Read a Sample: Rylan

“Come in, come in.” Spencer Corel signed his name to the last report and slumped in his chair. He’d been on call for a day and a night and felt every one of those hours. Grant’s appearance, while unexpected, was more than welcome. Especially since Grant hadn’t come empty-handed. “Please tell me that’s coffee or I won’t make it home with my eyes still open.”

“Oh, go me!” Grant fished a thermos flask from the bag and set it on the corner of Spencer’s desk. “I brought a gallon of hot, sweet coffee. Also, cream horns and chocolate croissants. That should hold you for a while.”

“Life saver. Why are you even awake at this hour?”

Grant shrugged, as if turning up in Spencer’s office at four in the morning was normal. “I couldn’t sleep without you there. Weird, eh?”

Spencer’s smile softened at the admission. He’d moved into Grant’s place four days ago. Being together hadn’t yet become routine. It hadn’t even reached the ‘normal’ stage. He washed down his yawn with a mouthful of coffee. “It’s just new. And my first night shift since I moved into your house.”

“Our house. If it was that bad a shift, maybe I should drive us home.”

“It’s been non-stop. Multi-vehicle on the M40—that was nasty. Then another on the A41.” He pulled the box of pastries closer. “Plus the usual emergencies.”

“Good thing I’m here, right?”

Spencer licked sweet cream from his upper lip. “Very good thing. I have one more patient to check before I can leave. Would you come with me when I do?”

“Of course.” Grant sat up straight. “Is he trouble?”

“What? No. Not at all.”

“Right. Then what’s the reason you need my oh-so-charming company?”

“His injuries.”

“Oh?”

“Impact trauma to head and torso. I’ve seen patterns like that before. Punishment beatings, you know?”

“Has he said anything?”

“He was unconscious when he arrived, but… I know him. Or rather, I know who he is.”

“You do?”

“Kris Hillyard. He owns Gloss.” He registered Grant’s blank look and shrugged. “Nightclub in High Wycombe.”

“And you think he’s in trouble.”

“With those injuries?”

Grant, co-owner of White Knight Security, put his phone to his ear. “Hi, Ry. Sorry to wake you. Can I pick your brain? Nightclub in High Wycombe, name of Gloss. Heard of it? Any issues you’re aware of? Spencer has the owner on his ward. Badly beaten. Kris Hillyard, yes. That’s the name. You know him?” He listened for a moment longer, and then his grin went feral. “Am I hearing interest there? Someone got under your armour. Really?” He held the phone away from his ear while he waited out the swearing. “Don’t give me that. You pull that mind-reading crap on us all the time. The one time I do it to you—” Grant’s voice took on a conciliatory note as he continued the conversation. “Don’t break the laws of physics, Rylan. I’ll watch over him until you get here. I promise, bro.”

When he turned back to Spencer, he wore a wide, delighted smile. “Seems Rylan has had his eye on your patient for a while now. For not entirely professional reasons, I think. He’s coming over.”

***