Grace Under Fire Page 5

  And what had Jed's family been? Several generations back, when Grace's ancestors had been pillars of Louisiana society, Jed's had been pirates. In the past century they had been bootleggers, racketeers. Criminals, the whole lot of them. And one noteworthy relative—his mother's father Vernon Fortier—had become the head of a crime syndicate, the job taken over and his territory enlarged by his only son, Booth. Without any children of his own, Booth had been grooming Jed to follow in his footsteps, but had been careful to keep his nephew out of the mainstream. Jed had been given the best of everything—everything that dirty, illegally earned money could buy. Most of his life he'd heard the rumors about his family, his uncle in particular, but he hadn't wanted to believe them. Growing up he'd been sent to private schools, taken to Europe for vacations, expected to attend a top-notch university. But then the summer after he'd graduated from high school, he'd learned something that changed his life forever.

  Jed's mother, who had spent most of his life secluded in a private sanitarium for mental patients, had told him that her brother, his beloved uncle Booth, had murdered the man she loved—Jed's father—when he found out that Lance Tyree had gotten her pregnant before their elopement. At first he'd thought his mother's accusations were simply the ramblings of a disturbed mind. But when he'd confronted his uncle, he'd seen the truth in the devil's black eyes.

  Grace parked the car in front of the old mansion, then got out and started for the steps leading to the front veranda. The minute her foot hit the first step, the massive double wooden doors opened. A small, gray-haired man in black slacks and white shirt stood in the open doorway. The butler, Jed figured, Nolan Rowley, who'd worked for the family over thirty-five years.

  "Come inside." Grace invited him in with a sweep of her hand.

  "May I take your bag, sir?" Nolan asked.

  "No, thanks. I can manage it myself."

  "Very well, sir." Nolan turned to his employer. "Will you need me to drive y'all into town this morning, Miss Grace?"

  She shook her head. "Not today, thank you, Nolan."

  The old butler-cum-chauffeur nodded and quickly disappeared down the back hallway. A divided spiral staircase possessed a good part of the massive black-and-white marble-floored entrance foyer. Glancing up, Jed could see all the way to the third floor, which he figured had once been the servants' quarters and might still be.

  "Laverna has aired out and prepared a guest room for you. I thought you might like to unpack—" Grace eyed his lone canvas bag "—and freshen up—" she glanced at his beard stubble "—before I take you into town to Sheffield Media's headquarters and introduce you to the staff."

  "I'm about as fresh as I get," Jed told her, putting a humorous glint in his eyes when he smiled at her.

  "Oh, I see." She avoided looking directly at him. "Well, you can deposit your bag and unpack if you'd like. And if you'd care for breakfast, Dora can prepare you something—"

  "I'm not much of a breakfast eater. I grabbed coffee and a couple of doughnuts at the Atlanta airport before takeoff this morning."

  Grace huffed ever so softly, then said, "Let me show you to your room."

  Jed got the distinct impression that Miss Grace didn't approve of him. Good. Let's keep it that way, he decided. If she found him a bit rough around the edges, if she didn't like him, it would be easier for them to maintain the distance necessary for their professional relationship.

  Grace Beaumont was about as luscious a lady as he'd come across in many a year. She was like a ripe peach hanging precariously on a limb, ready to be picked. And if there weren't a hundred and one good reasons for him to keep his distance, he'd take a sweet, juicy bite out of her.

  Rein in your libido, Jed cautioned himself. The last thing he needed while on this assignment was a love affair. Hell, everything was already complicated enough as it was.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Elsa met her brother at the back door, catching him as he tried to sneak into the house. She'd been up all night, worried sick, half out of her mind, because he hadn't come home or called. Her greatest fear was that he was back on drugs. He'd been doing great lately, ever since going through rehab his senior year in high school and enrolling this past fall at St. Camille Community College. Troy wasn't a bad kid, just easily manipulated by others.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Elsa studied her nineteen-year-old brother, looking for any signs that he might be high. Although he looked a bit scruffy and needed a shave, he seemed to be sober.

  "Who are you, the police?" Troy asked defensively.

  "I'm the woman who has been a mother to you since you were a kid, that's who I am. I'm the sister who put her own life on hold to make sure you and Sherrie and Milly had food in your bellies and clothes on your back. I'm the person who worries about you."

  Troy shrugged his slender shoulders. Built like their dad, her brother was tall and lanky, almost skinny. He wore his dark hair shoulder-length and had his ears, his nose and his tongue pierced.

  When he tried to sidestep her, Elsa grabbed his arm and swung him around to face her. "Where were you all night long?"

  He jerked free and glared at her. "I'm nineteen frigging years old. I don't have to report in to you. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

  Elsa inhaled deeply, then released her breath as she counted to ten. "I thought we had a deal, one you've lived up to for nearly a year now. I pay the bills and you go to school and keep your nose clean. Has something happened to change that?"

  With his back to her, he shook his head. "Nah, not really. Not yet. It's just … well … I got a part-time job and I got a girl."

  "Are you saying you were working last night or are you telling me you stayed over at some girl's place all night?"

  Troy glanced over his shoulder sheepishly. "Both actually. The job's in a warehouse down at the waterfront. My new girlfriend picked me up afterward and I spent the night with her."

  "I see. You could have called, you know." Why didn't his explanation relieve her worries? she wondered. Maybe because it was too little information, too late. "When did you get the job? How long have you been working? How'd you meet this girl? Who is she?"

  "Damn, what is this, the Spanish inquisition?"

  "Look, Troy, I was up all night. I called every friend of yours I could think of. I checked with the hospital and even with the police to see if you'd been in an accident. I had to call in at work this morning to let them know I'd be late because I didn't know what had happened to you."

  "Hey, I'm sorry, okay." Troy sucked his cheeks in as if trying to curb his explosive temper. "I'm not back on the hard stuff. I swear. I drink a few beers now and then and that's it."

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Elsa waited, expecting a reply to her questions.

  "I met Josie at school this quarter. She's taking a secretarial course. She shares a place with a friend and works at the diner over on Fifth Street

  ." Troy glanced down at the floor. "And before you ask, yes, I'm being careful. We … uh … I always use a condom."

  Elsa let out a loud, exasperated breath, closed her eyes and prayed for patience. And while she was at it, she prayed that Troy was telling her the truth. All she needed at this point in her life was her brother knocking up some girl and her winding up having to raise the baby.

  "What's the name of the place where you're working?"

  "It's just a warehouse. I'm not sure about the name. I help load and unload crates off trucks and boats. The guy pays me in cash. It's good money for a few hours work."

  Elsa didn't like the sound of it. "What's in the crates you're helping load and unload?"

  "How should I know?"

  "Drugs?"

  "Hell, Elsa, get off my back. I said I don't know what's in the crates … and I don't care. Josie told me that a guy she knew had a good paying part-time job, so I applied for the position and got it. I thought you'd be pleased. Aren't you the one who's always griping about money?"

/>   "What's the guy's name?"

  "What guy?"

  "Your boss?"

  "Curt Poarch."

  "What if I want to talk to this Mr. Poarch, how do I get in touch with him?"

  "No way." Troy's face flushed; his body language became hostile. "Stay out of my business."

  Before she could say another word, Troy stormed out of the kitchen. Elsa followed him down the hall and into his bedroom. She stood in the doorway and watched while he stuffed a knapsack full with his underwear and clothes.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "I'm moving out, that's what I'm doing. I'll take what I can this morning and I'll come back for my other stuff later—after you've left for work."

  "Where will you live?"

  "Josie will put me up for a few days until I find a place of my own." He grinned mockingly. "Who knows, maybe we'll get a place together. Split expenses."

  "This man—Curt Poarch—must be paying you pretty good if you think you can rent your own place, keep up your truck payments, pay for your schooling—"

  "I'm outta here." Troy hoisted his canvas knapsack over his shoulder and all but shoved Elsa out of the way as he moved past her.

  "Troy." She raced down the hall after him. By the time she caught up with him, he was outside, dumping his knapsack in the cab of his older model Ford pickup.

  "Think about what you're doing," Elsa said, as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door. "What if the guy you're working for is doing something illegal? Is it worth that kind of risk just to make some fast, easy money?"

  He cranked the engine, shifted the gears into Reverse, and said, "It's a hell of a lot better than working for pittance the way you do at a job where you have to lick Ms. Rich Bitch Beaumont's fancy high heels every day." With that said, he backed out of the driveway and sped onto the road.

  Elsa heaved her shoulders as she sighed heavily. God in heaven, where had she gone wrong? Hadn't she done everything in her power to help Troy, just as she had Sherrie and Milly?

  For the time being there wasn't much she could do, short of praying. If Troy needed her, he knew where to find her. In the meantime, she had herself and Milly to support.

  Elsa checked her watch. If she left now, she would be only two hours late. That was two hours of pay she couldn't afford to miss and she didn't want to use a sick day because she saved those days in order to volunteer once a month at St. Camille Haven, the private boarding school where Milly lived during the week. It was a school for children with severe learning disabilities. For volunteering one day a month, they reduced Milly's tuition by a small amount.

  She knew that if she'd taken Grace Beaumont up on her kind offer of assistance in paying the tuition for St. Camille Haven, she wouldn't constantly be struggling to make ends meet. But she would not accept charity from anyone. Not even from Grace. Besides, she was well aware of the fact that Grace had arranged for the scholarship that paid over fifty percent of Milly's bills at the school.

  Elsa made a mad dash to the bathroom, ran a comb through her hair, swiped on some lipstick and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the door. She looked presentable. That was good enough. She detoured through her bedroom, grabbed her keys and handbag, and rushed out to her car, all the while praying Troy would come to his senses before he got in over his head with the wrong people.

  * * *

  A two-story structure that blended in nicely with the century-old buildings in downtown St. Camille, the headquarters for Sheffield Media, Inc. presided over two acres of land within the city limits. Consisting of several small buildings resembling raised cottages, so prevalent in Louisiana, and connected by white lattice-covered breezeways, the administrative center looked more like a mini-community than a business site. Grace gave Jed a tour of the entire compound, introducing him as "Mr. Tyree, who will be working for me a few weeks in an advisory capacity." She hadn't elaborated on his job description and no one had asked for more information.

  Jed opened doors for Grace as they made their way into the heart of the complex, which was alive with activity. All the employees were friendly. They smiled, greeted them and paid the proper respect to the CEO and her guest. Did any of these people know who he was and what he was doing here? Probably not.

  "Exactly who knows about the letter you received?" Jed asked.

  "Four people other than myself … and the person who wrote the letter." She paused by the desk in an outer office, then glanced around as if searching for someone. "My senior vice-president, Hudson Prentice, who is also a good friend, my cousin Joy Loring, my lawyer and family friend, Willis Sullivan, and my personal assistant, Elsa Leone, who doesn't seem to be here this morning."

  A wide-eyed young woman with a mop of curly carrot-red hair emerged from Grace's private office—Grace's name on the door declared the space as hers.

  "Oh, good morning, Ms. Beaumont." The plump redhead left the door wide open, moved aside and stood at attention. "Elsa phoned. She'll be late coming in. A problem with her brother. But she gave me exact instructions. Your mail has been opened and placed on your desk and I just put a mug of cappuccino on the coaster. I used the crystal mug, per Elsa's instructions."

  "Thank you, Avery." Grace entered her large, elegant office, then glanced back at the young woman. "Did Elsa say what the problem was with Troy?"

  "No, ma'am, she didn't."

  "Mmm-hmm. All right, thanks. When Elsa arrives, please tell her I wish to speak to her. And for now, will you inform Mr. Prentice that I'd like for him to come to my office."

  "Right away."

  Jed wasn't surprised by Grace's air of command. He figured she'd been used to giving orders all her life, so it would have become second nature to her. Call him a male chauvinist, but what amazed him was how someone so young and beautiful could be savvy enough to run a multimillion-dollar media empire. After all, from what he'd read in the Dundee's report on her, she hadn't worked a day in her life until three years ago when she'd stepped in to fill her father's shoes as not only owner of Sheffield Media, Inc., but as the CEO. She'd been born and bred to be a society wife, as her mother and grandmothers before her had been.

  "You asked to see me?" A rather ordinary-looking man, of medium height and build, stood in the open doorway.

  Jed studied him briefly. The guy was a bit of a dandy with his expensive clothes, Rolex wristwatch and perfectly styled brown hair.

  "Hudson, please come in and close the door," Grace said, and her senior vice-president scurried to do her bidding.

  Jed wondered if all the men in Grace's life were such willing slaves. Probably. He pegged Grace for the type who, when she snapped her fingers, expected a man to come running.

  Hudson Prentice eyed Jed with the kind of speculation he translated as the guy trying to figure out whether Jed was competition. Competition for what? What else—Grace Beaumont's affections.

  "Jed Tyree, this is Hudson Prentice."

  "Thirty-six, unmarried, lives alone, no pets, no children. Graduated magna cum laude, with an MBA from Tulane. Hired as an assistant by and for Byram Sheffield. A loyal employee for almost fifteen years. Now senior vice-president, good friend and confidante of Grace Beaumont." Jed recited the info, and noted the way Hudson's brows rose and a tenuous smile hiked the corners of his mouth.

  "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Tyree." Hudson offered his hand. "You know a great deal about me and I know nothing about you."

  "All you need to know is that I'm a Dundee agent hired by Ms. Beaumont to investigate some serious allegations." Jed shook hands with Prentice, whose smile quickly disappeared.

  "Hudson, I want you to arrange for an office for Mr. Tyree. Move some people around, if necessary," Grace instructed as she lifted the crystal mug from her desk and sipped the cappuccino. "I want him in this building, fairly close to me."

  "Yes, of course. It will take some time to—"

  "I want it done this morning."

  "Certainly."
/>
  Grace eyed Jed over the rim of her mug. "Tell Hudson what you'll need. Computer? Fax? Copier? Extra phone lines? A secretary of your own?"

  "Yes to everything except the secretary," Jed replied. "Dundee's will send someone to act in that capacity, if I find I need it. By not using one of your people, we lessen the chance of more people knowing about your private business."

  "Good idea." Grace sat down behind her desk, then glanced at Prentice. "That's all, Hudson. Thank you."

  Prentice looked like a kid who'd been told to go to bed without any supper. Staring down at his feet, he cleared his throat, then glared at Grace. "Couldn't Elsa handle all of this? After all, how will it look to the employees to have me at Mr. Tyree's beck and call? I am the senior vice-president."

  Grace set her coffee mug on the coaster, placed one hand on the desk and the other on her thigh. "I apologize. I had no idea you'd feel demeaned by helping Mr. Tyree settle in. But Elsa has been delayed this morning by a personal matter, so if you would, I'd appreciate your at least arranging for an office for Mr. Tyree."

  "Grace, I—I didn't mean to imply that—"

  She held up her hand in a Stop gesture. "No, no. It was my mistake entirely."

  With that said, she dismissed Prentice, who gazed at her pathetically and slunk out of the room like a whipped dog.

  Jed wondered how a guy who could so easily be cowed by a woman had ever been considered CEO material? Hadn't he read in the file on Grace that Prentice had temporarily replaced Byram Sheffield for ten months after his death? The only explanation that made sense to Jed was that Prentice was in love with Grace, which made him act like a tongue-tied fool only around her. Otherwise, the man was just an idiot. And he didn't think a man with Byram Sheffield's reputation was the type to have suffered fools gladly.

  "You should put him out of his misery," Jed said.

  Grace's head snapped up; she glared at him. "Pardon?"

  "Nothing." Jed shrugged.

  "My relationships with my employees are none of your concern."