Grace Under Fire Read online

  You damn idiot, he told himself. You've gone and screwed up big time. You've let yourself get emotionally involved with a woman who is bound to hate you once she discovers you're Booth Fortier's nephew. Why the hell didn't you just tell her the truth? If you had, you could have saved yourself and her a whole lot of heartache.

  Although he'd told Grace he'd come from a family of criminals and she hadn't judged him or condemned him, he couldn't count on her understanding when she learned that he was the nephew of the man responsible for her father's and husband's deaths. Would she ever be able to look at him again and not think about the fact that he was the nephew of the man who had taken away those she had loved the most dearly, including her precious unborn child?

  His instinct was to kiss her goodbye before he left, but he squelched that desire. He removed his jacket from the hanger, put it on and quietly left the room. When he got downstairs, he found Dom and Kate had already arrived and were sharing coffee in the kitchen.

  "Is Miss Grace not up?" Laverna asked, her wise old eyes studying Jed speculatively.

  "She's sleeping in this morning. Don't disturb her." Jed turned to Kate. "Call her office and tell Elsa that Grace is taking the morning off."

  Kate nodded.

  "Do they know you're coming?" Dom asked quietly as he walked up beside Jed.

  Jed shook his head. "That would eliminate the element of surprise. I plan to just show up."

  "And you think they'll invite you in?"

  "I know they will," Jed replied. "Booth will be curious as hell about why I'm paying him a visit." Jed caught both Laverna and Nolan looking at him curiously. "Yes, Miss Grace knows my plans. She knows I'm going to see Booth Fortier this morning. "

  Laverna looked away hurriedly. Nolan cleared his throat, then said, "I'm sure you're doing what you think is best for Miss Grace."

  Laverna handed Jed a cup of coffee—just the way he liked it. Black. "Thanks," Jed said.

  Dom placed his hand on Jed's shoulder. "Why don't I walk you out? It'll give us a chance to go over a few things."

  Jed nodded, took several quick sips of the hot coffee, then set the cup on the table. "I'm trusting you and Kate to take care of Grace."

  Dom followed Jed out into the hall. "Moran called me. He said he'd tried to reach you, but your cell phone was off."

  Jed cursed under his breath. "I didn't recharge the battery last night. I forgot." He tapped the phone he'd left on inside his coat pocket.

  Dom gave Jed a speculative glance, but made no comment, although Jed figured Dom suspected why he'd forgotten to recharge his phone battery. After all, Dom had been the one who'd gotten the condoms for him.

  "I got distracted," Jed admitted.

  "It happens." Dom whipped his phone from his pocket and handed it to Jed. "Swap phones with me. You need to call Moran on your way to Beaulac."

  The men exchanged phones, then once they were outside near the rental car Kate had driven over for Jed this morning, Dom recited Moran's number.

  "Good luck," Dom said.

  "Keep watch over Grace."

  "You know we will. Stop worrying. The way you're acting, you'd think she was your—" Dom grinned, then grimaced. "Holy shi— What am I saying? I realize she's not just a client to you."

  "Yeah, yeah. I know I've screwed up. But save the name-calling. I've already called myself every name in the book. And don't think I don't know how she'll react when she finds out that Booth is my uncle."

  "She's a smart lady. Give her time and she'll understand. She won't blame you for the things your uncle has done."

  "I just hope you're right."

  Jed opened the car door, slid behind the wheel, started the engine and drove away. When he reached the gates at the end of the long drive, they already stood open. Nolan's doing, no doubt. He pulled the car just beyond the gates, then punched in Moran's number on Dom's phone and waited. On the second ring, Moran answered.

  "Jed Tyree here. I'm leaving Belle Foret right now. I should be in Beaulac in about forty-five minutes."

  "Our agent's name is Jim Kelly," Moran said. "He's been undercover for two years. Fortier and everyone in the syndicate know him as Ronnie Martine. He's been Charmaine Fortier's personal bodyguard for six months."

  * * *

  Chapter 17

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  The Fortier home was located toward the back of twenty acres, along the riverfront outside the small town of Beaulac. Although at first sight no one would suspect the extent of the security surrounding the place, Jed knew. No one got near the house without being watched like a hawk. Booth had guard points set up all around the property and underlings manned those inconspicuous stations. When he'd stopped at the front gate and announced himself, he'd been allowed entrance, without hesitation. Whether Booth had given the okay or one of his flunkies had, Jed didn't know. But it seemed Booth's nephew was welcome. And that's just what Jed had been counting on. Booth was a ruthless man, a true killer at heart, but he considered blood relatives different from other people. Jed had heard his uncle say more than once that a man didn't eliminate his own blood kin. Besides, Booth had to be curious about why Jed would come to see him, especially since his uncle no doubt already knew he was working for Grace Beaumont. As he drove up the road toward the house, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He hadn't seen his uncle in seventeen years, but the closer he got to the house, the hotter the rage inside him. Being at the old homestead brought back memories—both good and bad. Foremost in his mind was the fact that Booth had ordered his father's death, something Booth hadn't denied when Jed confronted him.

  From the moment he'd been conceived, Jed's life had been affected by his uncle's actions. As he parked the rental car in front of his grandparents' old house, he realized that despite having separated himself from Booth, putting time and distance between them, he hadn't been able to escape his heritage. He was part of the Fortier family; and just as Booth had, Jed had inherited a legacy of criminal activity that went back generations.

  He'd grown up in this house, the privileged nephew of a powerful man. His childhood had been less than perfect, but he'd learned at a young age to be tough and resilient. A boy without a mother, with only a ruthless dictator as an adult role model, Jed had been a cocky, smart-ass kid. And Booth had allowed him unlimited freedom, more than any teenager should have had. He had both feared and admired his uncle, and in an odd way he'd loved Booth. But all that had changed when his mother had told him the truth—Booth had ordered his father's murder.

  After parking the car and getting out, he was met by Aric, who had changed very little in seventeen years. His uncle's chauffeur and private bodyguard stood on the veranda, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his black eyes narrowed to a warning glare.

  "Morning," Jed said as he slammed the car door. "Uncle Booth around?"

  Aric uncrossed his arms and dropped them to either side of his body. The sunlight reflected off the gun riding inside his shoulder holster. "He's not up yet. But you're welcome to go on inside and wait for him."

  "What about Charmaine, is she up?"

  "Mrs. Fortier is having breakfast by the pool this morning."

  "Then maybe I can see her first, pay my respects and give her my condolences."

  Aric stepped aside as Jed walked up the steps and onto the veranda. "You know the way, Mr. Tyree."

  "Sure do."

  Aric hadn't even flinched at the mention of giving Charmaine condolences. Jed had thought maybe the big black man would respond by saying what a tough break it was that Jaron had been killed. But he said nothing more. Jed moved past Aric, who stood ramrod straight; then he opened the unlocked front door and went into the foyer. As he looked around, he realized the place had been redecorated. He glanced up the staircase and wondered what Booth had done to his old bedroom—a teenage boy's bedroom. Burned the furniture and had the room fumigated? Inwardly Jed laughed, but it was a bittersweet emotion.

  A big, rugged guy with dark hair and a pe
nsive glare came down the hallway and met Jed. "Mr. Tyree?"

  "Yeah." Jed nodded. "And you're…?"

  "I'll have to ask you for your weapon. Mr. Fortier doesn't allow anyone who doesn't work for him to carry a weapon on the property."

  Jed shoved back his jacket, undid the holster and removed his Beretta. He had to admit that he felt naked without it. Whenever he was at work, he carried a gun. And during his life, he'd spent more time working—for Booth, for the U.S. Army and for Dundee's—than doing anything else. Jed was surprised this guy hadn't frisked him. If he had, he would have discovered Jed's backup weapon strapped just above his ankle.

  "I understand Booth isn't up yet." Jed studied the guy who still hadn't told him his name. From the description Moran had given him of Jim Kelly, Jed figured this man was the undercover agent.

  "He sleeps late most mornings."

  "Then I'd like to see Mrs. Fortier and give her my condolences…"

  "She's in pretty rough shape. Mrs. Fortier cared a great deal about her brother and his death has hit her pretty hard."

  Jed knew genuine concern when he heard it. This guy cared that Charmaine was grieving. What Jed didn't know was whether it was simply sympathy for another human being or a sentimental attachment. Had Jim Kelly fallen for Charmaine? If so, heaven help him, because if the FBI agent was in love with Booth Fortier's wife, then he was in a worse situation than Jed was with Grace.

  Jed patted his coat pocket. "Damn, I forgot my cigarettes. You don't happen to smoke do you? I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself."

  The guy held out his hand as he studied Jed. "I'm Ronnie Martine, Mrs. Fortier's private bodyguard." Jed and he shared a firm handshake. "Sorry, but I don't smoke anymore. But I still carry around my old cigarette lighter." Ronnie pulled a red-and-silver lighter from his pocket, flipped open the lid and flicked the striker. An orange-red flame shot half an inch high.

  "I should give up smoking," Jed said. "It's a nasty habit."

  Ronnie closed the lighter and returned it to his pants pocket. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Fortier."

  Jed followed Ronnie down the hall, but refrained from saying more than the code phrase he'd used—I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself. In this house, the walls often did have ears. He'd wait for Ronnie to make the next move. At least now, they knew each other. The contact had been made.

  When they entered the patio, Ronnie stopped abruptly before alerting Charmaine of their presence. "Everything is set here," Ronnie said low and soft.

  "That's good."

  "I need to know when it's coming down. There are preparations I have to make."

  "All I know is soon. Things have escalated since Grace Beaumont became involved."

  Charmaine, who reclined on a chaise longue halfway across the patio, lifted the wide-brimmed straw hat from her head, removed her sunglasses and stared at Jed and Ronnie.

  "Mrs. Fortier," Ronnie called to her. "Your husband's nephew, Jed Tyree, is here to see you and your husband. He's come to pay his condolences."

  Charmaine shot up off the chaise, tossed aside her hat and glasses and came running toward Jed. Her long, wild red hair bounced on her naked shoulders. Jed watched her as she came to him, still gorgeous at thirty-five, her figure displayed to perfection in the slim-skirted, strapless sun-dress. When she reached Jed, she threw her arms around him and hugged him, then pulled back, grabbed his hands and smiled. He noticed the bruises on her face and the slightly swollen lip. A pain of regret and remorse shot through him. He knew without asking that Booth had done this to her. Even when he'd hero-worshiped his uncle, he'd known the man had a mean streak, had even seen several demonstrations.

  "Lord help me, it's good to see you, Jed." Tears misted her eyes. "You've heard about Jaron." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He would have loved to see you. He missed you when you went away. We both did."

  Jed brushed his hand across Charmaine's discolored cheek. She drew back, suddenly embarrassed, and her gaze connected with Ronnie's. Jed recognized the look that passed between them, a silent explanation of why it was all right for another man to touch her so gently, with tender concern. Heaven help them both, Jed thought, Charmaine and Jim Kelly were lovers. Apparently Booth didn't know; otherwise, they'd both be as dead as Jaron.

  "I'm really sorry about Jaron," Jed told her.

  Charmaine motioned to the umbrella-shaded table several feet away. "Come on over and sit down. Talk to me. Tell me all about yourself. Are you married? Do you have kids? Where do you live? What do you do for a living?"

  Jed sensed her nervousness, noted the way she kept staring back at the house. She was playing a game. But why?

  "Not married. No kids." Jed followed her to the other side of the patio and sat with her at the table. "Booth's up, isn't he?" Jed whispered.

  "I guess you know I married your uncle Booth," Charmaine said, then mouthed the word yes.

  "I live in Atlanta," Jed told her, then asked softly, "is he watching us?"

  "Atlanta, huh? What brings you back to Louisiana?" Charmaine busied herself pouring them both a glass of orange juice. She handed Jed his glass, then whispered, "He knows you're working for Ms. Beaumont."

  "Thanks." Jed accepted the juice, then said in a normal voice, "I work for the Dundee Agency. I'm here on business, working for Grace Beaumont. She's hired our agency for some investigative work and to act as her bodyguards."

  She pointed to Ronnie. "Booth sees that I'm well protected at all times. He rotates my personal guard once a year."

  "Booth always was a man who looked after his own."

  Robust laughter echoed from the open French doors. Jed glanced over his shoulder and saw his uncle, smartly dressed in white slacks and navy shirt, standing in the doorway. Charmaine blanched when she saw her husband, then forced a smile.

  "Booth, darling, come see who's paying us a visit. He—he's here in Louisiana on business and heard about Jaron." Although Charmaine's voice was syrupy sweet, the look in her eyes told Jed of her true feelings. Anger. Bitterness. Hatred. But above all else, fear.

  Head high, shoulders straight, Booth Fortier marched toward Jed, then when he drew near, he sized up his nephew and said, "It's been a long time, boy."

  "Yes, sir, it has. Seventeen years." Jed stood to greet his uncle, showing the respect Booth demanded.

  "You're looking well."

  "So are you," Jed lied. Even though his uncle appeared quite fit, there was something not quite right about his appearance. It was in the eyes. Just a hint of illness. What plagued the old buzzard? Jed wondered.

  Booth walked over and stood behind Charmaine's chair. Jed noticed how she tensed when Booth placed his hand on her shoulder. "Our Charmaine is still a beauty, isn't she?"

  "Yes, she is." Jed glanced behind Booth to where Ronnie stood in the background, his stance rigid, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. If Ronnie—Jim Kelly—cared about Charmaine, it must have killed him seeing the results of Booth's handiwork on her body.

  "Guess you never figured when you left us that Charmaine would wind up being mine." Booth caressed her throat, his fingers circling her windpipe as his thumb stroked the side of her neck. "Yeah, our girl moved right to the top. She went from being the heir apparent's woman to become the king's wife."

  "And what did Jaron become, other than your brother-in-law? Was he the new heir apparent?" Jed asked.

  Charmaine gasped.

  Booth frowned. "Jaron was my right-hand man, always at my side to do my bidding. But he was never in line to inherit my throne." Booth released his hold on his wife, then motioned with a sweeping hand gesture toward the house. "Come into my study for a drink and you can tell me why you're really here."

  Jed nodded, got up, walked over to Charmaine and said, "I really am very sorry about Jaron." With his uncle watching closely, he leaned over and kissed Charmaine's cheek.

  "Thank you." She swallowed her tears.

  Jed followed Booth into the house, down the hall and straight into h
is study. Booth closed the doors behind them, then went to the liquor cabinet. "Whiskey for me. What will you have?"

  "The same," Jed replied.

  "Neat or on the rocks?"

  "Neat."

  Booth served as bartender, something Jed couldn't remember his uncle doing in the past. He held a glass in each hand as he approached Jed. Booth held one out to him, which he took.

  "Sit."

  Jed sat in an overstuffed chair to the right of Booth's desk. Booth braced his hips on the edge of his desk, lifted his glass to his lips and downed a hefty swig.

  "Why are you here?" Booth asked. "And don't tell me it's simply to tell us how sorry you are about Jaron." Booth grinned. "By the way, how did you hear about Jaron's death?"

  Jed took a sip of whiskey, then eyed his uncle over the rim of the glass. "I guess you already know Jaron's body was dumped at the front gates of Belle Foret, Grace Beaumont's home."

  "So I was told."

  "I'm Ms. Beaumont's bodyguard. She hired the agency I work for to investigate an allegation she received in a mysterious letter." When Booth didn't respond, simply sat there sipping his liquor, Jed continued. "Why don't I cut to the chase and just ask you out right—did you put out a hit on Dean Beaumont and Byram Sheffield four years ago?"

  Booth finished his drink, set the glass down on his desk and looked right at Jed. "Now why would I have done something like that?"

  "Because Dean Beaumont was gathering evidence against Lew Miller … evidence that would have proved you controlled the governor."

  Booth laughed. "Hell, boy, I've been friends with every governor for the past thirty years and my daddy before that. But I don't control Lew Miller and there's no way Dean Beaumont could have come up with any evidence proving I do."

  "Then you're saying you didn't order a hit on—"

  "You go back to Ms. Beaumont and tell her that Booth Fortier gives her his word that he had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with her husband's and father's deaths."

  Jed stood, set his glass beside Booth's on the desk, then stared into his uncle's cold, black eyes. "I'll tell her, but you should know she probably won't believe you. I'm sure she'll expect us to continue the investigation. She's determined to prove the allegations to be either true or false."