Hayden (A Next Generation Carter Brother Novel Book 4)

by Lisa Helen Gray

  He grunts, making me smile. “Hello to you too.”

  “Sorry, hi. Now, what you got?”

  He laughs through the line. “You really are something.”

  “Amazing, I know. Now…”

  The heavy sigh doesn’t bode well. A sinking feeling hits me and I rest against the wall, bracing myself. This isn’t going to be good.

  “You need to find another story.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just trust me.”

  “No. I need this. If my boss is going to take me seriously, I have to bring him something he can’t say no to, something exclusive.”

  “It’s getting dangerous, Hayden. The reporter, Christina, who was following leads on the story before you, was attacked last night. She was found up Rock Lane an hour away from where she was taken. She died from internal bleeding in the early hours of this morning.”

  “Oh God,” I breathe out, shocked. “Wait, you were leaking leads before giving them to me?”

  “What? No—well, kind of. We have certain information we can release to the public. I just gave her a few extra tips or updates. She was looking into a lady who gave a statement during the Sutherland break in. I did keep some stuff back, but she’s a friend of a friend.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Leave it alone now and let us deal with it. I’ve met your family. I don’t want them gunning for me. Your dad kind of scares me.”

  No! I can’t give up. I don’t want to get into politics when our papers are already bleeding with political bullshit or rambling about what some celebrity had for breakfast. I want something different, something readers want to read about. I want to give something they can relate to. I need this story.

  “Wait, what was she looking into? Maybe they aren’t connected to one another.”

  “Hayden.” I can hear the pity in his heavy sigh. “They’re connected. She received letters telling her to keep her nose out.”

  “And that was the only story she was following?” I ask, my brain working overtime, trying to figure out what is bothering me.

  “No, there’s a couple more, but—”

  “So, they might not even be connected. Tell me what you have so I can decide,” I order, my voice pleading. “And send me details of the reporter. If you want to keep me safe, you won’t force me to look for answers.”

  “I’ll email you what we have, but I’m warning you not to do this.”

  “Look, earlier I thought this was just some guys looking to make quick money ‘cause they can’t be bothered to get a job. But it’s not, is it?”

  “No,” he tells me, sounding resigned in the way his voice lowers. “There’s a new gang near town that we’ve been looking into. At first, they didn’t seem to cause trouble. They kept to themselves. But now, evidence keeps leading us back to them and they keep changing their location.”

  “Break-ins?” I ask disbelievingly.

  “Yes. We think it’s the way for new recruits to join. A way to pledge their loyalty. Their crimes are escalating, like a simple break-in isn’t enough now. They need to do something more to prove they’re better than the last guy who joined. It’s becoming violent, and every time we get close, they move to another hideout. They’re always one step ahead of us.”

  “Did you not get evidence from Christina’s murder?”

  My brain is working overtime, trying to compartmentalise the information and scenarios so I can ask the right questions.

  “No, nothing. Whoever is leading this gang knows exactly what they are doing.”

  “Hmmm,” I mumble, more to myself than to him. “That doesn’t add up though. Not to me. Gangs aren’t masterminds. They’re clever, ruthless, dangerous and illusive, but they aren’t masterminds. I can’t see them murdering someone and knowing how to cover it up.”

  There’s something they’re missing.

  “I’m sorry?”

  Ignoring him, I continue, wanting to get more facts. “What about her notes?”

  “We’ve got officers looking for them, but so far, we’ve had no luck locating them.”

  “Or they aren’t there,” I muse. “What aren’t you telling me about her?”

  The phone rustles, and I picture him rubbing a hand across his jaw. “She messaged me a few days ago saying she had another note, but she wasn’t stopping. She believed it was a scare tactic, that they wouldn’t show themselves. I warned her against it. She felt like she was onto something, but wouldn’t reveal what. Then yesterday, she texted to say she was thirty minutes out, that she had enough evidence for arrests, and that she needed to grab something from the office. She never made it here. When she didn’t come after an hour, we had the team go out and look. There were signs of a struggle but she was found out of town.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I tell him, hearing the guilt pouring through his words.

  “Isn’t it? I told my boss what she was doing over a month ago, when we found out it might be connected to a gang. I told him she needed to stop looking into it. He agreed and had a word with her. She wouldn’t listen to him either. When the first letter arrived, we had the night shift do drive-bys.”

  “Then she should have listened to your advice. It isn’t your fault.”

  “Does this mean you’ll leave it alone?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” I admit, and before he can complain, I continue. “I promise to keep you up to date with what I’m doing. I promise I won’t go asking questions or snooping where I shouldn’t. I’ll keep it research only. Although, I would like a chance to speak to her boss or co-workers or whoever she went to when she had breakthroughs.”

  “Alright, but I’m begging you here, Hay. I don’t want you snooping. Promise me,” he pleads. “If I find out you’ve gone asking questions and put your name on their radar, I’ll arrest your arse myself.”

  “What for?” I snap.

  “You stole a twenty out of your brother’s wallet at the engagement party.”

  I roll my eyes. “He owed it to me.”

  “It didn’t seem that way when he got angry.”

  “That wasn’t at me,” I remind him, thinking of Liam’s expression when he saw the last of his money gone.

  “No, when he figured out it was you, there was a lot of hair pulling.”

  I laugh, fond of the memory. Liam cried for an hour over his bald spot.

  “Jesus, okay, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You sound surprised,” I say grouchily.

  “I’ve met you and your family. You love drama.”

  Damn Beau for painting us Carter’s as crazies. We’re a well-respected and normal family.

  “I’m not stupid. Plus, I think the reporter already had the whole thing figured out, and I’m assuming it’s bigger than the break-ins.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I know so. Call it intuition. She had something big; big enough that she was taking it to the police first and not her paper.”

  “You should have become a cop,” he muses.

  I laugh. “And deal with dickheads all day? No thanks. I would end up arrested. I have two brothers and a lot of cousins to deal with already,” I tell him, scrunching my nose up at his suggestion. “Look, I need to go. I’m outside work and really need to go in.”

  “I’ll let you go then, and I’ll get this sent over.”

  “Thanks for doing me a solid.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We say goodbye before ending the call. Once the phone is safely back in my pocket, I jump up and down, waving my hands around. “I’m going to rock this story and become a news reporter,” I hoot, wiggling my arse side to side.

  “Good heavens, Hayden, get inside,” Tracey yells, causing me to scream. I catch my breath and see the way she’s watching me. Most likely wondering how my crazy arse ended up working for her. “Are you going to come into work or not?”

  I nod, stepping forward. “Sorry, I’m coming.”

  *** *** ***

>   The pungent smell of lavender on the fresh linen is pleasant. Lavender is a smell that never took my fancy before my grandparents passed away. Now, I favour it. It reminds me so much of Gran, of the love she spoiled us with.

  It smells like home.

  Grabbing a pillowcase off the brown suede chair, I begin to finish making the bed. We have a new live-in patient being transferred from the hospital and I need to get the room set up for his arrival.

  The sound of someone approaching has me glancing to the door. Amelia waddles in, head down, her prodigious stomach leading the way.

  “Evening, Amelia.”

  She covers her stomach in a protective gesture, jerking in fright.

  “Holy sugar,” she squeals, gasping for breath.

  Holding my hands up, I panic. “Please don’t go into labour.”

  She laughs, but it’s forced. The strain on her expression gives it away. She’s scared out of her mind. I can see it in the way her gaze darts around the room, and the way her body shakes.

  “It’s okay. I just didn’t see you in here. And I won’t. I’m not due for another two months.”

  Amelia is one of the many nurses who work here that I like. She’s stunning. Her dark hazel eyes are mixed with a deep forest green. They almost glow, the colour is that intense. They’re warm and sparkle with mirth, but every so often they grow dim, haunted and lost. It worries me, and I wish she’d open up. But the one thing I’ve come to know about the mysterious woman is she doesn’t talk about her past. Or the father of her unborn child and the young little girl she brought with her when she and her mum came to visit her aunt.

  Her rich black hair falls just below her shoulders when she has it down. Today, she has it in two French braids twisted to the nape of her neck.

  And although she’s seven months pregnant, I can tell she still holds her slim figure.

  “Phew.”

  “Sorry I overreacted. I, um, I really didn’t think anyone was in here.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, noticing she seems more distracted than normal.

  Sometimes, patients who need life care don’t make it from the hospital.

  She shakes her head, seeming to get her thoughts together. She’s in that place where she doesn’t seem here, in the present.

  She pastes on a bright smile, nodding. “Yes, everything is fine. I’m in my own head. I came in to check the room was ready because the movers are here. It reminded me I still need to find somewhere to live.”

  “I’ll ask my uncle. He owns his own letting agency. I’m sure he can hook you up.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles, running a hand down her tunic. “Just let me know. In the meantime, our new patient, Mr Cross, has arrived.”

  Mr Cross. It couldn’t be. No, she couldn’t mean…

  “Here is your room, Mr Cross,” Tracey declares, smiling at her niece, Amelia, as she steps inside.

  I gawk at my former boss, sitting in a wheelchair, his leg raised and in a cast. He’s aged ten years since the last time I saw him. His skin looks withered and old. He has oxygen tubes up his nose and black bags under his eyes. I’ve never seen him look so… well, so old.

  “Hayden?”

  I groan at the sound of the voice I’ve come to love and loathe. Shock pours out in his tone with that one word. He’s acting like I’m a stalker, and if Mr Cross wasn’t a patient, I would play the part as payback.

  Oh God, this isn’t happening.

  Wearing a navy-blue jumper and black trousers, he looks casual. Well, casual for him. He still looks like he ironed his boxers. I’m so used to seeing him in his suits that it’s a little unnerving. I thought for sure the day he didn’t wear a suit, I’d find him unattractive.

  I was wrong.

  If anything, he looks hotter. It’s kind of unfair. My casual wear consists of my ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ pyjamas that have Dorito stains on them.

  “Mr Cross,” I greet, staring at the gorgeous man invading my dreams.

  Senior Cross draws back suddenly, his expression crumpling with despair. “Please tell me you didn’t fire the one person keeping that station going,” he fumes. “What did I tell you?” He aims the frustration my way. “He will pay you triple to come back.”

  “Mr Cross—” I start.

  “Dad,” Clayton begins.

  “Don’t you ‘Dad’ me, son,” he fires back. “And, Hayden, I’m no longer your boss. Call me Weston.”

  I gulp. It’s like I’m back in his office and he’s telling me off for punching Harry in the stomach when I thought he was groping me. He wasn’t. He went to shake my hand. However, I didn’t know that at the time.

  I shake the thoughts away. “Weston, what I’m trying to—”

  “Hire her back, son.”

  “Jesus, Dad, I’ve not fired her,” he practically yells.

  Weston’s expression is adorable. He isn’t sure if we’re telling the truth or not. “Then why is she here, son?”

  “This is your second job?” Clayton asks, breaking the silence that follows after his dad’s question. He scans the room for a moment before his lips twitch in amusement, like he can’t believe it.

  “Yes. Is it so hard to believe I dedicate my time to helping old people? They deserve to be treated with respect in their last moments on Earth,” I tell him sharply, before grimacing, turning to Weston. “Sorry.”

  He smiles. “Don’t be.”

  Both Tracey and Amelia snort. Frustrated, I glare at them. “I do.”

  White frizzy hair is the first thing I see when Sally barges into the room, her face bright red. “You!” she yells. “You stole my treats again.”

  Sally is another witch on the floor who complains about everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve formed their own group.

  Condemning expressions fixate on me, and I groan, unable to meet their gazes.

  I’m going to make sure only channel two works on her TV when everyone has left later.

  The movers give her a wide berth as they begin to place boxes in the room, and the orderlies get Mr Cross settled in his bed.

  “No, Sally, I didn’t.” And I really didn’t.

  This time.

  Furious, she goes to charge for me, but Tracey blocks her. “I want her fired!”

  “Sally, she said she didn’t—"

  “She did. Betty saw her leave my room.”

  I snort. She’s the other witch. Why they let them share a floor, I don’t know. I call it the crazy hall. “Betty probably has them.”

  I tune out Tracey trying to calm the old woman down when Clayton comes to stand beside me, giving the men room to bring in the boxes. I tense, keeping still. I’m worried that if he gets any closer, I’ll start to rub myself against him. He smells so good. Like cinnamon and spice.

  He leans down, his breath blowing across my ear. “Why am I not surprised you rob from sweet little ladies,” he comments, failing to keep the amusement out of his tone.

  “Sweet my arse,” I snap. He steps away, and I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “And I didn’t—this time anyway.”

  “Yes, you did,” Sally screams. “You stole my fruit gums the last time. If I hadn’t been so tired from the medication, I would have whooped your arse and got you fired then. You take Bernie’s and others too.”

  Snorting, my lids lower into slits. “I helped you. You have dentures, Sally. There was no way you would have been able to chew them.” I take a deep breath, not wanting to yell. “And I replaced them with marshmallows.”

  She sniffs, turning away. “I don’t even like marshmallows.”

  “You ate the whole bag just fine. Don’t lie.”

  “Sally, why don’t we get you settled back into your room and I’ll get you an apple out of the office,” Amelia orders softly.

  “I don’t like apples, but fine,” she grouches, before turning her hatred towards me. “This isn’t over.”

  Once they leave the room, I feel all eyes on me.

  “Really?” Clay
ton comments.

  God, this man.

  “You aren’t my boss here, so don’t make me punch you.”

  “Violent too,” he taunts, raising his eyebrows.

  That is it.

  “I don’t steal their treats—Well, I do, but only because I don’t want to hear them moaning the next day because they’ve lost a tooth, that their sugar is too high, or that their IBS is flaring up.”

  “Well aren’t you the giver.”

  “Jesus, you’re an arsehole outside of work too.”

  “You work together?” Hope asks, stepping into the room with a clipboard tucked to her chest.

  I’m still staring up at Clayton when my eyes widen in disbelief.

  Why!

  Why, after years of the best kept secret in my family, does Clayton walk in and ruin it after five minutes.

  He’s purposely turning my world upside down.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My future flashes before my eyes. All I can picture or hear is my dad’s reaction. He will go on and on about how my job sent him into early retirement, and how it traumatised him for life.

  Oh God.

  My family will come to me for advice and I’ll have to listen to them.

  I’ll be dead within a month.

  I have to get out of this.

  “What?” My laugh sounds foreign, forced, even to my own ears. “He’s not my boss. He’s a—”

  A hand covering my mouth mutes the excuse I was just about to come up with.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Clayton barks. “I don’t know what preposterous excuse you were about to come up with, but I want no involvement this time.”

  I shove his hand off my mouth and take a step back, affronted—even if he is right. “I wasn’t—” at the reprimanding expression, I sigh, my shoulders sagging. “Okay, I was.”

  “Um, what is going on?” Hope asks, her voice soft, concerned.

  Facing her, I can’t help but take in her white blonde hair, smooth pale skin and sharp green eyes. She is the spit of her mother and just as beautiful. What has taken me some time to get used to is seeing her in the blue tunic. I’m proud of how far she has come, and the uniform is a reminder of what she had accomplished. Before she got her nursing degree, she wore a white tunic like mine.