Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4)

by Marita A. Hansen

  He gripped onto the hard bench seat, wishing he could turn back time. He would have gone out on that patrol instead of his wife, taking the bullet for her, because he’d rather be dead than classified as a criminal, disrespecting her life by becoming the very thing she’d fought against.

  Footsteps drew his attention to the door, the lock opening sounding louder in the small space. A moment later, Joseph entered the room along with Sarah. “You’re released, Saul,” he said.

  Saul remained seated. “If you’re attempting to sweep what I did under the carpet, think again, I won’t allow it.”

  “You going to jail won’t have any effect on Beth Connor now.”

  Saul pushed up, Joseph’s words angering him. “Just because you know me doesn’t give you a right to put down what she feels. Not only that, it’s a slap in the face to all sexual abuse victims,” he hit his chest, “and I can’t allow that.”

  “You don’t understand,” Joseph said, his expression turning sad. “Beth Connor was hit by a car. She’s too brain damaged to recover from her injuries.”

  Saul inhaled sharply, pained by what he was hearing.

  “So, you’re free to go.”

  Saul shook his head.

  “Saul. She’s basically dead. She can’t bring charges against you now.”

  “But I committed a crime!”

  “I understand you’re upset—”

  “You don’t understand anything!” Saul’s face twisted, life both cruel and ironic. “I blew my cover for her so she didn’t die in that Russian roulette game. If I hadn’t blown it, the next pull of the trigger could’ve killed her. Yet she dies in a random accident? How can God be so cruel?”

  “Life’s like that, Saul, it throws you curve balls you can’t always catch.”

  “But Beth was only twenty-four. Beautiful, young, and,” his face fell, “pregnant.”

  Joseph grimaced. “I know. I feel sorry for that poor family. They’ve been through far too much already. Anyway, as I said, you’re free to go, though, don’t leave Auckland, because that investigation into your uncover assignment will still be happening. As of now, you’re suspended until further notice.” He turned and walked past Sarah, leaving them alone together.

  Sarah moved forward, looking like she was going to hug Saul. He stepped back, not feeling worthy of female contact. He was an abuser, who should be punished, but Joseph was right, Beth couldn’t prosecute him now, no matter how much he needed her to.

  “Saul?” Sarah said, looking hurt.

  “Just leave me be,” he muttered, sidestepping her. He headed for the door, his mind going to the Connors, to Beth’s mother and brother, two people who didn’t deserve to suffer. He knew what it was like to lose someone close, someone he loved more than life itself. His mind went to Beth’s mother, her friendly smile. That sweet woman who looked so much like Beth would have to bury her daughter, while Corey would lose his older sister, the woman who’d tried to protect him from Ant, offering her body in exchange for Corey’s safety. It hurt Saul to know he would be suffering, along with the rest of the Connors ... and Dante, Beth’s partner and the father of her child. His heart went out to Dante, knowing how painful it was to lose a partner, let alone a child as well, such devastation hard to come back from.

  Sarah followed him down the passage, trying to get his attention. He ignored her, stopping in the foyer of the central station, a man capturing his eye. Several feet away two policemen were trying to restrain Ant’s goon, who was hollering at the top of his lungs.

  “It wasn’t my fuckin’ fault!” Morris yelled. “The stupid fuckin’ bitch deserved it.”

  Saul went rigid, Morris having been tailing Beth. But Sarah was supposed to be watching him... Saul turned to Sarah, her face ashen, her eyes on Morris, the guilt in them making him realise she hadn’t done her job, probably too busy with tracking him down.

  Morris’s eyes moved to Saul. He instantly stopped ranting, a cruel smile following. The officers pulled Morris in Saul’s direction, probably intending on putting the man into one of the cells.

  As they passed Saul, he grabbed one of the police officer’s arms. “What’s he in for?” he asked, praying it hadn’t anything to do with Beth ... although his gut told him it was.

  Morris answered instead: “I fucked up that Connor slut; hit her fucking hard.” He spat at Saul’s feet. “And it felt great to break your bitch up.”

  Utter fury flashed through Saul, a pure rage taking hold of him. In the blink of an eye, he launched himself at Morris, knocking him out of the officers’ grip, sending him crashing to the floor. Morris cried out as he landed on his back. Before he could make another sound, Saul’s fists were barrelling into the man’s face. Sarah screamed behind him, while the other cops grabbed at him, trying to pull Saul away from Morris. But they didn’t match his size or the adrenalin and rage racing through his body. He heard bone breaking, saw blood, Morris no longer smiling. Instead, he was desperately trying to defend himself, but he was handcuffed and helpless against Saul, who didn’t give a fuck, because he was going to kill the bastard—like Morris had killed Beth.

  Blood coated Saul’s fists, men struggled against him, shouts and cries swirled around him, then he was yanked off an unmoving Morris and flattened to the floor, face down. Four officers held him down, struggling to keep him still, because all Saul wanted to do was to pummel Morris until the bastard’s mother couldn’t recognise him.

  “He’s dead,” Sarah sobbed.

  Saul knew she wasn’t crying for Morris, but Saul himself. He turned his head, seeing her blues eyes on him, her face twisted in anguish.

  “Why did you do that?!” she screamed at him. “Why?!”

  “He killed Beth!”

  “No, he didn’t,” one of the other officers said. “He’s in for assault and battery, not murder.”

  Saul’s eyes snapped to the officer. “What?”

  “He broke into a woman’s home and beat her up, would’ve done more if a neighbour hadn’t stopped him.”

  “But he said he broke my woman, even mentioned the name Connor.”

  “Is your woman called Josie Connor?”

  Saul’s face fell. “No. I thought he ran over her cousin—Beth Connor.”

  Sarah cried out, “That wasn’t Morris! That was a boy who barely had his licence. The Claydon police caught him.”

  Saul stared at her, his mind shocked. “Is Josie all right?”

  “How would I know?! I was too busy chasing after you, worrying about you! And now you’ve killed Morris. You can’t get out of this, Saul. You can’t!”

  Saul’s eyes moved to Morris’s bloodied form, knowing she was right. He wasn’t going down for sexual assault ... he was going down for murder.

  28

  Dante

  Three months later

  Dante was standing in the doorway, watching Beth’s mother talking to her daughter’s unconscious form, telling Beth about some clothes she’d bought for the baby. Dante’s eyes moved to Beth’s stomach, which was so big it looked like a basketball had been stuffed underneath her gown. She was in her third trimester, the baby doing well—unlike Beth. Her face was gaunt, her arms scarily thin. She looked like she was trapped between life and death, suspended in a cruel limbo. Dante felt trapped too, caught in a void where he couldn’t move on. He visited her every day—when he wasn’t too incapacitated. He scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the need to get wasted again, but resisting the pull, even though it was tugging on him like a motherfucker, every fibre in his body screaming at him to do it.

  Beth’s mother lifted up one of the outfits she’d bought for the baby, continuing to talk to Beth as though she could hear her, her words sounding slightly crazy. Dante understood crazy—every aspect of it. The last few months had been filled with so many manic episodes he’d lost count. It was concerning his loved ones, who were constantly asking him how he was, or wanting to put him back into the loony bin. It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t been hom
e for a couple of weeks. He’d been couch hopping to avoid them, even sleeping in his car after one of his so-called mates phoned Ash, Dante having overheard the call.

  Beth’s mother placed a tiny pink outfit on top of her daughter’s belly, the doctor confirming she was having a girl. Like Mrs. Connor, he hoped the baby looked like Beth and not Ash, so that Beth could live on through her.

  Beth’s mother looked up, spotting him standing in the doorway. She pushed out of her chair and walked over to him. “How long have you been here, Dante?”

  “Not long,” he lied.

  She placed a hand on his arm, a concerned look falling over her features. “You should go home, sweetheart. Your family are really worried about you. Ash told me you ran away.”

  “I’m an adult. I don’t run away, I move on.”

  “He didn’t use those exact words, although I think they’re accurate. You are running away, Dante, hiding from everyone, even yourself. I heard you’re drinking again, and don’t deny it, I can smell it on you. You have to stop doing that. It would upset Beth seeing you like this.”

  She was right. He’d come straight from his last bender, the alcohol not having fully left his system. He’d woken up in someone’s house, with strangers lying around him, which was the way he preferred things, because unlike his family, strangers didn’t nag him to stop drinking, or get in his face when he refused to listen.

  Beth’s mother scowled at him when he didn’t answer. “Stop doing this, Dante, it’s killing you.”

  He shrugged her hand off him. “I came to see Beth, not for a lecture. If I wanted one I’d go home.”

  “They’re concerned like I am. Please, sweetheart, you need to get some help. You’re going to end up in an early grave if you keep going down this road.”

  “Not like it would be a loss.”

  “Dante! Don’t say that. People love you, I love you. You’re like a son to me. I can’t stand seeing you hurting so badly.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Ash; he can come and take you home.”

  “I’ve got my own car.”

  “Like hell you’re driving.” Before he could react, she was digging in his pocket, taking his keys.

  “What the fuck are you doin’?!” he snapped, grabbing for them.

  She moved them behind her back. “Stop this stupidity, Dante. You could kill someone—you could kill yourself. How is that going to help your daughter?”

  “She’s not my daughter! She’s Ash’s.”

  Beth’s mother went stock still, her expression taken aback.

  Dante breathed out, willing himself to calm down. “I confronted Beth after finding out she’d lied to me ’bout the child bein’ mine. I broke up with her and ran across the road to my car. She followed me,” he breathed out again, “that wuz when she wuz hit.”

  Beth’s mother blinked rapidly, looking on the verge of tears.

  Dante continued, “If I hadn’t found out she wuz carrying Ash’s baby I wouldn’t have gone to your house. I also wouldn’t have led her into the path of that car.” He screwed up his face, pain gripping onto him tight. “She’s dying cos of me.”

  Beth’s mother shook her head vigorously. “No, sweetheart, she isn’t. The driver of the car is responsible, not you.”

  “How can you say that? If I hadn’t seen her, she wouldn’t have run onto the road.”

  Stepping closer, Beth’s mother looked him directly in the eyes. “This. Isn’t. Your. Fault. You had every right to confront my daughter. What she did was unforgivable. I don’t blame you for breaking up with her. Also, Corey told me you tried to save her. But right now, Dante, I think you’re the one who needs saving. So, please, let me drive you home.”

  He turned to leave, not wanting her kind words, because no matter what she said, he was to blame.

  She grabbed his arm. “Dante, stop being pigheaded.”

  He shook her off and headed out of the room, aiming for the elevator.

  She ran after him, grabbing his arm again. “Stop, Dante!”

  He pulled free and hit the elevator button.

  She pushed in front of him, looking so much like Beth it hurt. “Please let me take you home.”

  The elevator door dinged open. He shifted her over and stepped inside. She followed him in, making him yell out: “Leave me the hell alone!”

  “No!” she said, hitting the close button. “And you’re going to listen to me, Dante Rata. I know you’re in pain, I am too, yet I’m not drinking myself into an early grave.”

  “You didn’t cause Beth to get hurt.”

  “You didn’t either! How many times do I have to tell you that before you get it into that stubborn head of yours you did nothing wrong. And don’t think I don’t blame myself for what happened. I wish with all my heart that I hadn’t left the house that day. I got a call from a friend saying they thought they saw my Samuel hanging around Claydon High. If I hadn’t gone to check, I might’ve stopped Beth from running after you. So pull yourself together, like I’ve had to, or you’re going to hurt your family. Do you want them to feel like you do right now? Because they will if you go and get yourself killed.”

  “They’re better off without me, I cause nuthin’ but pain.”

  The door opened. She took hold of his hand and pulled him out of the elevator, backing him up against a wall, blocking him from leaving. “No, you’re in pain, not the cause of it. Understand the difference.”

  “I can’t,” he sobbed. “It hurts so bad.”

  She brushed her hand over his cheek. “I know, sweetheart, I understand more than you know, and not just from a mother’s perspective. I feel responsible for my first husband dying. I beat myself up every single day for not taking him to the doctor when he said he wasn’t well. I thought he had the flu—it was meningitis. He fell into a coma the next day, dying soon after. If I’d taken him to see the doctor straight away, he might’ve survived. That’s why I understand what you’re going through, and why I know you’ll get past this stage. It will still hurt for the rest of your life, but it’ll be bearable, because there will be moments of joy that’ll make life worth living. For me, that was the birth of my sons and watching my children grow. Also, if I’d succumbed to my grief, those precious boys wouldn’t be around.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Corey wouldn’t be around. And, Dante, I want you to be around too, because I don’t care if you’re not my granddaughter’s father, you’re family to me now, and I’m willing to fight for you, like any other member of my family. ”

  Dante blinked back the tears, what she was saying moving him.

  She took hold of his hand. “So let me be there for you like Beth was. She told me she used to drive you home when you got drunk. I can do that now.”

  He stared at her, seeing Beth in her features. Again, it was like he was standing before the daughter, not the mother, the two eerily similar. And he wanted her to be Beth, he wanted it so bad.

  She continued, “Or if you don’t want to go home, come back to my place. I have a spare bed you can sleep in.”

  “You always looked after me.”

  She let go of his hand. “What are you talking about?”

  “Whenever I got drunk, you always came to get me.”

  “No, like I said, that was Beth.”

  Willing her to be Beth, he grabbed her face and kissed her, his fucked up mind capable of seeing anything.

  She jerked back. “Why did you do that, Dante?” she said, looking shocked.

  “I wanted you to be Beth.” He shot past her, needing to get so fucking drunk that the next time he kissed a woman—he would only see Beth.

  ***

  Dante handed over the acid tabs from his jacket pocket, getting a bunch of cash shoved at him by the group of teenagers. He pocketed their money and headed around the pub, entering the front way, ready to get off-his-face drunk.

  He took the closest seat to the bartender and indicated for the man to come over. Within seconds, he was tipping back vodka, then a Jim Beam, followed by more
mind-numbing drinks. Before he knew it, he was out of cash and holding an empty glass. He slammed it down, indicating for another one, hoping the bartender would give him a freebie after all the booze he’d bought. Instead, Vin Diesel’s double held out his hand for more cash.

  “Put it on my account,” Dante said.

  “You don’t have an account, mate.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve been working here for five years and I’ve never seen you before, so either pay up or get out.”

  “You stingy fucker, I gave you a shitload of cash; you could at least gimme a freebie.”

  The bartender indicated to the door with his thumb. “If you’re going to insult me, you can take a hike.”

  “Nah, mate, c’mon, I just want one more.”

  The bartender turned away from him, moving off to serve another customer. Dante went to shout out, wanting to give the tight bastard a piece of his mind, but instead yelped as a slap struck the side of his head. He swivelled around on the barstool, ready to take on whoever had hit him, but instead froze, shocked by who he saw.