Chapter 36
“Here, love.” After readjusting Grant’s pillow, I reach for the tall Styrofoam cup on his hospital tray. “Have another drink of water.”
A disgruntled noise escapes into the air as he rakes his shaky fingers through his hair. “I don’t want water. I want to be at home.” He leans his head back into the mountain of pillows, and frustrated lines course over his handsome face. “There’s no time for this, and I wasn’t even seriously injured.”
He’s not lying. The bullet did hit his shoulder, but the wound wasn’t critical, and a full recovery is certain. We’re here now to rest after the surgery, and to monitor his allergic reaction to penicillin. It’s set Grant back a few days, and believe me, him not being happy about the slipup is an understatement.
He scoffs, and I sense another comment on the rise.
“Imbecile nurse,” he grumbles, placing his unused cup on the tray. “That allergy is all over my fucking records. I hope she’s let go.”
“She’s apologized countless times, Grant, and she needs a job too.” I pat his hand, then look at the television. The reports on the stocks ended hours ago, and now it’s reruns of the same charts and lines over and over. “Do you still need this on?”
“No.” He waves his hand and stifles a yawn. “Turn it off for now.”
With the news off, I pick up some trash and scurry around to tidy up before the night nurse takes over.
As a whole, I find that nurses care for people with an extraordinary gift to lift spirits and make jokes during a moment that should be stressful.
But our night nurse?
That lady must be sucking off a lemon every night before starting her day because her face is sour and her disposition is like acid. I’m not about to listen to her bitch about our takeout boxes like she did last night, so I’m taking the moment to get the room more presentable.
I’m tying a neat bow on the top of our trash bag when there’s a light tap on the door right before it flies open. My eyes widen, and I smile in pleasant surprise as Alan Hall walks in.
I’ve seen him more times than I can count, but something about his kind, wrinkled face, his preferences to slim fitting, all navy suits, and his silver hair, makes me smile. He truly does look like the face that you draw you into any business proposition. The gentleman is the perfect bait before he introduces you to Grant.
Those poor, unassuming clients of ours.
I nod to our guest. “Hello, Mr. Hall.”
“Good evening,” he chirps, letting the door slam shut behind him. His weathering hand pats at the sharp handkerchief in his suit jacket, and he casts a sharp gaze to Grant. “How are we tonight? On the mend?”
“Ha.” Grant’s non-thrilled chuckle is quiet. “How can anyone be on the mend here when you have a staff member up your ass every breathing moment?”
Alan lets out a low whistle, and he looks at me through his square-wired frames. “Not the best day?”
“Most certainly not.” I gesture to the couch. “He’s ready to leave.”
“Which I’ve heard is a few more days away,” Alan says, crossing the room and then taking a seat to be close to Grant. He barely even fills a single cushion with his slender frame.
Nothing about his countenance is even remotely close to Grant’s. He’s meeker, especially in his outward composure as he crosses one knee over the other. “After you’re discharged, I want you to stay at home for a bit, at least until we have more developments.”
Grant grumbles in response, the circles under his eyes darkening in further frustration. “They still don’t know who put me in here?” Alan shakes his head, and he curses. “Did you tell everyone to check into the Grimskis? I know they’re—”
“Grant…” Alan’s voice is an immediate cut-off. Pensively, his lips grind against each other as he shoots a glance my way.
For the first time since we’ve been here, a real smile splits Grant’s mouth open. “Alan, she knows about everything I do. Mr. Franz, Loper … even Seth.”
Alan’s brows flash up as he looks my way. “Oh. It’s that serious for you?” Alan leans back, sounding impressed as he looks at me. “And you don’t have a problem with any of it?”
I shake my head, taking my spot at the end of the couch. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Very well then.” Alan winks. “Looks like my king of the chess board has found his queen. Continue, Grant.”
Grant moves his shoulder but instantly regrets it. A wince pinches at his face, and he promptly falls with frustration into the pillows again.
“My last conversation with the head of the Grimski family was not a friendly one, Alan. I’m certain they’re smuggling Krokodil into the imported goods they’re shipping us, and they aren’t paying us to push it. We haven’t found any yet because someone at customs is removing the drug before it reaches our stores, and selling it—but it’s happening. Believe me, it’s happening. And we need to stop it before the CIA knocks on our back door and stalls our own operations.”
“Indeed,” Alan agrees. “Krokodil is far too high of a risk for us to not make anything. I’ll ask the police to look into them again. I’ll have Ronin take a deep look too.”
My head snaps up. “Your son?” Alan Hall has one child, Ronin Hall—grown, and from what I know, busy managing operations in Colorado.
“My son and soon-to-be heir,” Alan says, uncrossing his legs. He ignores my surprise and straightens his tie. “I’ll be retiring in a year or so, and Ronin will move here soon to take my place. I doubt he’ll need much training.”
Grant hums in agreement, and I catch a streak of enthusiasm in his exhausted gaze. “Ronin and I will make a good team.”
“Yes, you will.” Alan’s chime-like laugh barely hits my ears. “Try not to terrify Seattle too much, however. One of you should learn how to smile for meetings.”
“Ha.” Grant smirks. “You better start training Ronin, then, because it’s not going to be me. Either way, we’ll make you proud.”
“I certainly don’t doubt that.” Alan nods in agreement. “I’ll talk with Ronin about everything once he arrives. At present, however, we’ll keep in mind that you were the intended target, and we’re thankful the assailant had a shaky hand.”
Bile hits my tastebuds at Alan’s words. Grant was so close to getting killed. My mind tells me I should be more afraid—that the small blossom of fear should be a full-fledged weed uprooting the contents of my stomach. But this isn’t anyone else. This is Grant Brexton and Alan Hall, and the Grimski family will be stopped if they were responsible.