Page 36 of Soul of Discretion

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Simon sat in the Breakforce offices with Decker, Peter, and Jackie. The young woman clicked feverishly away at her myriad desktop computers, seemingly oblivious to anything else. Her commitment was admirable, and Simon wondered idly if he could find a job for her somewhere in the group. Assuming she’d be interested, of course.

He sighed, eyes strained and sore from the paperwork he’d be been poring over. He stared out of the window at the city scene below. It had been two days since his cosy online dinner with Nick, and he thought perhaps it was time for another one.

He shook his head in amusement, realising his thoughts on planning to keep his sexy Mountie entertained were distracting him from his perusal of the documents in front of him.

Shit. When did he become “my” sexy Mountie? Better watch myself. I’ll be picking out fucking china patterns next.

Simon couldn’t help a small chuckle at that. He was enjoying his stay in Toronto far too much, even under the circumstances.

Decker looked up at him over the top of his glasses. “You found something funny in all that shit you have in front of you?” he asked drily. “Because God knows my pile isn’t half as entertaining.”

Peter looked up from the pile of papers he had. Simon had put him to use helping with the thankless and soul-destroying task of searching for anything that could help. “

“Mine is positively boring as fuck,” he groaned. “A little excitement or humour would be welcome right now.”

Simon snorted. “Mere whimsy, nothing much. Yes, I agree. This paperwork lark is as boring as shit. But someone has to do it, and I don’t trust anyone else.” He grinned at Decker, who rolled his shoulders wearily.

“At least Jackie found that connection. You say the police were quite interested in hearing Anthony Baronne’s name?”

Simon nodded, remembering Nick’s excitement when he’d given him the information. “It ties in with what they knew and confirmed a few other things. Anthony Baronne is the youngest son of Augustus Baronne, head of the Baronne family. Nick’s been called away on some other lead, so no doubt he’ll be looking into it all. The man is as tenacious as hell.”

Decker cleared his throat. “Yes, he does have a certain charm. But I think you’ve noticed that already.”

Peter snorted, and Simon glared at him then glanced at Decker in suspicion. The other man stared back blandly, but Simon was sure that was a twinkle in his eye. He decided to ignore it.

“I’ve found something else,” Jackie called out suddenly, perching over her keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen. “Looks like a couple of buildings are registered to the family, here in the city, hidden in a shell company in Bermuda. I’m Google Street viewing them now.”

Simon stood and walked across the room to look over her shoulder. He marvelled at the way her fingers worked the keyboard.

A picture formed on the screen, one of concrete buildings set along an empty street in some industrial district. The picture was outdated, but it was clearly an old office building with a warehouse attached. It looked dilapidated and empty.

“It’s in south Oshawa,” she muttered. “Might be important. Might not.” She went back to clicking on her keyboard as Decker and Simon looked at each other.

“It’s something,” Simon agreed. “The more we know about where they operate and what they own, the better in my view.”

His phone rang and he reached across the table and picked it up.

“Simon Bridgeworth here.”

Margaret Teeman’s agitation flowed through the phone as she managed to speak between sobs. “Simon? Thank God. Are you still in the country?”

“Yes, Margaret, I’m still here. What’s happened?” Simon glanced over to Decker, who watched him with a frown.

“A letter arrived. From Jack. It’s post-dated about a week ago, just before,” her voice faltered, “before he died. It says some strange things. I don’t understand them. Could you come over and read it with me?”

Simon nodded. “Of course. I’ll come over right now. Margaret. Please stay in the condominium, sweetheart. Is your police detail still there?”

Margaret’s trembling voice echoed in his ear. “Yes. He’s still sitting in the hallway. I took him some coffee a few minutes ago.”

Simon picked up his car keys from the boardroom table. “I’m heading over to you now. I’ll be about half an hour at the most.”

“Thank you, Simon,” Margaret whispered. “I appreciate that.”

The line went dead. Simon slid his phone into his trouser pocket. “Margaret got a letter from Jack, sent before he was killed. I’m going to go over, see what it says. Perhaps it can help.”

Decker nodded. “Okay, sounds good. Give me a call later; let me know how things went.”