Change of Harte (Harte, #2) (Harte Series) (3 page)

‘Of course, it wasn’t simple.’

Nathan’s tone irritated Julian and his eyes narrowed to express to Nathan as much.

‘I mean, it was a long process. It took three months. And he risked his life wearing a wire. If the mule had caught on, he’d have ripped Cameron’s head off, right there in his cell.’

‘When the mule’s mates on the outside find out, they’ll rip his head off anyway. The man has given himself a death sentence.’ Julian shook his head. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

‘Stupid bastard,’ Nathan said. ‘But, in a couple of days, he’s going to be a free, stupid bastard. And I want the story.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Julian spat, thinking aloud. Cameron Andrews certainly had balls. Eva had inherited that despite her father’s best attempts to beat it out of her. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

Nathan looked at Shelly, and for the first time since she’d walked into the room, she made eye contact with him. ‘Because he’s Eva’s father. And Shelly says, despite what you say and do, you love her. If that’s true, I thought you deserved to know.’

Julian didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at Shelly, either, even though he could feel her eyes burning into him. He didn’t acknowledge or deny the rumour. He did, however, pick up his drink and knock it back in one uncomfortable gulp.

‘You do know the first thing he’s going to do is look for her, don’t you?’

‘Eva? I doubt it,’ Nathan said. ‘He wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

Julian ran his hand over his hair. ‘And for a second there, I almost thought you were good at your job. I can assure you, Nat-HAN, he already knows.’

Julian turned his back to both Shelly and Nathan as his mind raced to process. He turned back to face Shelly, ignoring how Nathan studied his every move.

‘Have you booked your flights yet?’

‘Yeah, of course. Sure I’m going in a little over a week.’

‘Cancel them.’

‘What? Julian, that’s not fair,’ Shelly squealed. ‘You already said it was okay to take time off. I know this is huge but…’

Julian closed his eyes and raised his hand with his palm turned toward Shelly. His patience was wilting. Shelly stopped talking instantly.

‘When did he tell you?’ Julian pointed to Nathan but he was looking at Shelly.

Neither of them replied.

‘I’m guessing this is as new to you as it is to me, Shelly. Since you two were all loved up yesterday and right now you look like you want to smash that decanter across my desk and slit his throat with it.’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ Shelly said. ‘But yeah, I only just found out he works for the paper, and yeah, I’m pretty pissed about it.’

Julian grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his desk chair and put it on, interrupting the argument that had erupted between Shelly and Nathan. He slid his mobile out of his inside jacket pocket and hit call on his speed dial. ‘I need to be in the air. Newark. I’ll be there in an hour. Have my plane ready. Make this happen.’

‘New York,’ Shelly corrected. ‘She hasn’t been back to Jersey yet.’

Julian sighed, unsurprised. ‘Make that JKF,’ he mumbled into the phone and hung up.

Julian looked back at Shelly, who was pouting like a spoilt child. ‘Are you ready?’

‘What? Me? Like now? You can’t be serious?’

Julian didn’t reply, but his whole body shouted that he wasn’t joking. Shelly raced out to her desk and began throwing random shit into her bag at whirlwind speed. Even the stapler made its way in. Julian shook his head but didn’t even ask.

He eyed Nathan up and down. ‘You too, Clark Kent. Let’s go. Now!’

Chapter 6

The icy wind pinched Julian’s face as he walked down the steps away from the privately chartered jet and toward his waiting car. Nathan was still rambling on about how amazing everything on board was—the cream leather finish, the oak fixtures, even the bar stocked to Julian’s personal taste. His voice was like a goddamn wasp buzzing around Julian’s head. Shelly had tried to cover their domestic fallout with endless banter and giggling for the whole seven-hour flight and Julian was about ready to knock their heads together.

He slid a credit card out of his wallet and passed it to Shelly. ‘Book the usual hotel, please. Fine if you two are sharing…’

Shelly rolled her eyes.

‘Fine if you want to keep up with the bollocks. Book a suite each, I don’t care. Just make sure I have the penthouse and none of this it’s in use crap that they tried to feed us with the last time we were here.’

‘This close to Christmas, I think it’s fair to assume every hotel in the greater Manhattan area will be booked out,’ Nathan interrupted.

Julian exhaled sharply. ‘Shell…’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘It won’t be a problem, Julian. Don’t worry.’ Shelly pulled a face and directed it at Nathan, silently advising him to stay quiet.

‘I’ll need champagne and strawberries left in my room, please? I expect I’ll have company later.’

‘Seriously, Julian? Can’t you keep your cock in your pants for just one night? I thought we were here for Eva.’

Julian’s whole face pinched. ‘Shell-y,’ he said, exaggerating the second syllable of her name. It was Shelly’s turn to receive a warning to remain quiet.

Julian stepped aside and Shelly and Nathan slid into the backseat of the black Maybach. Julian tapped the roof twice and nodded to the driver.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Shelly asked rather high-pitched.

Julian laughed. ‘Try not to kill each other before you get to the hotel, yeah?’

Shelly’s forehead wrinkled like a sunken soufflé. ‘Where are you going? It’s late.’

‘Okay, Mammy,’ Julian teased. ‘It’s only nine pm here and I’ve somewhere I need to be. But Eva’s at The Stadford Hotel. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to see you. Both of you.’

Shelly knew better than to ask how Julian knew exactly where Eva was less than ten minutes after landing. But it surprised him that Nathan didn’t do his usual foot-in-mouth routine and question what really was none of his business.

‘There should be some good stuff in there.’ Julian pointed to the refrigerated compartment between Shelly and Nathan’s slightly reclined seats. ‘Get him pissed and fuck his brains out, Shell. The guy needs to loosen up.’

‘Can’t argue with that logic.’ Nathan smiled.

Julian laughed. Shelly blushed. They drove away.

Julian’s phone assaulted his trouser pocket as emails and messages that had been piling up over the last seven hours filtered through. He ignored them all, except one.

From:
Pamelawinters@HTK&associates.com

To:
john.mr.doe@ignitetech
.com

Subject:
Info

Date:
Fri 16
th
Dec 21.16

Hi Julian,

Firstly, you really need to change your email. John Doe, really? LOL! Anyway, after a lot of going around in circles, I finally found the right place. He’s at St. John’s Memorial. He’s not using an alias or anything, as you thought, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find him.

Best of luck. If you need anymore help or directions or anything, just give me a call. I’ll have my phone with me all evening. I really hope we can catch up for a long, overdue drink while you’re here.

Best wishes,

Pam x

Ms. Pamela Winters

Senior Vice President

HTK & Associates

Grove Tower

Park Avenue South

New York, NY 10016

Julian checked the time on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. Visiting hours at the hospital would be over but waiting until the morning was not an option.

The cab ride felt longer than it should have and engaging in idle chitchat with the driver like an enthusiastic tourist was less of a distraction and more an insufferable irritant. But stepping out in front of the main hospital door, Julian felt a little like an overwhelmed tourist in a big, bad city. The part of him that he buried so deep in his soul that sometimes he believed was gone suddenly bubbled to the surface. The weak and vulnerable part of him. The part that was still just an eight-year-old boy.

Red, orange, black…

Memories engulfed Julian’s mind just as the inferno had engulfed his home a little more than twenty years ago. He closed his eyes for a second and ignored the cabbie who had rolled down his window and was leaning his head out to ask if Julian was okay.

He wasn’t okay. He hadn’t ever really been okay, not since then, not since his world was stolen from him. 

Red, orange, black…

He remembered how the smell of his mother’s freshly baked scones was swept away by the smell of hot, angry flames and burning timbers.

Julian ran his fingers through his tight hair. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders up, back, and down. A deep breath pulled him up straight and he marched toward the electronic doors.

The overwhelming smell of disinfectant, that failed to fully disguise other less pleasant odours synonymous with a hospital, made Julian gag as he followed the overhead signs and walked through the hushed corridors. He finally found the corridor outside Intensive Care. It was deserted and eerily silent—like an oversized box, marked with an immiscible caution sticker. The double doors with a round, head-level window peeking into the ward were like the lid; once opened, the surprise inside might take your breath away.

Julian paused, straightened his tie, and adjusted his cufflinks. It was a habit. A way of composing himself. A momentary distraction, even if he wouldn’t admit that to himself. He’d waited a long time for this moment. And now that it was finally here, he wanted to savour every second. Julian pressed the buzzer, waited for a go light, and placed both his palms flat against the doors and pushed hard.

‘Mr. Andrews?’ a nurse said softly as she walked toward him, her cheeks suddenly flushing a little as she spoke. ‘You must be Cameron’s son. I’m so glad you could come. He needs his family at a time like this.’

Julian smiled and extended his hand to shake hers. ‘Julian Harte,’ he corrected. ‘I’m Cameron’s son-in-law.’ The lie slipped off Julian’s tongue so easily he even surprised himself. But he knew non-family members wouldn’t be allowed access and he really needed to be here.

‘Of course, I’m sorry. Will your wife be coming in today also?’ The nurse’s tone was barely above a whisper. Julian suspected that was more for his benefit than that of the other patients.

‘No,’ he said oddly defensively. ‘Evangeline won’t be coming.’

‘I see.’ The nurse didn’t say anything more. She began to walk down the long, magnolia corridor and beckoned Julian to follow.

Julian could see monitors lighting up and machines working to keep Cameron Andrews alive as they rounded a corner and stopped outside a glass wall, looking in at a frail old man lying in bed.

‘He might not be strong enough to respond. But don’t be afraid to talk to him. It will do him a world of good to know you’re here.’

Julian smiled. He would certainly be talking to him.

‘I’ll be just out here…’ the nurse pointed to the nurses’ station behind them, ‘…so if you need anything. Anything at all. You just call me, Mr. eh?’

‘Harte,’ Julian reiterated, forcing a dry smile.

The nurse was twirling a strand of her frizzy hair around her finger and looking him up and down with a sparkle dancing in her eyes. He smirked. His fictional wife would be disgusted by a little flirting over her father’s dying bed. This was so many layers of fucked up. ‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’

Julian’s highly polished black, leather shoes squeaked as he crossed the floor toward Cameron’s bed. Cameron’s eyes were closed and his breathing was so deep and heavy that the sound filled the whole room. His greyish-blue face was just a shade or two away from blending in with the white cotton sheets. He looked so fragile and weak. Like a flower that had been pressed between the pages of a huge book for years. The old man’s head turned so slowly Julian had to squint to notice it was moving at all. Julian hurried to his bedside and gently pressed his palm against Cameron’s forehead. He could feel some of the tension in Cameron’s body fade.

‘Hello, Cameron,’ Julian said bending at the waist instinctively.

A throaty croak rattled around Cameron’s mouth, not quite fully passing his lips.

‘Shh,’ Julian encouraged.

Julian pulled over the nearby plastic chair and sat as close to the bed as he could. He slipped his jacket off and let it fall against the back of the chair. He rolled up his sleeves to just above his elbow and leaned on the edge of the bed. He reached for Cameron’s hand and held it in his, squeezing a little.

‘Do you have everything you need? Are they looking after you okay?’ Julian looked around the room, cluttered with machines and monitors, beeping and pumping like a poignant symphony. He knew as soon as he said it that it was just a platitude. And it wasn’t him. He wasn’t one to bullshit and tiptoe around.
Fuck no!
But for once, Julian was prepared to be as normal as he could be. Normal people used soft tones when visiting in the hospital. Normal people filled awkward silences with nonsense about the weather. Normal people brought flowers or chocolates, and they didn’t hide twenty years of fucked up under their skin.

She’s fine, you know. If that’s the first question you’d ask? It is the first question, right? She’s more than fine, actually. She’s strong and beautiful and away from us. The dominant assholes who just seem to mess up her life. Fuck, Cameron. What were you thinking? You had this amazing girl and you messed up. You messed up so much that you almost broke her. Almost, Cameron. Only almost. She’s not broken. She’s not broken and she’s as fucking close to perfect as I’ve ever known.

Julian pushed the urge to say every messed-up thought out loud deep into his gut. He studied the lines and wrinkles that time had patiently etched into Cameron’s skin. He looked so small, like a lifetime of misadventure had shaved inches off him. Or was it just illness having its wicked way with his body? He certainly didn’t look like a monster, someone capable of hurting Eva so badly.

‘Why did you do it, Cameron? Why did you snitch on that bastard you shared a cell with?’

Another gurgle rattled somewhere inside Cameron’s body. A bit louder this time but still not completely understandable.

‘Shh,’ Julian repeated. Maybe questions were too much for him. This was going to be a very one-sided conversation. ‘Are you strong enough to squeeze my hand?’

Julian felt a faint ruffle against his hand. ‘Good enough.’

‘Don’t tell me to shh…I’ll be quiet long enough when I’m dead,’ Cameron groaned.

Julian’s lips pressed together, and he nodded.

‘Your mother was a great woman, Julian. Beautiful inside and out. She put a roof over my head, even when I hadn’t a dime in my pocket. We gradually became friends, you know. I’d turn up on one of my out-of-control benders and she’d sit me down and sober me up. She gave a shit. Not many people in my life have given a shit.’

Julian shook his head. ‘You didn’t give them very much reason to, Cameron.’

Cameron sighed, like talking was using up more air than he had in his body. ‘Do you think I don’t know I made mistakes? Jesus Christ, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about how sorry I am.’

Julian squeezed his hand again; he believed him.

‘It’s too late for this stupid, old fool. But you’re young, Julian. You’ve plenty of time to change.’

‘We are who we are, Cameron.’

‘Nonsense, my boy. I’m sure your staff look at you and think you’ve got your head screwed on right. You’re wealthy and good looking, and a suited up cocky bastard, by the looks of things. But that’s not who I see. I see a terrified little boy who grew up all too fast and is still grieving.’

Julian swallowed hard. He’d never had someone sum him up in one sentence before. ‘I miss them. I miss them every single day.’

‘I know. But they’re gone, Julian. They’re gone and you’re still here. You don’t have to stop loving your parents, but you have to stop using them as your excuse.’

‘But it was my fault. I started the fire.’

Cameron sighed and licked his dried, chapped lips. Julian found a cup of ice chips on the bedside locker. He sat on the corner of the bed, sliding his arm behind Cameron’s neck to help him lift his head. He cradled the old man and slowly tilted the cup toward his mouth. ‘Just let it wet your lips. You’ll feel better.’

Julian lay Cameron back down and stood up, pacing the floor. ‘Where’s that bloody nurse? Are they supposed to leave you alone for this long?’

‘Julian.’ Cameron scolded like an assertive schoolteacher. ‘Sit.’