s parents? She knew he had never liked them; or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had always looked down on them. They hadn’t moved in the top, wealthy circles of Singapore society that her father had approved of. The only reason Toran had been in her exclusive, private school was because he had earned his place through an academic scholarship.

  But there was a big difference between being contemptuous of someone and wanting them dead.

  Leah thought again of the way Toran’s humble background and modest possessions had stood out at her school. He had been teased and sneered at mercilessly. But his quiet confidence had soon overcome the condescending attitudes and won everyone’s respect. It was one of the things that Leah had always admired about him, one of the things that had made her fall in love with him. Her father had made it clear, though, that he would not tolerate her budding teenage romance with Toran. So much so that he had sent her off to boarding school in the U.K. to keep them apart.

  But my father is dead, Leah reminded herself. And Toran and I are together now. Whatever pain they had suffered because of the separation and misunderstandings—it was all over now. The past was the past and her father couldn’t hurt them any more.

  Leah’s eyes drifted back down to the letter and she winced as a little voice said in her head: Oh, but he can. He can tear you and Toran apart, right here, with these words.

  She drew a shuddering breath. When Toran had first told her about his parents’ fatal accident, she had never dreamt that there could be a sinister explanation. It had seemed tragic but unsurprising that their taxi driver would have lost control of the car when he swerved on a wet road during heavy rain. But Toran had been convinced that there was more to the story, that it had not been an innocent accident.

  Leah looked back down at her father’s letter. It seemed that Toran was right. The “Black Buddha” mentioned in this letter—she had always thought that it was a valuable Chinese antique her father had gotten on a special deal. He had been an avid collector and his old villa was still filled with the rare and beautiful pieces he had acquired in his lifet
ime. But when she heard from Toran that his investigation had led him to “Black Buddha”—a kingpin of the Singapore underworld—she had immediately thought of this letter and realised, with a sinking heart, the real meaning behind her father’s words.

  It was all there, matching Toran’s story’s exactly: the accident had taken place on the day that there were riots in downtown Singapore—part of the reason that it had not been investigated very thoroughly—and Toran had been out of the country, on his last stint as a war correspondent. By the time they had managed to contact him with the news and he had returned, the incident had been written off as an unfortunate car crash, understandable in the stormy weather. Foul play had never been suspected.

  But Toran was suspecting it now. And Leah knew that if she was doing the right thing, she should tell him about this letter.

  Her stomach churned as she remembered the promise they had made to each other, only a few weeks ago. They had both nearly lost their lives at a sinister island cult off the coast of Singapore and they had vowed to start afresh, with “no more secrets” between them.

  Leah clenched her fingers, scrunching the paper between them. She didn’t want any more secrets between her and Toran. But could she risk telling him the truth—that her father might have been responsible for his parents’ deaths?

  What you don’t know can’t hurt you, Leah reminded herself desperately. Toran never needed to know. They were starting afresh; they were looking to the future, not the past. What was the point of raking it all up again? Telling Toran wouldn’t bring his parents back.

  And besides… Her eyes drifted down again to the creased and stained letter. What if Toran was wrong? What if she was wrong? What if she was misinterpreting the words her father had written? He hadn’t actually come out and said that he killed Toran’s parents. Maybe he meant something else entirely and her guilty mind was filling in the blanks. Perhaps he had simply behaved badly towards Toran’s parents and following their deaths, was feeling remorseful that he could no longer apologise for his behaviour. Perhaps he—

  “What are you looking at?”

  Leah jumped and spun around, whipping the letter behind her back. Toran was standing in the bathroom behind her. His green eyes were bright with exercise, and he was still breathing hard. He had obviously just returned from his run. His dark hair was ruffled, and his T-shirt was moulded to his muscular chest with sweat, giving him a raw sex appeal that was a change from his usual cool, elegant demeanour.

  “N-nothing…” said Leah, licking suddenly dry lips. Her fingers tightened involuntarily and the rustle from the paper clenched in her hands sounded loud in the sudden silence.

  Toran raised an eyebrow. Leah knew he was puzzled by her reaction.

  “You startled me.” She gave him a weak smile. “Sneaking up on me like that…”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you,” said Toran. “You were so engrossed in whatever you were doing that you didn’t hear me come in.” He leaned around her, trying to see what was behind her back. “What is it—?”

  “Nothing! Nothing,” Leah shifted hurriedly, backing up against the vanity counter and twisting her body so that Toran couldn’t see behind her back. “It’s just… uh… some old stuff I was going through. Nothing important.”

  “So what’s the big secret?” asked Toran with a teasing smile.

  “No secret,” said Leah, her lips stiff. Then, despising herself, she dropped the scrunched-up letter onto the vanity counter behind her and reached forward, sliding her arms around Toran’s neck. She pressed her lips to his, knowing that this would stop all conversation. He responded instantly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

  Leah closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the kiss—she inhaled the clean, male scent of him, felt the shift and bulge of his muscles against her body and the sensual weight of his hands around her waist. Toran deepened the kiss, his hands becoming more demanding, moulding her to him, and she felt desire lick through her veins. She knew that any moment now, it would consume her—and she welcomed the feeling. She just wanted to forget, forget everything.

  Toran tore his mouth away from hers long enough to pull his T-shirt over his head, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Leah could see a fine sheen of sweat over the corded muscles of his back and shoulders, the sprinkle of dark hair that covered his chest and narrowed down over his flat stomach… he was magnificent. He pulled her to him again and she splayed her hands across his bare back, tilting her head back as his mouth found hers again.

  “I was going to hop in the shower,” murmured Toran against the corner of her mouth. “Care to join me?”

  Leah leaned back slightly from him. “You go first,” she said.

  She waited until she heard the water running and the side of the shower stall filled with an opaque wall of steam before she turned back to the vanity counter and shuffled all the letters together again. She rolled them hastily in the old towel and stuffed them deep into the drawer again. Sliding the drawer shut, she glanced up and caught her own reflection in the mirror. It was already starting to fog up from the steam in the room, but she could see enough of herself to see the guilt in her own eyes. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There’s nothing to feel guilty about, she told herself. You’re making the best decision.

  Shedding her own clothes, she made her way to the shower stall and stepped into the cubicle, feeling the hot steam envelope her body. Toran turned towards her. The water gushed over his neck, running in rivulets over the muscles of his chest and shoulders, and Leah reached out a lingering hand to touch him. He drew a sharp breath, then his mouth was on hers again and his hands, slick with soap and water, were everywhere, teasing and tormenting, until she abandoned all coherent thought and gave herself up to the ecstasy of feeling.

  CHAPTER 2

  Wild Honey was a new addition to the Singapore food scene and, so far, the concept was proving to be wildly popular. It was a speciality restaurant serving all-day breakfast and featuring different breakfast dishes from around the world. Whether it was buttermilk pancakes with Canadian maple syrup or European eggs Benedict with prosciutto ham and home-made Hollandaise sauce or even Mexican breakfast burritos with black beans and chunky vegetable salsa, there was something for everyone and the place was always packed. People loved the idea of having breakfast for lunch and dinner.

  “Table for two?” The waitress approached Toran and Leah as they moved to the front of the queue.

  She led them to an empty table by the balcony and handed them menus. Toran frowned as he sat down and watched Leah slide into the seat opposite him. Her eyes were distant and her thoughts were obviously elsewhere as she idly watched the cars roll past on the street below. He had noticed that lately: she often startled nervously when he came up behind her or looked slightly furtive when he asked her what was wrong. It wasn’t just this morning—she had been acting strange and on edge for the past few weeks. If it wasn’t so ludicrous, he would almost think that she was hiding something from him.

  “What will you have?” Toran gestured to the menu.

  Leah roused herself. “Um… I don’t know… Everything looks so good, it’s hard to decide.” She scanned the menu. “Maybe their signature brioche French toast? ‘With grilled mango slices, vanilla mascarpone, and hibiscus berry compote’. Sounds delicious. What about you?”

  “Hmm… I think I’m going for the exotic and trying their Corsican breakfast.” Toran read from the menu: “Fluffy omelette with goat’s cheese and shredded basil, accompanied by vine-ripened tomatoes and grilled ciabatta.” He looked up as the waitress approached them again and gave her the orders.

  Their coffees arrived first and, as Leah sipped hers, Toran leaned back in his seat and said, “I’ve filed an official appeal to have the verdict on my parents’ deaths overturned.”

  Leah choked on her coffee. She put the cup down and looked up at him, her eyes wide. “What?”

  Toran nodded. “I’m not accepting the verdic
t of accidental death. I want the police to reopen the investigation.”

  “Toran, are you sure?” Leah licked her lips. “I mean, it’s been five years now and there’s so little evidence… How can you be so sure that it wasn’t just an accident? It was raining heavily that day—it’s very possible that the car really swerved on a slippery road and your parents were just terribly unlucky.”

  Toran’s lips tightened. “It wasn’t just an accident. I told you, the report didn’t make sense. It said that my parents were thrown from the car because neither of them were wearing their seat belts. But I know my dad—there was no way he and my mum wouldn’t have been wearing their seat belts. It was a bit of a family joke, how fanatical he was about always making us buckle up. We even had this tradition where he would start the car, but wouldn’t drive off until we’d each called out ‘Belted up!’. Even visitors and guests had to do this. My friends used to think it was nuts. And he was just as obsessive when we were riding in other people’s cars or in taxis.” He leaned forwards. “The only way they could have been thrown from the car was if their seat belts had been tampered with.”

  Leah said nothing, although her fingers pleated her napkin nervously.

  “I’m also waiting to hear back from Black Buddha,” said Toran. “I know he’s got sources; he might be able to give me more information about the accident. Maybe even a witness. Someone who’ll be able to tell me what really happened. It’s just a case of working out what he’s willing to trade.”

  “You’re making deals with a criminal?” Leah looked up at him, her eyes flashing.

  Toran’s expression hardened. “Sometimes the end justifies the means.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” she said in disgust.

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, then,” Toran said, his green eyes cold.

  “No, you’re right, I don’t,” Leah snapped.