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.
TOM worked hard not to say anything to Jared about his driving as the car dodged and wove through the increasing rush-hour traffic. Tom knew this route from the hospital to his apartment as intimately as he knew the inside of a brain. In the past he’d walked it, cycled it and driven it, but he’d never been chauffeured. Now that happened all the time.
Being a passenger in a car had never been easy for him, even before he’d lost his sight. Whenever he’d got into a car he’d had an overwhelming itch to drive. Perhaps it was connected with the fact he’d grown up using public transport because his mother couldn’t afford a car. Whatever the reason, he remembered the moment at sixteen, after a conversation with Mick and Carol, when he’d decided that one day he would own his own car. From his first wreck of a car at twenty, which he’d kept going with spare parts, to the Ferrari that Jared was driving now, he’d always been the one with his hands on the wheel, feeling the car’s grip on the road and loving the thrum of the engine as it purred through the gear changes.
Tom stared out the side window even though he couldn’t make out much more than shadows. ‘Give cyclists a good metre.’
‘Doing it. So, did you crash into anything this morning?’
Tom could imagine the cheeky grin on Jared’s face—the one he always heard in the young man’s voice whenever he’d given him unnecessary instructions. ‘No, I didn’t crash into any walls.’
‘What about that woman you were talking to?’
Hayley Grey. A woman whose smoky voice could change in a moment from the trembling vibrato of fear to the steel of ‘don’t mess with me’. ‘I didn’t crash into her.’
‘She looked pretty ticked off with you just as you left.’
‘Did she?’ He already knew she had been ticked off by his ill-mannered offer—an offer generated by the anger that had blazed through him the moment he’d heard her realisation that he was blind. He refused to allow anyone to pity him. Not even a woman whose voice reminded him of soul music.
Jared had just given him a perfect opportunity to find out more about her. Making the question sound casual, he asked, ‘How exactly did she look?’
‘Stacked. She’s got awesome breasts.’
Tom laughed, remembering the gauche version of himself at the same age. ‘You need to look at women’s faces, Jared, or they’re going to punch you.’
‘I did start with her face, Tom, just like you taught me, but come on, we’re guys, and I thought you’d want to know the important stuff first.’
And even though Jared was only twenty, he was right. When Tom had had his sight, he’d always appreciated the beautiful vision of full and heavy breasts. He suddenly pictured that deep, sensual voice with cleavage and swallowed hard. ‘Fair enough.’
If Jared heard the slight crack in Tom’s voice he didn’t mention it. ‘She’s tall for a chick, got long hair but it was tied back so I dunno if it’s curly or straight, and she’s kinda pretty if you like ‘em with brown hair and brown eyes.’
Knowing Jared’s predilection for brassy blondes, Tom instantly disregarded the ‘kinda’.
‘Her nose wasn’t big but it wasn’t small neither but her mouth …’ Jared slowed to turn.
A ripple of something akin to frustration washed through Tom as he waited for Jared to negotiate the complicated intersection he knew they’d arrived at. The feeling surprised him as much as the previous rush of heat. He hadn’t experienced anything like that since before the accident. Even then work had given him more of a rush than any woman ever had—not that he’d been a recluse. He’d had his fair share of brief liaisons, but he’d always ended them before a woman could mention the words, ‘the future’.
The car turned right, changed lanes and then took a sharp left turn. Tom’s seat belt held him hard against the seat as they took a steep descent toward the water and his apartment. He broke his code and said, ‘What about her mouth?’
‘Her mouth was wide. Like it was used to smiling, even though it wasn’t smiling at you.’
‘I gave her a fright.’ He wasn’t admitting to more than that.
He heard the crank of the massive basement garage door opening, and as Jared waited for it to rise, Tom assembled all the details he’d just been given, rolling them around in his mind, but all he got was a mess of body parts. It was a pointless exercise trying to ‘identikit’ a picture because all of it was from Jared’s perspective.
His gut clenched. He’d lost his job, his career and, damn it, now all he ever got was other people’s perspectives.
Stick with what you know.
His ears, nose and skin had become his eyes so he concentrated on what he’d ‘seen’. Hayley Grey was a contradiction in terms. Her fresh scent of sunshine and summer gardens said innocence and joy, but it was teamed with a voice that held such depth he felt sure it had the range to sing gut-wrenching blues driven by pain.
‘Tom, Carol rang from Fiji. She said, “Good luck with today, not that you’d need it.” I told her you’d call her back. She’s
