Page 8 of Grant
“Ah.” For the first time, Grant didn’t meet his gaze. “Didn’t want to distract you from your work.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m not working now.”
“Cap called me earlier with news from the lab.”
“The lab? You had the chocolates analysed?”
“Of course.”
“I assume it was a tranquilliser?” A stray thought sent ice into his blood. “It wasn’t Rohypnol, was it?”
Grant shook his head. “It was a low dose of Xylazine.”
“What the fuck?” That was very nearly worse. “He laced the chocolates with animal tranqs?” His voice rose, and he didn’t care. Carlo had tried to poison him, and it pissed him off.
“We’re going to find out who sent them.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No. The chocolates came by post and seeing them didn’t surprise you.”
“Because it’s a subscription, I told you. I get a tasting box of chocolates every other week.”
“Who knows about that?”
“Carlo, obviously.”
“Did you live together?”
“No. But he stayed at my house as often as I stayed at his.”
Grant considered that. “I’m not disbelieving you, just playing devil’s advocate. I know he’s top of your suspect list, but … this is a big step up from following you and sending you flowers. He’d have to order a box of chocolates. Unwrap them. Doctor them. Wrap them back up and post them again, making it look as if the sender hadn’t changed.”
“And your point is? He switches from actions that suggest he wants to resume the relationship to taking revenge for having been shown the door. That fits the pattern.”
“What other gifts did you receive?”
Spencer felt himself blush and hated it. He was a grown man who didn’t hide his inclinations. Talking to Grant shouldn’t make a difference, even if he found him sexy.
“Doc?”
“Underwear, a leather harness, and sex toys,” Spencer listed. To his relief, Grant’s expression didn’t change.
“Hence your question about the Rohypnol. Okay, I buy that. Next question is, do you want to report it to the police?”
“There’s no point.”
“It’d be different this time.”
“I’m still cringing from the last time.” Spencer sighed. “Sorry. I’m not usually so precious.”
“You have every right to be. How are you feeling?”
“Truthfully? Like hammered shit.”
That surprised a sputter out of Grant. “Don’t give me that crap. You’re tough as old boots.”
“As long as you don’t tell me I look like a pair.”
