Page 35 of Wild Horses

Tyler leaned against the cool stainless-steel of the Providence kitchen counter, watching the orchestrated chaos of the nightly dinner service unfold.

The clatter of pans and the sharp orders barked by the sous chef melded into a music that used to thrill him.

These days it grated. He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the stubble prickling under his fingers now that he was growing his beard.

The city had welcomed him back with open arms, yet he felt like an outsider in his own life, a spectator of a play he no longer enjoyed.

Later, as he locked up the restaurant and the last of the staff waved goodbye, Tyler walked to his car.

He thought of the heavy breather phone call and his eyes darted to the shadows that stretched across the car park.

He could almost feel unseen eyes watching him.

It made his skin crawl, the back of his neck tingling with an instinctive alertness.

Driving through the brightly lit streets of Brisbane, Tyler’s mind replayed the events of the past months.

The unexpected joy he’d found and lost again at Currawong Creek, the fresh investigation, the anonymous call – it all merged into a relentless tide that threatened to pull him under.

When he finally reached his apartment, the silence of the space was suffocating.

How lonely it was without Leo. He poured himself a whisky, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, yet its usual comfort failed him tonight.

He moved to the window, the cityscape sprawling before him, lights twinkling like distant stars.

Its beauty was lost on him. Tyler leaned his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes.

Weariness washed over him. Although he longed for sleep, he knew it would not come easily. It never did these days.

Tyler walked to the kitchen, a space that once was his sanctuary, where flavours and textures combined under his skilled hands to create something beautiful and nourishing.

Now the array of spices was just a random collection of colours and scents, no longer inspiring.

He picked up a fresh sprig of basil, crushed it between his fingers and inhaled deeply, searching for the spark it once would have ignited in him. Nothing.

‘If I’m not a chef, what am I?’ he asked the empty room.

That was to be the pattern of his days. He went to work, going through the motions, feeling lost. Each day blurred into the next. He was a ghost in his own life, haunting the space between who he’d been and who he was becoming.

Finally, it happened. For what seemed like the millionth time his phone rang, and this time the caller ID flashed Hunter . ‘Mr Ward, we need to talk again.’

‘I’m out of town,’ he said.

‘Well, you must have a bloody good body double, because I’m standing here in your restaurant and you have an open kitchen.’

What the hell? Tyler swung around and saw Hunter waving at him. He escorted the detective to his back office and locked the door behind them. ‘Sit down,’ he said abruptly, his palms slick with sweat. ‘And can we make this brief? I’m a busy man.’

Hunter’s gaze fixed on Tyler, sharp and probing, as if he could peel back the layers of his conscience with his stare alone. ‘Mr Ward, when we last spoke, you said you didn’t know why anyone would have wanted to harm your restaurant.’

Tyler’s throat tightened, but he maintained his composure, keeping his hands folded on his lap to hide any tremor. ‘That’s right.’

Hunter raised his brows. ‘However, new technology suggests that someone did. Advanced forensic analysis has found traces of an accelerant on some of the burned materials held in the evidence room for these past eleven years.’ He paused dramatically. ‘We now believe the fire was deliberately lit.’

Tyler’s stomach lurched and he wanted to cover his ears with his hands.

Up until that very moment a part of him had clung to the hope that the tragedy had been a horrific accident; that no malice had stolen Grace away from him and Leo.

But that fragile hope had just been shattered.

The fire wasn’t a random act after all; it was intentional – a targeted strike that had claimed the most important person in his life.

And it had happened because he’d put his head in the sand.

‘Are you okay?’

Tyler’s mouth had turned to sawdust. He ran his tongue over his lips. ‘It’s a shock.’

Hunter studied him with shrewd eyes. ‘Is there something more you’d like to share with me about that night?’

Tyler shook his head slowly, concentrating on taking hold of his emotions.

Hunter leaned forwards, his eyes never leaving Tyler’s face. ‘I want to believe you, Mr Ward, but I’m getting a strong feeling that you’re hiding something. This is your chance to come clean. Otherwise, we can’t rule you out as a suspect yourself.’

Tyler clenched his jaw, feeling torn, the room closing in on him. He thought of the threatening phone call. ‘I wish I knew more that could help, Detective Sergeant. But I don’t.’

Hunter regarded him for a long moment, then closed his notebook with a soft thud. ‘All right, Mr Ward. If you do think of anything else, you know how to reach me.’ He stood up, signalling the end of the interview.

After Hunter left, Tyler rose stiffly, his legs a little numb, exited the office and pushed through the swinging doors from the kitchen to the restaurant floor.

He had to find Noelle to say that he was leaving.

All he wanted was to escape – to find a quiet place where he could process the enormity of what he’d just learned about the fire.

The restaurant was bustling with an early dinner crowd and sounds of clinking glasses and background conversations. He barely made it a few steps before Jenna intercepted him with a concerned look on her face. ‘The order for table seven got mixed up and they’re very upset.’

Tyler was a hands-on restaurateur, always walking the floor and keeping his finger on the pulse. Normally he took such things in his stride. Yet now he felt a sharp spike of irritation. ‘Remake the order and apologise. But you already know this, right?’

Before Jenna could answer, the head waiter approached. ‘The suppliers are here with the seafood delivery, but they’re saying the invoice amount is wrong. They want to talk to you.’

Tyler felt like a pressure cooker being turned up way too high. ‘I can’t deal with this now, Tony,’ he said through gritted teeth.

As he turned to leave, the ma?tre d’ stepped in front of him. ‘There’s a journalist and photographer here from the Brisbane Times . They’re asking for a few minutes to talk about the restaurant’s anniversary.’

Tyler couldn’t breathe and felt the last thread of his composure snap. ‘I don’t have time for this!’ he shouted. ‘Can you all just do your bloody jobs for once?’ His voice boomed across the restaurant floor, cutting through like a knife and silencing the surrounding chatter. Patrons turned to look.

The staff stood shocked, their faces a mixture of surprise and confusion. Tyler never lost his temper; he was renowned for his calm demeanour and patient handling of the restaurant’s chaos. His outburst left a tangible tension hanging in the air.

Tyler turned on his heel, stormed towards the back door and slammed it open.

The cool night air hit him in the face, letting him fill his gasping lungs.

He didn’t look back as he hurried down the alley behind the restaurant.

An overwhelming urge hit him – to climb in his car, drive to Currawong Creek, find Christy and ask her forgiveness.

To take her in his arms and feel her heart beat next to his.

But she’d hardly welcome him and who could blame her?

He slammed a hand into his forehead as if to knock some sense into himself.

What a hypocrite he’d been – a hypocrite full of preachy, sanctimonious crap.

Failing to believe Christy. Pulling the plug on the school hall purchase.

Blaming her for putting his son at risk, when the truth was he was the one posing a risk to Leo.

He’d been transferring his own sense of guilt onto Christy.

‘You should have told me,’ he’d scolded her.

Tyler remembered his conversation with Clare. ‘Christy is guilty of nothing but being young and impulsive and caring too much for her students,’ she’d said. ‘And I believe anyone who really knows her would agree with me.’

And what about him? Like Christy, he’d had a secret when he arrived at Currawong Creek – one he’d buried for more than a decade.

One that had filled him with self-loathing and all but destroyed his relationship with his son.

He’d never told a soul. And yet he’d had the nerve to judge her? He didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

On the drive back to his lonely apartment, Tyler relived the police interview over and over. How much did Detective Sergeant Hunter know? For how long could Tyler keep the past at bay? And the most challenging question of all – should he even try?