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HOW THE OTHER half live.
It was one of those overcast days but a light one when I dragged myself out of bed. The bedroom could have fit the ground floor of a house inside it and every inch was covered with white wood panels with gold trims. It had painted landscapes and a portrait of a man in some kind of robes. He looked like he could be Sophie’s twin but for wild black hair. The plaque underneath said it was Duke Michael De Breton II. Guess he was the son of Michael De Breton in the portrait in the corridor to Sophie’s office.
I wandered over to the huge dressing table with a large mirror and stared at myself. The left side of my face was purple-black, my left eye was half closed, and the large gauze topped off the beaten up look nicely.
My phone rang and I leaned onto my good cheek as I answered. “Yeah?”
“I miss you,” Trin whispered like she was in tears.
“What’s happened?” I fought the urge to charge to wherever she was and try to fix it.
“Why does anything have to have happened for me to call you?” She sniffed then sighed. “Someone hit the car.”
“Where are you?” I was up and hurrying to the door of the bedroom. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m in the hospital. I’m fine . . . I just banged up my leg.” She sniffed like tears were starting to break free. “The guy drove off.”
I hurried down the corridor, feeling wooziness wash over me. I held onto the wall and glanced around for a chair. Behind me were the stone steps I’d met Sophie in scary mode on. “Did you get his number plate?”
“No, the car rolled.” She sniffed again. “It was . . . I’m such as shit . . . I miss you . . . please come and get me.”
Guilt wriggled around my stomach and I stumbled my way down the stairs . . . all seven flights of them. “Text me the hospital. I’m on my way.”
I hung up and felt someone watching. I turned and Sophie was leaning against the wall near her office.
“My fiancé had an accident.” I wobbled over to her. “I need to . . .”
Sophie nodded. “Of course. The chauffeur will take you there.” She smiled but it was a veiled smile. “Take as long as you need.”
I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek: instinctive, natural.
“Go.” She kissed my cheek back.
I wobbled to the door and out into the courtyard, then I glanced back over my shoulder, holding the door ajar.
Sophie held my gaze.
I hesitated.
Her lips curled into that dangerous smile. “Go.”
Edwina came out of her office halfway down the corridor and looked from Sophie to me then furrowed her brow. I turned and hurried out of the courtyard, wincing as the wind tunnel of an arched gateway tried to blow my ears off.
Trin. I just needed to focus on Trin.
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HOSPITALS WERE NOT my favourite places. Didn’t help it was the same hospital I’d had my operations in. Trin was in a short stay ward that served the accident and emergency department. It had positive messages about hope and overcoming odds; posters advertising support groups but the memories were too raw.
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“Wait, stop!” Wood’s screech shot cold panic through my gut. I sprinted from the car to the house, unthinking, my sole focus on getting to her. “Stop!”
I slammed through the front door. Blood on the floor. Wood gripped her bleeding hand. Guy held a small axe above his head, crazy unhinged smile, crazy unhinged eyes.
I charged at him, hit him off balance as he swung and hauled Wood out of the way. Pain shot through my elbow, the bone splintering rattled right to my skull. Pain hit my arm again and a third time. I booted him and managed to shove him into the wall. He dropped the axe and I hit him full force in the nose and slammed him to the floor.
“Morgan . . . shit . . .” Wood hurried over and slapped the handcuffs on him. Blood was oozing down my arm. “Morgan, stop. We need to plug the wound.”
I couldn’t move my left hand. I couldn’t feel it but I did what I shouldn’t have and looked at it . . . no.
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I breathed in, trying to push down the panic. I’d been through counselling. Didn’t help but the breathing exercise worked . . . sometimes.
“Hello?” A nurse walked over to me with a concerned look on her face. She had dark green scrubs on . . . ah, not a nurse, a healthcare assistant. “Are you alright there?”
“Yeah, I’m . . . I’m okay. My fiancé was in a car crash. She called me.” I steadied myself, feeling the sweat soaking my top. Felt woozy again.
“Oh, you’re not a patient?” She eyed my face. Hmm, purple face and gauze did look patient like.
“No, no. Work accident.” I shrugged. “Do you know where Trin Matthews is?”
“Yes, that’s my side of the ward. They moved her up here this morning.” The healthcare assistant smiled at me then proceeded to help me on wobbling legs to the ward. “She had some scrapes and they ran an MRI to check the knee. The doctor will be along this afternoon.”
I stopped. Now the sick was really bubbling up. “When was she admitted?”
“Yesterday evening.” The healthcare assistant glanced at the nurses’ station as she led me into the boiling hot, stuffy ward. “Her mother was with her overnight.”
And she hadn’t bothered trying to tell me? Nice. “What about the guy who hit her, do you know anything?”
“No, sorry.” The healthcare assistant led me over Trin’s bed. She was pale, with an oxygen mask on her face. “She’s just had more painkillers.”
I nodded, wandered over, and slumped into the visitor’s chair. “Hey,” I whispered and took her hand. She was wearing her engagement ring, felt good to feel it under my fingertips.
Trin fluttered open her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She started to cry and I perched on the bed with her and cuddled her up. “I was so scared.”
The healthcare assistant smiled at me and strode off to a patient behind a blue curtain.
“It’s okay. I’m here now.” I stroked Trin’s hair and tried to make myself comfortable. My prosthesis whirred and I winced, ready for her to eject me.
Instead she burrowed in and sobbed into my chest.
I stroked over her back with my left hand and she didn’t so much as flinch. Guess the painkillers were kicking in then.
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SOPHIE PUSHED OPEN the door in the base of her grandfather’s statue and took a breath of smoky air. Jake’s cottage lay on the south-most wall of the estate in a clearing beside the forest. There was a large pile of leaves burning on one side and Sophie stooped as a large, dense, chocolate Labrador sprinted over and rammed its head into her feet and threw its bottom into the air.
She rubbed and ruffled the short fur with a smile. Fred responded with grunts and furious wagging. Fred was one of a long line of daft dogs Jake had bred. She’d always had Golden Retrievers as a child but having a dog when she didn’t know if she’d be sent to prison felt wrong. And on the balance of probabilities, she was going to prison. Not before time.
“Ma’am?” Jake whispered from beside her.
“Jake,” she whispered back with a smile.
He chuckled and slapped Fred on the rump with a grin. “You’re in a daze.”
“Yes.” She met his charcoal eyes. He looked more like his mother than their father. Jake was the product of another one of her father’s games. Only her grandfather had known who Jake belonged to and kept him close. It was only that she was so close to Jake growing up that her grandfather had taken her to one side and sworn her to secrecy. He was worried she would fall for him. She smirked. Jake had always been her brother . . . a real brother she could love.
“You need me to get you something?” He studied her like he wanted to fuss. He was two years older than her but they switched roles constantly, one minute she was in charge, the next he fussed.
“Do you have footage of the attack?” If only she could tell him. He must suspect he was a Haye . . . but telling him wouldn’t solve anything. He was an illegitimate child. He couldn’t inherit and she couldn’t leave him to look after the estate. He liked things simple anyway. He liked his peace and quiet and running the grounds.
“I got something but dunno if it’s useful.” Jake led her inside his cottage, Fred trotting at his side. He had a full wall of cameras covering most of the grounds. “Can’t get a visual on him . . . but he has a hood on.”
He played footage of Morgan looking at her radio, muttering to it, then disappearing into the foliage. A minute later, she crawled from the leaves, blood dribbling down the side of her face.
Fred perched on her feet in front of her and gave her puppy-eyes. She pulled a packet from her pocket and coughed up the treats.
“He’ll get fat,” Jake muttered and ruffled Fred’s fur between his ears. “I picked him up heading there from the forest ten minutes earlier.” He scrolled back through the footage. A thin figure in a hood slunk from the forest and ducked under the tree. “He leaves when you’re carrying Morgan to the house.” He flicked forward and the figure creeped back into the forest.
“He doesn’t look familiar,” she said to Fred and fed him another treat.
“Sure?” Jake met her eyes. “I wasn’t sure if . . . if it was someone you knew before.”
She shook her head. “Anyone I knew would have killed her silently and left.” She perched on the edge of the camera hub and cuddled Fred. “Her fiancé was hurt too so I’m not sure if someone is targeting Morgan.”
Jake scowled.
“Yes, which is why we don’t tell her anything and make sure someone is watching her . . . that’s if she comes back.” Sophie held out a pack of sweets. It was tradition. She’d smuggle him sweets when they were kids. Then again, they’d shared everything. “Silence is worth something, hmm?”
He laughed, but like Fred, he loved treats so he took them and chomped away. Then his smile faded. “They hurt her.”
“Yes.” She pursed her lips as the screen showed the attacker sneaking back out of the trees hours later and dragging off a security guard. “And when I catch them, I’ll return the favour.”
Jake grunted. “I’m happy to use them for fertiliser.”
She squeezed his shoulder, patted Fred on the head, and got to her feet. “Will you upload that video for me. I have an expert I’d like to ask.”
He nodded and slid a USB into the control console. “Pests get shot, yeah?”
“Only if they are lucky.” She met his eyes and smiled. Even though Jake had been brought up away from the manor, the traditions and tales, his eyes still shone with the De Breton glint: an eagerness for battle; an eagerness to flatten anyone who challenged them . . . emphatically.
He smiled and handed over the USB and she headed back to the statue of her grandfather. She’d been his favourite, his beloved grandchild and he’d doted on her, filled her with legends and duty, and with the clear message that Hayes were hard, cold, and untouchable.
She sighed and pushed through the door at the base of the statue. What would he think of her being more worried about someone hurting Morgan than being sent to prison and losing the estate? She should be cold and detached enough to think of Morgan going to her fiancé’s side as prying eyes being removed. Wasn’t that a logical way to think? DI Wood treated Morgan as a superior officer, as someone who had been highly respected and she should be sensible and find relief in the fact Morgan was too busy to pry?
Whether little Fiona wanted Morgan to help or not, it was better she keep Morgan away, yes? But Morgan was fast becoming part of the estate. It must have been something Fiona had seen to send her in the first place and thus how did she keep Morgan’s beautiful eyes on her without letting her see too much?