Page 129 of Too Close To Home

Something in his tone made Jake’s stomach tighten.

“He also made a number of claims about Robyn. And your family.”

Jake went very still.

Then he gritted his teeth, curling his hands into fists. “Did he tell you my dad abused Robyn? That he’s Teddy’s real father? That I murdered my sister to cover up some scandal that could end my career?”

Harrison’s expression remained stoic. “Yes.”

Jake held out his hands, gesturing at the dingy bedsit. “Look around, Detective. Whatever I had going for me died with her.”

Harrison didn’t look around. Nor did he take in his shitty bedsit, the only place he could afford on a salary of mostly cups of tea and banging out covers in a pub, where the paint peeled off the walls. Nor did he look at the crappy mattress on the floor which was the only thing concealing the dirty patterned carpet. No, he looked at Jake.

And Jake felt that gaze slip right under his skin.

Because here he was again.

Being assessed. Stripped back. Picked apart.

So he braced for the moment Harrison did what they all had—filed him neatly into place. Suspect. Motive. Temper. A man with too much anger and nowhere to put it. And Jake waited for it to hit. For the familiar flare of temper to rise and meet it. To give him exactly what they expected.

Because they weren’t wrong.

He was angry.

Was bitter.

His life had been cut clean in half thirteen years ago and left to rot where it fell. But it wasn’t his fault. Nor was it Robyn’s. Or Teddy’s. Or his parents’. It was the fucker who took his sister from them and didn’t return her to give them closure.

“People say a lot of things when they’re trying to shift attention,” Harrison said.

Jake huffed out a breath. “Right. So why are you here asking me that?”

“Because I need to establish whether there’s any truth to what he’s claiming. And if there isn’t, I need to document that properly. Otherwise, it sits in the file. And if someone down the line decides it wasn’t explored, that weakens the case.”

Jake scrubbed a hand down his face. “None of it’s true.”

Harrison held his gaze. “Who is Teddy’s father?”

“Gavin Gold. Aye, real name. Parents probably thought they were being quirky or summat.” Jake pushed away from the counter and strode across the cramped space to the kitchenette. He yanked open the junk drawer containing every loose object he’d ever owned and rummaged through it. Pens. Receipts. Old guitar picks. Battered drumsticks. A rusted screwdriver. “Where the fuck—” He found a pen, grabbed one of his business cards from the counter and scribbled on it. The pen refused to work. Jake pressed harder. The card tore. That’s what he got for ordering cheap shit from Temu. “Fuck.” He tossed it aside.

“What are you doing?”

Jake spun, and Harrison was suddenly right there.

Close enough for Jake to catch the subtle bite of aftershave beneath the coffee on his breath. To feel the chill still trapped in the wool of the man’s coat. Close enough that every sensible thought simply packed up and left.

Jake felt his pulse kick against his throat.

Christ.

He fancied him.

It didn’t seem to matter whether Harrison was twenty feet away or close enough to touch. If anything, proximity only made it worse.

“Giving you his address.” Jake swallowed. “You can do a bloody DNA test if you want. My dad did nowt to Robyn. He adored her. Doted on her. Even gave Gavin a job when the bloke had pissed away every other chance he’d ever had. And when you see him, you’ll understand why he’s not around Teddy. And why we all think it’s better that way.”

“Alright. I’ll speak to him.”