Grace Under Fire Page 13

  Charmaine's hand trembled so badly that she dropped the brush. Oh, God, what was she thinking? Unless Booth was unconscious, passed out drunk or drugged, she'd never be able to overpower him. Besides, if she killed him, his syndicate associates would kill her, if his household entourage didn't do the job first. And that meant Jaron and Ronnie would die, too, because she knew both men would lay down their lives for her.

  * * *

  Restless, Jed meandered around in his room at Belle Foret, probably wearing a hole in the antique Persian rug beneath his feet. He had grown up in a nice home, surrounded by expensive things, but Booth Fortier's decor had nothing to do with good taste and everything to do with how much things cost. In Grace's home, the decor whispered timeless elegance, the very essence of what was once referred to as gentility. It was there in every room, in every stick of furniture, every painting. A style that had taken generations to cultivate. Just as Grace was quality, pure and simple, so was her home. Yeah, quality, that was the big difference between the two of them. She was; he wasn't. And the funny thing was, money had nothing to do with it. If Grace didn't have a penny to her name, she would still be quality.

  He'd done everything he could to convince himself that he'd be a fool to approach Grace on a personal level again. The kiss they'd shared had only whetted his appetite for more. But the lady had said no. If he was smart, he'd listen to her, and take her refusal to heart.

  Think about business, he reminded himself. There's five million dollars sitting in the safe at Sheffield Media, Inc., with Dom and Kate staying overnight at the office to assist the nighttime security guards. Of course, none of the employees were aware that a small fortune had been deposited in the company's safe. But Hudson Prentice knew, as did Elsa Leone. And Grace's uncle Willis and cousin Joy knew. They were four trusted friends, but Jed suspected one of them had betrayed Grace in the past, so what was to keep him or her from doing it again? Had the traitor told Booth exactly what was going on? Did Booth already know he had a Benedict Arnold among his most trusted associates?

  The person who had helped Booth destroy Dean Beaumont and Bryam Sheffield would still be under Booth's thumb. He or she would still be reporting to Booth. That meant what the informant knew, Booth knew. Not only would his uncle be aware of a traitor in his midst, he would know Grace was having his association with Governor Miller investigated. And he'd also know that Jed was working for Grace. "The Plan" had been set in motion. It was only a matter of time before he could have an excuse to go to his uncle, confront him and ask him to disprove the allegations against him, all a guise to put Jed in contact with the federal agent working in Booth's camp.

  Jed stood at the windows, pulled back one curtain and looked down at the dark, sprawling backyard lawn. Glancing up he studied the few stars visible tonight. Partial cloud cover shielded a section of the moon and half the stars.

  If Booth already knew that Grace was having him investigated, if he suspected a traitor in his midst, then Grace was in danger. And when Booth discovered the traitor's identity, he was a dead man. But if Booth knew, why hadn't he made a move? Why hadn't he issued a warning? It wasn't like his uncle to bide his time. Just as soon as the first threat against Grace occurred, Jed could put their plan into action. He would have an excuse to visit his uncle and find a way to make contact with the FBI's undercover agent who apparently was trapped within the organization and kept under such close scrutiny recently that he had no way to exchange information with his superiors within the Bureau.

  "Jim Kelly is one of our top agents," Dante Moran had told Jed. "He infiltrated your uncle's organization over two years ago and up until six months ago was able to keep in touch on a regular basis, then his job duties changed and it has become increasingly difficult for him to get any word out to us."

  Jed chuckled. Booth Fortier not only had a traitor in his midst, but he had a spy, too. And if either man was found out…

  A telephone rang. He heard the echo coming from Grace's room. Jed picked up the portable phone he'd requested to be kept in his room, then rushed out the door and across the hall. Grace's door was closed, but he didn't think twice about entering without knocking. He'd given Grace orders to answer her own phone from now on, now that the trace had been placed on her telephones, both at home and at work.

  When Grace looked up at him, she nodded, her cue to him that he should listen in. He put the phone to his ear.

  "There's a gift waiting for you, Mrs. Beaumont," the disguised voice said. "It's been left at the front gate. You might want to send someone down to get it."

  "Who is this? What sort of gift?"

  The dial tone hummed in their ears. Damn! Jed thought. No way was the guy on the phone long enough to trace the call. Besides, it didn't really matter if he'd used a pay phone or a cell phone that could be traced only to the nearest tower.

  Grace hung up the receiver. "What do you think?" she asked.

  "I don't think this was our guy, the one who's expecting five million dollars tomorrow at noon. I think this is someone else."

  Grace's blue eyes rounded in surprise. "Who do you think…" she gasped. "You think Booth Fortier already knows about—"

  "I'm going to make a quick phone call and have someone check the front gate for your gift."

  "Who are you going to call and why not just go get it—" Grace paused as realization dawned. "Do you think it's a bomb? Are you phoning the sheriff?"

  "Do you want the local law involved?" he asked.

  Her shoulders lifted and fell as she sighed deeply. "Not unless it's absolutely necessary. Since we have nothing but our suspicions to go on … no solid proof. Not yet."

  Jed punched in a series of numbers, then lifted the portable phone to his ear.

  "Who are you calling?" she repeated her question.

  He held up his index finger in a signal for her to wait. She nodded agreement.

  "This is Jed. Ms. Beaumont just received an interesting phone call. It seems someone has dropped off a gift for her at the front gates and I need you to pick it up. Understand?"

  "Yeah, I understand," Rafe Devlin replied. "I'll get some of Moran's boys to check it out and if it's not lethal, I'll bring it up to the house."

  "Thanks. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

  "Will do."

  Jed turned to Grace. "Why don't you stay up here and I'll go downstairs and wait. If there's a bomb or anything else, he'll call back. If not, he'll leave the package."

  "Are you taking one of the Dundee agents away from guard duty at Sheffield Media to check out whatever was left at the gate?"

  "No." He turned and walked away, hoping that would end it, at least for the time being.

  Grace followed him into the hall. "Jed, what are you not telling me?"

  Pausing, he kept his back to her. "There's a third Dundee agent working this case. I called him."

  "A third person? Why didn't you mention this before? I swear to goodness, Jed Tyree, you're the most aggravating man I've ever met. Why all the secrets? If I'm paying for four Dundee agents, don't you think I'll find out when the bill comes in?"

  "Yeah, sure. Sorry I didn't mention it." When her bill came in, she'd be charged for three agents—Dom, Kate and himself. He supposed you could say the others—Rafe and J.J.—were working pro bono, without pay, for the public good. Over the years, the Dundee agency had formed a cooperative relationship with the Bureau. As with all relationships it often resulted in a you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours policy. And now that the CEO of Dundee's was a former Fed himself, it cemented an already strong bond.

  Jed left Grace standing in the hall, then galloped down the long, winding staircase and into the marble-floored foyer. He sat in one of the two antique armchairs flanking an ornately decorated chest that rested against the right entrance wall. He figured he'd be waiting no more than thirty minutes before he heard from Rafe, letting him know the package had been examined and either destroyed or was on its way up to the house.

  While he wait
ed, he went over several different scenarios. He was ninety-nine percent certain the "gift" was from Booth. And whatever it was, it would be an unpleasant surprise. If he could, he wanted to protect Grace as much as possible from the ugliness. She was a strong, brave woman, but she'd suffered more than enough for two lifetimes. He had no intention of letting her become another of Booth Fortier's victims.

  "Want some company?" Grace asked as she floated down the staircase, her movements fluid and unhurried.

  He glanced up and watched her as she descended, her yellow silk pajamas only a shade darker than her shoulder-length hair. Looking at her, he couldn't see a flaw. Not one tiny imperfection. But then, he hadn't explored every inch of her.

  His sex reacted instantly to the thought of his hands caressing Grace's naked body. Down, boy, down! he ordered a particular part of his anatomy. Okay, so he was a red-blooded American male, and what guy in his right mind wouldn't be attracted to a woman as beautiful as Grace? But it wasn't like him to react so strongly to a woman he barely knew—one who'd put up No Trespassing signs all around her. Yes, he got as horny as the next guy, but he had never hurt for female companionship. If he wanted to get laid, he didn't figure he'd have a problem once this assignment was over and he was free to indulge in some extracurricular activity. But the problem was he didn't just want to get laid. He wanted Grace. He wanted to make love to her. Sweet, slow, all-night-long love.

  "Jed?" she called to him when she reached the foot of the stairs.

  "Huh?"

  "Are you all right?"

  No, honey, I'm not all right. I'm hurting in the worst way, but you don't want to hear it. "Yeah, sure, I'm fine. Just thinking."

  "Mind if I wait with you?" she asked, but didn't pause long enough for him to reply before she sat in the matching armchair on the opposite side of the chest.

  "Look … whatever the gift is, it's not going to be anything you want to see." Jed leaned over slightly, so that he could look around the huge chest that separated them. "Take my word for it. My guess is Booth Fortier has sent you a warning. Why don't you just go back upstairs and let me handle this. "

  "You're trying to protect me and I appreciate it, but—"

  "That's my job, isn't it?"

  "To protect my life," she told him. "Not protect my heart."

  Jed huffed, then leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Stay. We'll wait together."

  "How long—"

  "I'm not sure. Thirty minutes. Maybe longer."

  She kicked off her yellow satin house slippers, curled her legs up under her and placed her hands in her lap. He kept stealing quick glances at her in his peripheral vision. Once or twice, he caught her doing the same. Minutes ticked by. The grandfather clock on the landing struck the half hour. Neither of them said a word.

  After about fifteen minutes, Grace eased her feet down to the floor, slid her feet into the slippers and readjusted her position in the chair. "Would you like a sherry or brandy? I could get us something."

  "No, thanks, but you—"

  "No, I really don't want anything."

  Time dragged. Jed checked his watch every couple of minutes, more for something to do than anything else. The grandfather clock struck eleven times. Just as the vibration from the last dong ended, Jed's cell phone rang.

  "Tyree here."

  "Yeah, the package is clean, but it's not something you want to let the lady see," Rafe said.

  "I understand. I'll open the gates and be waiting on the veranda for you."

  "Take a look at the pictures for yourself first, then tell her what they are, if you have to. But I'm telling you—do not let her see them."

  Jed's gut tightened.

  "I'm going to open the gates and disarm the security system while I go outside on the veranda and take the package," Jed told Grace. "You stay in here. And you need to know now that you aren't going to see what's inside your gift package."

  "What is it?"

  "Just do as I ask, will you? Stay in the house and let me handle this." She nodded. Damn, that was too easy, Jed thought. She'd agreed too quickly. "Go back upstairs, will you?"

  "I'd rather wait here." She didn't budge from the armchair.

  Jed got up and walked over to the controls hidden in a panel behind the staircase, punched in the code to deactivate the security system, then used another code to open the massive wrought-iron gates. When he opened the front door, he glanced over his shoulder to check on Grace. She didn't move or even look at him. He closed the front door behind him and waited for Rafe. In just a few minutes, the rental car Rafe was using pulled up in the circular drive. Jed went down the steps to meet his fellow Dundee agent. Rafe got out of the car and joined Jed. He held out a large manila envelope. Jed took the envelope, loosened the clasp, then removed the contents. Photographs. Police shots from the accident scene. A few of the shots were particularly gruesome and Jed wondered what sicko cop had taken them. Closeups of Dean Beaumont and Byram Sheffield, both dead and bloody. And a shot of an unconscious Grace. More photos. Some taken at the funerals. And one of Grace in her hospital room. Rage burned through Jed's veins.

  Yeah, this was definitely Booth Fortier's handwork. It had his fingerprints all over it.

  Jed shook his head. "This was a mild warning for Grace. The next one will be far worse."

  Just as Jed started to slip the photos back into the envelope, intending to give them to Rafe, Grace came running out of the house and directly toward them.

  "Hell," Jed cursed under his breath. He shoved the photos into the envelope and held them out to Rafe.

  "Wait," Grace called. "Whatever it is, I want to see it."

  "No, you don't," Jed told her and handed the envelope to Rafe.

  She marched straight to them, planted herself between them and held out her hand. "Give me the envelope."

  Rafe grunted. "Ma'am, you really don't—"

  "Give them to her," Jed said.

  Rafe hesitated for a couple of seconds, then gave Grace the envelope. "Call if you need anything else," he told Jed, then got back in the rental car and drove off.

  Grace stared at the envelope for a couple of minutes before slipping the photos out and looking at them, one by one, studying them carefully. Watching her for a reaction, he waited for her to say something, but she said nothing. After she finished with the lot, she turned away from Jed and started walking back toward the house, the envelope loosely clutched in her hand.

  "Grace?"

  One by one, the photos dropped from her hand and floated onto the driveway, as if she were scattering rose petals. The envelope sailed downward and landed at Jed's feet. He ignored them as he followed Grace. When she reached the steps, she faltered. Damn! Was she going to faint?

  Jed rushed toward her just as she staggered, her feet searching for the first step. When he put his arm around her waist to support her shivering body, she pivoted slowly around and laid her head on his chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He pulled her into his arms and held her while she wept.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

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  Grace lifted her head from Jed's chest and looked up at him through teary eyes. Hating herself for falling apart the way she had, she pulled back, disengaging herself from his strong, comforting arms. During those first few unbearable months after she'd lost her family, she had almost lost her mind, too. Once she had gone through her own personal trial by fire, she'd emerged a woman of steel. At least for the most part. She prided herself on not allowing her emotions to control her actions. But tonight, seeing those horrific photographs, she had reverted to that mentally fragile place she'd been right after the accident.

  No, not an accident. After Daddy and Dean were murdered, she told herself. After Booth Fortier killed my husband, my father and my baby.

  Emotion lodged in her throat. She swallowed hard and willed herself under control. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't usually…" Her voice cracked. Damn!

  "Grace, it's all r
ight," Jed told her. "Anyone would have reacted the same way." He held his hands in front of him, palms up, as if he wanted to reach for her.

  She glanced down at the scattered photos and manila envelope in the driveway. Quivering, she closed her eyes, but instead of blocking out the sight of the pictures, she simply visualized them in her mind. Her eyelids flew open.

  "I never want to see them again," she said.

  Jed nodded.

  "I should have listened to you." Grace wiped her damp face with her fingers. "Both you and the other Dundee agent tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen, would I?"

  When she swayed slightly, Jed reached out to steady her. So strong was the physical reaction he created within her that his mere touch seared her, as if his hands were on fire. She tensed. Their gazes met and froze. Her heart pounded, loud and fast, rumbling in her ears.

  "Don't try so hard to be brave," he told her. "You're only human. If you need somebody to lean on right now, lean on me."

  She lifted her hand and placed it over his where he gently gripped her arm. "I want to go inside my house, up to my bedroom and shut out the world. I want to find a way to forget what I saw, to erase the memory of those pictures from my mind."

  "I understand." He released her arm. "You go on. I'll gather up everything and take care of it, then I'll come upstairs and check on you."

  "Just leave them," Grace said. "They'll still be there in the morning. Please, come with me … I don't want to be alone. Not just yet." She hadn't meant her words to translate into an invitation, but seeing the hunger in Jed's eyes, she wondered if he had misinterpreted. Although a part of her wanted Jed, the saner part of her kept telling her that getting emotionally involved with her bodyguard would be a major mistake. "I didn't mean … I'm upset and confused and—"