Or perhaps that was just her damaged heart.
Chapter Six
The next morning Dylan ran lightly up the stairs of Elias Memorial, frustrated that already three full days had passed since Louisa’s arrest and he still had nothing. But he stopped in midstride when he noticed a media van pulling into a parking space under trees across the street.
He turned and watched as two more media vehicles drew up. They were following a shiny black sports ute. He frowned, put on his shades. What was this? Slow day with the riots?
The door of the ute swung open and Dylan instantly recognized the tall black-haired man who alit from the vehicle—Daniel Whittleson, head trainer for Lochlain.
Sam’s son.
Daniel slammed the door, his posture aggressive as he stalked toward a small group of reporters beginning to gather outside a TV van.
Damn, he must have called this himself.
Dylan watched as Daniel waved for the journalists to follow him, and began to run up the Elias Memorial stairs, two at a time.
Dylan quickly started down the stairs and halted him midway. “Daniel, what’s going on here?”
Daniel pointed up at the hospital. “Have you charged her yet?” he demanded.
Dylan lowered his voice so the reporters wouldn’t hear. “Relax, mate. Why’d you call these people? They’re not going to help.”
“The woman who killed my father is in there, Sergeant,” he said loudly, wagging his finger at the hospital windows. “Lying in all her privilege with one of the most aggressive law firms in the country closing ranks around her. They call D’Angelo, Fischer and Associates the cop killers, do you know that, Hastings? Because of the way they nailed those two Newcastle cops last year. They don’t give a rat’s ass about justice. And what about my father? Where’s the bloody justice for him?” The normally quiet man was shaking with anger as he pushed his words through clenched teeth. “I have had it with that woman, Hastings. She’s messed with one too many lives this time.”
Daniel swung round to face the media crews who were scrambling to catch the confrontation between the cop and the victim’s son on camera.
“What about justice for the folk of the Upper Hunter!” Daniel demanded loudly. “What about the farmers who could have lost billions to flames if the Lochlain blaze had spread to neighboring studs and vineyards? What of the horses we lost at Lochlain—”
Dylan grasped his arm firmly. “Look, mate,” he growled quietly. “I want resolution as much as you. We’ll get it, but not this way.”
“You haven’t charged her yet, have you? I heard you didn’t get a chance to before she conveniently went into cardiac arrest.”
“It was a heart attack.”
“Well, did you charge her?”
“She’s not well enough. Doctor’s orders.”
Daniel glowered at him, then yanked his arm free, and began storming up the steps toward the hospital doors.
Dylan spun round and immediately caught sight of Megan barring the hospital doors, eyes wide, skin pale.
As Daniel reached the doors, she stepped in front of him. “You can’t go in there,” she said.
“And who the hell are you?”
“I’m Megan Stafford,” she said, green eyes fierce, body stiff with tension. “Louisa’s niece.”
Daniel looked momentarily rattled.
“If you go in there and confront Louisa now,” Megan said, “she could die.”
“You may be her niece,” Daniel said, voice thick with an acrimony and pain of his own, “but the man she killed was my father.”
“She didn’t do it, Daniel.”
Protective instinct surged through Dylan and he moved quickly up the stairs, knowing his every move was being recorded for television from behind.
Daniel shot Dylan a look as he reached them. “You are charging Louisa Fairchild with murder, right?”
Dylan cursed to himself, sensing the cameras rolling behind him. He was being backed into a corner, and had to head this off now before things got out of hand. Daniel’s incendiary remarks could spark a media lynching of Louisa Fairchild. That wasn’t justice.
Acting fast, he took Daniel by the arm, drawing him to his side as he slipped his hand around Megan’s waist, pulling her firmly to his other side.
Flanked by the son of the victim, and the niece of the accused, Dylan turned to face the media crew from atop the Elias Memorial stairs, the NSW flag snapping in the warm wind behind them. He was fully aware of the image he was cutting on behalf of the men in blue statewide, aware he alone could end up the scapegoat for this, that this photo could come back to haunt him.
“I’m going to make a brief statement,” he said firmly. “So listen up, because I’m not taking questions.”
He spoke smoothly, projecting a powerful presence that caught both Daniel and Megan off guard. Cameras clicked. Wind gusted, cracking the flag against the blue sky. Megan’s hair teased across his cheek, and immediately Dylan became conscious of her curves against him.
He focused intently on the journalists below, not on how good she felt in his arms. Not on her scent, nor the texture of her blouse under his fingers, the sensation of her waist pressed against his gun belt.
“New South Wales police are doing everything in their power to bring a killer and an arsonist to justice,” he informed the small media cadre. “This is a complex investigation, and it comes at a complex moment in our state’s history. We have deaths and riots in our capital, and passions are running high all round.” Another camera clicked.
“The important thing is to stay focused on commonwealth justice being fair, and being there for all—”
“What about Louisa Fairchild!” called one reporter, nosing forward with his mike. “She shot Sam Whittleson before. Has she been charged with homicide?”
Megan’s body tensed against him.
“Louisa Fairchild is a person of interest in this case, but this remains an ongoing investigation. I can make no further comment at this point. Thank you all.”
He turned to go, hand firmly on Megan’s hip, guiding her up the last step and steering her through the clinic doors, away from the media spotlight. Daniel was hot on their heels.
The automatic doors slid quietly shut behind them, cutting out the sound of the crowd. Megan exhaled in relief and looked up into his eyes.
Silence grew thick between them.
Dylan slowly removed his hand from her hip, holding her gaze for a long beat. Megan blushed, clearly feeling the same physical pull he was, and that mutual awareness burst through his chest in a sudden hot rush, an awesome feeling of sky-high exhilaration, one he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. And now was such a wrong time.
He stepped back, momentarily shaken.
She was too. He could see it in the way her eyes flickered, as if searching for a way out. She brushed a strand of windblown hair off her face, glancing at Daniel, then back at him. Her hand was trembling.
“Thank you,” she said softly, eyes lucent. “You could have lambasted her out there. I’m grateful.”
“Don’t be,” he said, acutely conscious of Daniel glaring at him. “When Louisa does leave Elias Memorial it will be for a Sydney correctional centre.”
“What…do you mean?”
“I plan to bring her before a magistrate at a bedside committal hearing right here in hospital and charge her as soon as Doc Burgess says she’s medically able. That’s why I’m here, to see the doc.”
She stared at him, the soft gleam in her eyes turning cool, her mouth flattening. She turned, walked off.
Dylan’s insides twisted. As much as he wanted to nail Louisa, he hated having to say what he had to Megan.
Daniel immediately strode after her, but Dylan grabbed his arm. “Dan, I know this is tough. I can only imagine what you’re going through, but let the wheels of justice turn on this one.” And he hoped to hell they would.
Daniel swallowed, his body still visibly humming with adrenaline, dark eyes hot and
angry. “You’re not totally convinced she did it, are you?”
“I’m convinced that if you go in there now, you’re going to hinder my investigation.”
“You going to arrest me if I do?”
Dylan glanced at the door that led to the wards, saw Megan had stopped to watch him. “Yeah, I will,” he said, his eyes locked with Megan’s across the room. “But you’re not going to force my hand, are you?”
Daniel moistened his lips, gathering himself. “If I can be of any help…”
Dylan nodded, eyes still fixed on Megan. “I’ll let you know.”
With another angry glance at Megan, Daniel stalked off.
Megan held Dylan’s eyes for a moment longer, then she turned, and pushed through the doors. They swung shut behind her.
Dylan blew out a hard breath, and rubbed his brow.
He was between a real rock and a hard place now.
Megan marched straight back into Louisa’s room. If the small press scrum outside the Pepper Flats hospital was anything to go by, they were in for the full national media circus when the chaos in Sydney quieted down. And now the prospect of a bedside hearing.
She brushed past the young constable sitting outside Louisa’s room, and walked through the door, her conviction faltering only slightly when she saw how tired and gray her aunt still looked.
“Louisa, you have got to talk to me. We don’t have time to play games anymore.”
“What?”
Megan pointed to the window. “There’s a media crew waiting outside. Detective Sergeant Hastings could have trashed you out there. We’re damn lucky he didn’t—”
Her aunt huffed dismissively. “He’s protecting his own bloody hide, that’s what, because he knows I’m going to turn up innocent.” But Megan could see the shimmer of unease beneath Louisa’s bluster.
“He kept Daniel from barging in here, too, you know.”
“Sam’s son?”
“Yes, Sam’s son.”
Louisa’s eyes shimmered, her features tightening. “I didn’t kill Sam, Megan.”
“I know that. We all know—”
“No,” she said. “We don’t all know. That cop, Hastings, doesn’t know. The press doesn’t know—”
“Then we need to prove it, instead of just gunning after the police and looking for legal loopholes in the arrest. What happened to your Smith & Wesson, Louisa? Why was it used to kill Sam? How did it end up being the murder weapon?”
Louisa’s eyes turned a stormy blue. She didn’t like being confronted like this. “It’s obvious,” she said. “It was stolen.”
“No, it’s not obvious. We need to prove it. We need to get the police into your library to dust for prints.”
“And what will that show? That my staff and the constable with the search warrant touched everything?”
Exasperated, Megan dragged her hand through her hair. “The constable was wearing gloves, Louisa. And it’s a start. It could force the investigation in another direction. If nothing else, it’ll provide the ammunition D’Angelo wants if this goes in front of a jury.”
Louisa’s jaw tensed and she glowered at Megan, but she wasn’t able to hide the hint of worry in her eyes.
“Yes, Louisa, it’s that serious. The rate this is going, you could be charged, brought before a magistrate right here in this hospital room, and end up leaving Elias Memorial and going straight to prison, where you could sit without bail to await a Supreme Court murder trial. I think we should file an official claim of theft, let the cops in to dust the gun cabinet.”
Her aunt’s face turned thunderous, her hands began trembling. “I will not have them in my house.”
Megan exhaled and spun sharply to face the window, crossing her arms over her stomach. The woman was impossible. She was so damn stubborn she was going to end up obstructing police efforts to find the real killer. And she was probably going to land in prison because of it.
“That detective is just pushing your buttons, Megan, because he knows he’s not going to get a warrant to go anywhere near my estate again. Filing a report of theft would give him the access he wants.”
“What are you so damn scared of, Louisa, if you have nothing to hide?”
“It’s the principle. I’m innocent and don’t deserve to be harassed. My home is my sanctuary, and D’Angelo has ordered my staff not to talk to the cop. He said silence is best. I trust him.”
Megan just shook her head. Little did Louisa know she’d already invited the cop’s daughter to ride at Fairchild. Boy, she was in a real double bind now, tangled up and feeling the pressure from all sides.
She thought of the look on Daniel Whittleson’s face. As aggressive as he’d been, he’d lost a father.
He had a right to his pain, his anger.
She thought of the mixed messages in Dylan Hastings’ touch, how his large and capable hand had felt against her hip. The way he’d handled the crowd.
He had one hell of a balancing act to pull off in a small community like this. And out on those stairs he’d come across as a cop doing his level best to serve his entire constituency, equally. Fairly.
She thought of how Louisa had been trying to drive Sam under by cutting off his access to Lake Dingo water, forcing him to sell Whittleson Stud to her for a song. What kind of woman did that? Her aunt was one hard lady.
She spun back to face her. “It’s always about you, isn’t it, Louisa?”
He aunt stared stonily back. “If a woman doesn’t protect herself, who’s going to do it for her?”
“You’ve been standing on your own too damn long, you know that?”
“And you’re too sensitive, girl. Like your grandmother. No one is forcing you to take this on. It’s not like it’s going to get you into my will, either.”
“Damn you,” she whispered. “Leave your money to the bloody government, a charity, I really don’t give a hoot.”
“Then why do you care? Why are you standing there fighting with me now?”
Megan closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “And why do you keep pressing me on this, Louisa? I told you, I’m here for family. But I guess even I have my limits.” She turned to go, hesitated. “Maybe you are right. Maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe I just don’t want to see an eighty-year-old woman hauled to Silverwater Correctional Centre in prison garb. Family or not!”
She shoved open the door, turned back one more time. “And you know what else? If you didn’t shoot Sam, somewhere out there is a real killer. And just maybe you could stop thinking about yourself long enough to help the police catch him.”
She pushed through the door without looking back.
Louisa watched the door swing shut, adrenaline buzzing through her tired body. She needed caffeine. She needed her herbs. And the incision in her groin was throbbing sore. More than anything she was furious. She’d been falsely arrested, accused of something she didn’t do, stuck in this hospital bed, and now Megan Stafford had the chops to claim she was making things difficult for the police.
She closed her eyes, fatigue and the shakes swamping her. Megan’s words bit into her harder than they should. Maybe the child was right. Maybe she had been alone too long, in too many ways.
Maybe she’d forgotten how to care.
The first thing Heidi saw as she entered her dad’s office looking for a pencil sharpener was the big white envelope sitting squarely on his desk.
With her mother’s name on it.
Written in her dad’s bold hand with thick black pen.
Her heart stilled.
She glanced quickly over her shoulder, saw her gran was busy in the kitchen.
What could her dad possibly be sending to her mum?
She reached for the unsealed envelope and slipped the contents out onto the desk. Her throat turned dry as she realized what she was looking at—divorce papers. Signed by both her mother and her father. Official.
Over.
Her eyes moistened inexplicably.
She couldn’t say why the paper
s affected her like this, but they did. She quickly returned them to the envelope, hands shaking.
For several minutes she just stared at the bold black address on the white paper. She hadn’t known until this very moment exactly where in London her mother lived.
Her eyes shifted over to her dad’s address book. It was lying open next to the envelope. She shot another look over her shoulder, making sure Granny June was still busy in the kitchen. Her dad would be livid if he found out she’d been rummaging in his things.
Breaking Free (Thoroughbred Legacy #10) Page 9