Page 10 of Grant
“Where are you?”
“In a ditch on the road out of Flence Common. And I think thiswasthe stalker escalating, in case you were wondering. The bloody brakes failed.”
Chapter Four
Spencerhidintheshower under a stream of scalding water. It felt familiar. He’d weathered the worst days of his life with a succession of hot water, hot chocolate, cream horns, and triple chocolate and sea salt cookies.
Today, he felt especially battered, though his hurts were minor. When the car flipped, he’d regretted hiring White Knight Security and putting someone other than himself in danger.
That Grant had suffered nothing more serious than a collection of bruises and minor burns from the airbags didn’t douse the guilt churning in his gut like spoiled food. His life was going off the rails, and he’d dragged a gorgeous man into the middle of the mess.
Wasn’t it beyond unfair that the first man in months to catch his eye had to be someone he paid to look after him?
Emasculating, that’s what it was. Or bad karma.
“Doc?” Grant poked his head around the bathroom door. “Don’t turn into a prune. Come and eat something.”
Facing Grant across a dinner table was the last thing Spencer wanted. But ignoring him wasn’t polite, either. And once he stepped out of the steamy bathroom—dried and wearing his most comfortable clothes—he found that Grant’s soup smelled so amazing, it made his mouth water.
“This is great,” Spencer admitted fifteen minutes later, and held his bowl out for a refill.
“The comfort of chicken soup with a decidedly Asian kick.” Grant topped up the doc’s bowl, then added another ladleful to his own. He was relieved to see Spencer’s mood improving. The accident had rattled him, but he had strategies lined up to help him cope. Seeing what Spencer did for a living, Grant supposed it made sense.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer said. “I came to White Knight Security for help, not to put any of you in danger.”
“I wasn’t hurt.”
“Bruises and burns don’t qualify?”
“Not hugely, no. By the way … Your brakes didn’t fail. Someone tampered with them.”
“How did you learn that so quickly?”
“Cap called in a favour. A friend of his is an accident investigator. Getting his official report will take a few days, but that’s his conclusion. And since the brakes were fine this morning, someone wrecked them in the hospital car park.”
“Is it quick to do? Easy?”
“We’ll ask Luca when we see him. He’ll know.”
Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “He has that sort of experience?”
“Luca’s ace with cars. Also trucks, tractors, steamrollers, tanks … it moves, he can move it. Can you believe that he once grabbed us a combine harvester as transport? We thought he was taking the piss!”
“A combine harvester?”
“Cross my heart. He wanted the truck next to it, but that had a flat battery. So he took the harvester. I never appreciated how tall those buggers are, but the air-conditioned cab came in handy.” Grant fished a hunk of chicken out of the soup and chewed. He’d been trying to cheer Spencer, but the memories came thick and fast now. It had been a beast of an op, and people he liked had died.
“Don’t go there.”
Spencer’s fingertips brushed the back of his hand and stopped the swirling thoughts. “You read minds, now?”
“Just expressions. You’re not the first veteran I’ve treated. Nor the first doctor who ever lost a patient.”
“Oh. I didn’t … I’d have said you’re not used to violence.”
“I deal with violence every bloody day. What do you think trauma surgery is, an old ladies’ tea party?”
“You deal with the results of violence. The aftermath. You don’t witness or inflict it. You certainly don’t have it inflicted on you.”
