Page 44 of Soul of Discretion

“Coke runs at about eight to a hundred dollars per gram here, so the value of two kilograms is significant. Around two hundred thousand dollars if we use the higher amount.” He grinned sheepishly. “It’s easier for me to times by a hundred. Math isn’t my strong suit.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think the money is the only reason they want these two kilos so badly. Recently we’ve had a rash of deaths of people who’ve bought bad coke. It’s becoming an epidemic, and we haven’t been able to find the distributor. The Baronne crowd blames the other drug cartel, the Fifty Ones, for the bad coke. The Fifty Ones say it isn’t them. They blame August Baronne.”

Nick smiled grimly. “There’s honour amongst assholes apparently, because the Fifty Ones are pissed off they are being blamed. They say they have a reputation to uphold.”

Peter shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”

Nick nodded. “My theory is that the reason Jack took these two keys is because he wanted the money, but also, he could use it to blackmail the cartel, keep them away from him and Margaret. It would expose the Baronnes as the ones doing the lethal mixing. It’s a gut feeling, nothing concrete. But it fits in with why they want this coke so badly.”

Simon slumped back against his pillows, feeling weary. “Sounds rational.” He yawned. “Christ, I’m tired. I want my own bed back at the hotel. Can you call the doctor, Nick, tell them I want out of here? I don’t think I can spend another minute in this damn bed.”

Nick pursed his lips. “I could, but it’s up to them whether they discharge you. You went through a lot back in that basement, you know.”

Simon frowned. “I’m fine. A bit beaten up, that’s all. I want to go home and look at the stuff Jack left us. Would you call the doctor for me? Or I’ll get up and do it myself.” He knew he was being stubborn but God, he wanted a drink, a warm bed, and hopefully Nick by his side under the covers.

Peter snickered. “And there’s the man I know and love. The imperiousness of aristocracy raises its head at last.” He stood up. “I’ll go find the doctor and tell him Mr Grumpy wants to go home. You two behave yourself while I’m gone.” He flashed a smile at the couple and left the room.

Simon sighed. “I haven’t said this yet, but…thank you. You saved my life.”

Nick blushed, and Simon found it endearing. His tough, gun-toting Mountie had a shy side. “I think Jackie did that, finding the address. You owe that girl a raise.”

“She doesn’t work for me. Yet,” Simon acknowledged. “But by God, she will.”

Nick sat down next to Simon on the bed. “When I saw you there, covered in blood, looking so still.” He swallowed. “I thought the worst. I wanted to kill someone for doing that to you.” He took a shuddering breath. “God, Simon, I have no idea how I’ve gotten to this in only two weeks, but I’m falling hard for you. I can’t help it. I know you only wanted a bit of fun, but…” He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help it.”

God, his man was sexy like this, vulnerable and honest. Simon wanted to get home to his bed even more now than before. He reached out and framed Nick’s jaw with a hand that was still raw with scrapes. “I can’t make promises. Not yet. But you’re not a hook-up to me anymore.”

God knows how this is going to work out, Simon wondered as Nick leaned in and kissed him sweetly, taking care not to hurt his damaged mouth.

Right. He really wanted to see where this goes.

****

Dear God, Simon was driving Nick crazy. The man was a terrible patient. Nick had seen the nurses drawing straws as to who would be in next to check on him.

It wasn’t that the man was rude or impolite. Simon was charming and incredibly civilised, for the most part, to them all. However, his biting sarcasm was something to hear. Nick had heard the British were adept at it, and if Simon was anyone to go by, it was a national sport.

Nick chuckled as he stood outside the hospital room and watched another nurse enter the room with trepidation.

He heard Simon’s cheerful, “Oh. Another checkup? Aren’t I lucky I’m not paying by the visit, or by now I’d be bankrupt.” There was a soft murmur from the nurse then Simon responded.

“Of course I appreciate all the attention. But I wish it were the doctor here so he could discharge me. Is there someone else I can talk to who can make that decision? Because if it doesn’t happen within the next hour, I’ll be discharging myself.” Nick grinned at those haughty words, his sympathy with the poor nurse.

Peter appeared at Nick’s side, holding two cups of coffee. He grimaced at hearing his boss’s last words and handed one of the cups over.

“He’s a right pain in the arse when he’s sick, which isn’t often. I’ve spoken to the sister in charge and she says the doctor should be here within the next half an hour. I think they’re anxious to get rid of him.” He laughed softly.

Nick sipped his coffee gratefully. “I can’t say I blame them. He’s quite a handful.”

Peter quirked a mischievous eyebrow at Nick, who flushed. “Not like that,” he stammered.

Peter was about to reply when there was a shout from inside the room. “Chaps, I’m bored as fuck here and I want to go home. Nurse Ratched here won’t let me out of bed so can someone please find out when I can go home?”

Nick waved at Peter. “I’ll let you deal with him on this one.” He laughed as Peter swore and went into the room.

It was an hour later when the doctor finally came around and signed the papers to discharge Simon, and yet another hour before they were on their way back to the hotel.

Simon was obviously in pain but kept muttering he was fine and all he wanted was a proper shower and a stiff whisky. Once back at the hotel, Peter murmured a tired good night and disappeared to his own room.

Now Nick sat on the couch, Jack’s unopened letter on the table in front of him as he waited for Simon to make an appearance.