Page 13 of Grant
“Here. You look like you could do with a treat.”
The deep purple of the wrapper registered first. Then the gold. And then Spencer had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t squeal. “Patchwork! How did you know?” Patchwork chocolate bars were his pick-me-up of choice and this one was his favourite mix. White chocolate with almonds and honey. Dark chocolate with chilli and sea salt. And milk chocolate with coco nibs and raspberries, all arranged in a patchwork of squares. “Tell me,” he demanded as he unwrapped the gift. “How did you know?”
“Your theatre nurse told me. I asked Luca to pick up a box.”
Spencer flushed. “That’s really not your job.”
“It is, though.” Grant’s smile made his heart beat faster. “Upset clients are harder to wrangle.”
“I see. Enlightened self-interest. In that case, I’m sure you don’t mind sharing.” Spencer broke the bar in half—lengthways, so they both got a mix of flavours—and passed one piece back to Grant.
He took it. “Because upset bodyguards are harder to escape from?”
“I don’t want to escape from you.” The words were out before Spencer had the chance to stop them, so he ploughed on. “If I’d met you anywhere else—in the bakery, say—I might have asked you out, and you could have turned me down. It’s a shame we lost out on that.”
“I wouldn’t have turned you down.”
Spencer almost missed the whispered words. But then he savoured them, right along with the patchwork of chocolate goodness.
Something was wrong with Spencer’s front door. The moment Grant turned into Spencer’s driveway every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
“Wait.” He stopped Spencer with a hand on his arm.
“What is it?”
“My danger sense is screaming.”
Spencer reached for the door handle. Withdrew his hand with an apologetic glance and wound down the window.
Petrol. So much, the light breeze hadn’t dispersed the stink.
“Rainbows.” Grant pointed to the coloured trail running up the steps. “That’s what caught my eye.”
“Someone spilled petrol on my doorstep?”
“On more than your doorstep, I think. The whole place reeks.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Get out of the car and walk down the drive. There’s no way of knowing how much they’ve spilled, and even a spark can set it off.”
Spencer reached into the back for his briefcase and jacket, and Grant was grateful for a client trained to handle emergencies. Spencer didn’t panic or ask unnecessary questions, even when the emergencies kept coming.
“I wish wehadmet at the bakery,” Grant said as they jogged to the end of the drive. “I’d dearly love to answer a goofy pickup line.”
“My pickup lines are not goofy.”
Grant would never find out. Instead, he had to watch Spencer get hurt once more. He clapped the phone to his ear. “Hi Josh. It’s Grant. I may have a firebomb. No, it’s a client’s house. We just got here. Drive stinks of petrol and there are patches of it on the front doorstep. Yeah, we’re at the bottom of the drive. Didn’t start up the car again. Okay.” He rang off and turned to Spencer. “They’ll be here in a few.”
Spencer didn’t answer. He stared at his home, shoulders tight and expression closed off.
Hurting, just as Grant had thought. And probably for all the wrong reasons. “If you hadn’t hired us,” he said, “the stalker would still have escalated. Only then, you’d have had nobody in your corner. As it is, Cap has eyes on your ex, and if he’s responsible for this, it stops today.”
Spencer turned. Met Grant’s gaze. “You’re following Carlo?”
“Yes. Cap didn’t like his attitude when he talked to him.” He shrugged. “Major mistake, pissing off Fritz. Which reminds me.” He raised the phone again. “There’s a trap at the doc’s house. Possibly a firebomb,” he said. “Any chance it was the ex?”
“If it was, we’ll nail him to the fence. You two okay?”
“Fine. Waiting for the fire brigade. Petrol on the drive. We didn’t go in.”
“Sensible. Get the doc to grab some clothes if he can. Call me if he can’t. We get the house ready for him.”
