Read the book: «Secrets In Sydney»

With special thanks to Leonie and Steve: two terrific doctors who generously shared their medical knowledge.

CHAPTER ONE

TOM JORDAN—Mr Jordan to almost everyone—stood on the balcony of his top-floor penthouse apartment with the winter sunshine warming his face. The harsh cry of seagulls wheeling above him clashed with the low and rumbling blast of a ferry’s horn as the tang of salt hit his nostrils. All of it was quintessentially Sydney. The emerald city. Home.

He gazed straight ahead towards the Opera House with its striking sails and architectural splendour, before turning his head toward the iconic bridge on his right. He knew the scene intimately, having grown up in Sydney, although a very long way from this multimillion-dollar vantage point. As a kid he’d once taken the ferry to Taronga Park Zoo on a school excursion and been awed by the size of the mansions that clung to the shoreline for the breathtaking views. The teacher in charge had noticed him staring and had said, ‘Dream on, Jordan. People like you only ever clean their floors.’

Tom had never forgotten that hard-nosed teacher or his words, which had eventually driven him to prove that teacher wrong. Prove everyone in Derrybrook wrong—well, almost everyone. Two people hadn’t needed convincing because they’d always believed in him.

The penthouse and the Ferrari were his way of giving those bastards from Derrybrook ‘the finger’. The long, hard journey to being head of the world-renowned neurosurgery department at Sydney Harbour Hospital was another beast entirely—a personal tribute to one of life’s special men.

His nostrils twitched as a slight musty aroma mixed in with the sharp citrus of cleaning products, drifted out from inside and lingered on the afternoon air. His cleaning lady had been both liberal and vigorous with their use in meeting the challenge of ridding the apartment of stale air—the legacy of having been closed up for well over a year. A year that had started out like any other, on a day that had been so routine it would have gone unnoticed in the annals of history yet for one tiny moment of mistiming, which had changed everything. Irrevocably. Irreversibly and indelibly.

For twenty-two months he’d stayed away from Sydney, not ever imagining he could return to the one place that represented everything he’d lost, but, just like that one moment in time, things had once again changed. Two months ago on Cottlesloe beach in Perth, the wind had whipped up in him an urge so strong it had had him contemplating heading east, but to what? A week later he’d received a joint invitation from Eric Frobisher, Medical Director of SHH, and Richard Hewitson, Dean of Parkes University’s School of Medicine, inviting him to give a series of guest lectures over six weeks for staff and medical students. His initial reaction had been to refuse. He wasn’t a teacher and lecturing wasn’t what he wanted—it didn’t even come close, but on a scale of necessity it was better than doing nothing at all. Doing nothing had sent him spiralling into a black hole that had threatened to keep him captive.

He gripped the balcony rails so tightly that the skin on his knuckles burned. This past year had been all about ‘re-education’ and was the first step onto the ladder of his new life. Once before he’d dragged himself up by the bootstraps and, by hell, he could do it again. He had to do it again. Only this time, unlike in his childhood, at least he wouldn’t see their pity or disdain.

A nip in the air bit into him, making him shiver, and he turned slowly, reaching out his hands to feel the outdoor table. Having made contact, he counted five steps and commenced walking straight until his extended left hand pressed against the slightly open glass door. Running the fingers of his right hand down the pane, he kept them moving until they touched and then gripped the rectangular handle. He pulled the door fully open and stepped inside, barely noticing the change in light.

‘And we’re done. Good work, everyone. Thank you.’ Hayley Grey, final-year surgical registrar, stepped back from the operating table and stripped off her gloves, leaving her patient in the capable hands of the anaesthetist and nursing staff. The surgery would later be described in the report as a routine appendectomy and only she and her night-duty team would know how close it had come to being a full-on disaster of septic shock with a peritoneum full of pus. Kylie Jefferson was an extremely lucky young woman. Another hour and things could have been very different.

Hayley pushed open the theatre swing doors, crossed the now quiet scrub-in area and exited through another set of doors until she was out in the long theatre suite corridor. She rolled back her shoulders as three a.m. fatigue hit her, taunting her with the luxury of sleep. Glorious and tempting sleep, which, she knew, if she gave in to and snuggled down in her bed, would only slap her hard and instantly depart with a bitter laugh. No, after years of experience she knew better than to try. She’d stick to her routine—type up her report on the computer, have something to eat, do an early round—and only then, as dawn was breaking, would she head home.

‘Hayley, we’ve got cake.’

‘What sort of cake?’

Jenny, the night-duty theatre nurse manager, rolled her eyes as Hayley walked into an unexpectedly busy staff lounge. Earlier in the night a road trauma case had put everyone on edge and Hayley had seen the tension on their faces when she’d arrived for her case. Two hours later, with the RT patient in ICU, the adrenaline had drained away, and the nursing staff was debriefing in the low-lit room, curled up on the couches and tucked up in warm theatre towels.

She automatically switched on the main bank of lights to make the room reassuringly brighter.

Hands flew to eyes as a chorus of ‘It’s too bright. Turn them off’, deafened her.

Jenny compromised by turning off the set over the couches. ‘After a month here, do you really have to ask what type of cake?’

Hayley gave a quiet smile. ‘In that case I’ll have the mud cake. Lucky I like chocolate.’

Although she’d only been at ‘The Harbour’ for four weeks, she’d already learned that the night-duty theatre team had an addiction to chocolate and caffeine, which, given their unsociable hours and the types of cases they often dealt with, was completely understandable. They were also an outgoing crew and although Hayley appreciated their friendliness, she often found it a bit daunting. Once she’d had a sister who had been as close a friend as a girl could ever have and, try as she might, she’d never been able to find the same sort of bond with anyone else. Sure, she had friends, but she always felt slightly disconnected. However, she could feel The Harbour staff slowly drawing her in.

‘Everyone loves chocolate.’ Jenny plated a generous triangle of the rich cake and passed it over.

‘Tom Jordan didn’t.’ Becca, one of the scrub nurses, cradled her mug of coffee in both hands.

An audible sigh rolled around the room—one that combined the bliss of an en masse crush along with regret. This happened every single time someone mentioned the previous head of neurosurgery. Hayley had never met the man, but apparently he’d left the hospital without warning almost two years ago.

Hayley forked off some cake as she sat down. ‘Is a man who doesn’t like chocolate worth missing?’

‘Hayley! You know not of what you speak.’ Becca pressed her mug to her heart. ‘Our Tom was divine. Sure, he took no prisoners, was known to reduce the occasional obtuse medical and nursing student to tears, but he never demanded more of you than he demanded of himself.’

‘Which was huge, by the way,’ added Theo, the only male nurse on the team. ‘The man lived and worked here, and patients came ahead of everything and everyone. Still, I learned more from him than any other surgeon I’ve worked with.’

‘Watching Tom operate,’ Jenny gave a wistful smile, ‘watching the magic he wove with those long fingers of his, you forgave him any gruff words he might have uttered during tense moments. One look from those sea-green eyes and we’d lay down our lives for him.’

‘Suzy lay down with him,’ Theo teased the nurse sitting next to him. ‘But he got away. Who’s your man of the moment? Rumour is it’s Finn Kennedy.’

Suzy punched Theo hard on the arm. ‘At least I experienced him once. You’re just jealous.’

‘Of Finn Kennedy? Not likely.’ But the muscles around Theo’s mouth had tightened.

Suzy shot Hayley a cool look. ‘Theo quite fancied Tom, and the fact he’s an amazing lover just makes Theo even sadder that he doesn’t bat for his team.’

Hayley was used to the nurses teasing, but this time it all seemed way over the top. Laughing, she said, ‘Gorgeous, talented, dedicated and a lover beyond Valentino? Now I know you’re making this up.’

The aura of the room changed instantly and Jenny shot her a reproving look. ‘No one could make Tom up. He’s one of a kind.’

Hayley let the chocolate float on her tongue before swallowing another bite of the delicious cake. ‘If he’s so amazing and at the top of his game, why did he leave the prestigious Harbour?’

Becca grimaced. ‘That’s what we don’t know. Tom took leave and then, without warning, management announced that Rupert Davidson would be acting head of Neuro while they searched the world for a new head. Then they clammed up when we asked questions.’

Jenny nodded. ‘We’ve phoned Tom, but his number’s no longer in use, we’ve done online searches, wondering if he took a job in the States or the UK, but the last entry about him was his final operation here. The man’s gone to ground and doesn’t want to be found.’

‘I just hope that, wherever he is, he’s working. Talent like that shouldn’t be wasted.’ Theo rose as the PA called the team into action. ‘Oh, and, Hayley, we’re competing against ICU to win the “Planet Savers” competition. You’re our weak link. Can you please turn off the lights when you leave?’

She bit her lip. ‘I’ll try.’

Having checked on her appendectomy patient, who was stable and sleeping, Hayley was now in the lift and on her way home. She leaned against the support rail and gave a blissful sigh. She loved this time of the night when dawn was close, but the hustle and bustle of the day was yet to start. It was a quiet and peaceful time—not always, but today all was calm and experience had taught her to savour the moment. The ping of the lift sounded and she pushed herself off the rail as the silver-coloured doors opened into the long, long corridor that connected the hospital with the basement staff car park. Sensor lights had been installed as part of the hospital’s environmental policy, especially down here where, after the morning and evening’s arrival and departure rush, the corridor was rarely used.

As she stepped out of the lift, she commenced counting in her head, expecting the lights to come on halfway between numbers one and two. She got to three and was now standing in the corridor, but there was still no greeting light. Not a single flicker. The lift doors closed behind her with a soft thud, stealing the only light, and inky, black darkness enveloped her. A shiver raced from head to toe, raising a trail of anxious goose bumps and her heart raced.

Just breathe.

Fumbling in her pocket, her fingers clamped around her phone. The lights had failed two nights ago and in a panic she’d rung Maintenance. Gerry had arrived in his overalls, taken one look at her terror-stricken face and had said, ‘We’ve been having a bit of trouble with the sensor, but we’ve got a new one on order. If it ever happens again, love, you just do this,’ and he’d quietly shown her where the override switch was located.

Why didn’t I just walk to work?

Because it was dark. Come on, you know what to do.

She pressed a button on her phone and a tiny pool of light lit up her feet as she edged her way along the wall. Sweat dripped down her neck as the darkness pressed down on her, making it hard to move air in and out of her lungs. She thought she heard a sound and she stopped dead. Straining her ears to hear it again, she didn’t move a muscle, but the moment passed and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. She started moving again and stopped. This time she was sure she’d heard a click-click sound.

It’s the bowels of the hospital. There are all sorts of noises down here. Just keep walking.

She wished she’d counted steps with Gerry last week, but she’d stuck to him like glue, listening only to his reassuring voice. She continued edging along the wall until she felt the turn of the corridor pressing into her back. You’re halfway. Knowing she was closer was enough to speed up her feet.

Click. Click. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sounds echoed around her like the boom of a cannon.

Her feet froze. Her breath stalled. It’s probably the furnace. Or pipes.

God, she hated this. She was one exam away from being a fully qualified surgeon. She duelled with death on behalf of her patients every single day, winning more often than not. Facing down blood, guts and gore didn’t faze her at all so she absolutely loathed it that the dark could render her mute and terrified.

You’re close to the lights. Keep going.

Ten, nine, eight, seven … She silently counted backwards in her head as she scuttled sideways like a crab. Finally, she felt the bank of switches digging sharply into her spine. Yes! She swung around, pushed her eight fingers against the plastic and started pressing switches.

Bright, white light flickered and then filled the space with wondrously welcome light and Hayley rested her forehead against the cool wall in relief. She gulped in a couple of steadying breaths and just as her pulse stared to slow, she heard a click. She swung around and her scream echoed back to her.

‘Are you hurt?’ A tall man in black jeans, a black merino sweater and a black moleskin jacket turned from three metres away, holding something in his hand that she couldn’t quite make out.

Her heart jumped in her chest and then pounded even harder, making her head spin, but somewhere buried in her fear a shot of indignation surged. ‘No, I’m not bloody hurt, but you scared the living daylights out of me.’

‘Why?’ The question sounded surprised and he stared at her, but he didn’t move to close the gap between them.

She threw her arms out as if the answer was self-evident. ‘I didn’t know you were here!’

His mouth twitched, but she didn’t know if it was the start of a smile or the extension of a grimace. ‘I’ve known you were here for the past few minutes.’

She blinked. ‘How? It was pitch-black until a moment ago.’

His broad shoulders rose slightly and his empty hand flexed by his side. ‘I heard the ping of the lift.’

‘But that’s in the other corridor and I might have gone in the opposite direction.’

‘True, but you didn’t. I could also smell you.’

Her mouth fell open at the matter-of-fact words and she couldn’t stop herself from raising one shoulder as she took a quick sniff of her armpit before looking back at him. His gaze hadn’t shifted and offence poured through her. ‘It’s been a long night saving lives so sue me if I don’t smell squeaky clean and fresh.’

‘I didn’t say it was offensive.’

Something about the way the deep timbre of his voice caressed the words should have reassured her and made her smile, but the fact he was still staring at her was utterly disconcerting. He hadn’t made any move towards her, for which she was grateful, even though she could see a hospital ID lanyard hanging out of his pocket. With his black clothes, black hair, bladed cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose and a delicious cleft in his stubble-covered chin, he cut a striking image against the white of the walls. Striking and slightly unnerving. He wasn’t a fatherly figure like Gerry the maintenance man in his overalls, neither did he have the easygoing manner of Theo. Neither of those men ever put her on edge.

Even so, despite her thread of anxiety, she would have had to be blind not to recognise he was handsome in a rugged, rough-edged kind of a way, and that was part of her unease. She had the feeling that his clothes were just a veneer of gentrification. Remove them and a raw energy would be unleashed that would sweep up everything in its path.

An unbidden image of him naked exploded in her mind, stirring a prickle of sensation deep down inside her. It wasn’t fear and that scared her even more.

‘Scent aside …’ he tilted his head ‘… which, by the way, I believe is Jenson’s Floral Fantasy.’

How did he know that? She frantically glanced around, looking for a camera or any sign that this was some sort of a set-up, a joke being played on her because she was a new staff member, but she couldn’t see anything. She turned back to him and his tight expression suddenly faded, replaced by a smile that crawled across his face, streaking up through jet stubble and crinkling the edges of his eyes. It lit up his aura of darkness and she wondered why she’d ever been scared of him.

His rich laugh had a bitter edge. ‘I would need to be deaf not to hear the argument you were having with your feet.’

He knows you were scared.

Stung into speech, she tried for her most cutting tone—the one she knew put over-confident medical students in their place. ‘I was not arguing with my feet.’

‘Is that so? What else would you call that stop-start shuffle you were doing?’

‘It was dark and I couldn’t see.’

‘Tell me about it.’

The harshness of his words crashed over her and still he kept staring. It was as if he could see not only her fear of the dark but so many other things that she kept hidden. His uncanny detective skills left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. She hated that and it harnessed her anger. ‘Will you stop staring at me?’

He flinched and turned forty-five degrees. ‘I apologise.’

The tension in his body was so taut she could have bounced a ball off it and his broad shoulders seemed to slice into the surrounding air. As ridiculous as it seemed, she got the impression she’d just insulted him. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just I’m not used to meeting anyone down here at this time of the day and, as I said before, I got a fright.’

He didn’t look at her. ‘Please be assured I have no plans to rape, assault or hurt you in any way.’

The harsh edge of his voice did little to reassure her. She’d never met anyone who spoke so directly and without using the cover of social norms. ‘I guess I’ll take that in the spirit it’s intended, then.’

‘You do that.’ A silence expanded between them and was only broken by his long sigh. ‘The only reason I’m in this corridor is because it’s the mirror image of every other corridor in this wing of The Harbour. If you were on level one, what would be on your left?’

She shook her head as if that might change his question. ‘Is this some sort of test?’

‘Something like that.’

His muttered reply didn’t ease her confusion. ‘Um, we’re underneath the theatre suite.’

‘We’re standing directly under theatre one.’ He almost spat the words at her.

She’d had enough. ‘Look, Mr um …?’

‘Jordan.’

‘Okay, Jordan, I’ve been at The Harbour for a month, but you know this, right? You’re in on some crazy initiation joke at my expense.’

He turned back to face her, his cheeks suddenly sharper. ‘Believe me, none of this is a joke, Ms …?’

This was ridiculous. Everything about this encounter held an edge of craziness, including her reaction to him, which lurched from annoyance at his take-no-prisoners attitude to mini-zips of unwanted attraction. She closed the gap between them and extended her hand in her best professional manner. ‘Grey. Hayley Grey. Surgical registrar.’

Sea-green eyes—the electric colour of the clear waters that surrounded a coral cay—bored into her, making her heart hiccough, but his hand didn’t rise to meet hers. She dropped her gaze to his right hand and now she was closer she could see it gripped what looked like black sticks. With a jolt and a tiny but audible gasp, she realised it was an articulated cane.

Her cheeks burned hot. Oh, God, she’d just accused a blind man of staring at her.

Before she could speak, the doors to the car park opened and a young man wearing elastic-sided boots, faded jeans and a hoodie crossed the threshold and stood just inside the doors.

Jordan immediately turned toward the sound of cowboy heels on lino. ‘Jared?’

‘Yeah.’ The young man grinned and shot Hayley an appreciative look that started at her head and lingered on her breasts.

Jordan turned back and this time his blind stare hit her shoulder. ‘Now you have light, can I assume you’re able to find your way to the car park alone?’

His tone managed to combine a minute hint of concern with a dollop of superciliousness and it undid any good intentions she had of apologising for her massive faux pas. Her chin shot up. ‘I wouldn’t dream of holding you up.’

‘Goodbye, then, Hayley Grey.’ He flicked out his cane, clicked his tongue and started walking.

She watched his retreating back and slow and deliberate stride as the clicks echoed back to him, telling him where the walls were.

As he approached the door he said, ‘You’re late, Jared.’

The young man jangled the keys in his hand. ‘Sorry, Tom.’

Hayley froze. Tom? She’d thought his first name was Jordan.

Mr Jordan. Tom Jordan.

The conversation about the mysterious disappearance of The Harbour’s favourite neurosurgeon came back to her in a rush.

No way.

It had to be a coincidence. Both names were common. There’d have to be a thousand Thomas Jordans living and working in Sydney. But as much as she tried to dismiss the thought, the Tom Jordan she’d just met knew the hospital intimately. Still, perhaps one of those other thousand Tom Jordans worked at the hospital too. He could easily be an I.T guy.

We’re standing directly under theatre one.

She might not know the complete layout of The Harbour, but she knew the theatre suite. Theatre one was the neurosurgery theatre, but the man walking away from her was blind. It was like trying to connect mismatching bits of a puzzle.

The man’s gone to ground and doesn’t want to be found.

And just like that all her tangled thoughts smoothed out and Hayley swallowed hard. She’d just met the infamous missing neurosurgeon, Tom Jordan, and he had danger written all over him.