Grace Under Fire Page 9

  "Not local. He's out of Atlanta. From the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency. His name is Jed Tyree and he's originally from Louisiana."

  "Tyree." Jed Tyree. Oliver turned the name over in his mind several times. It sounded familiar. He knew he'd heard it before … somewhere, sometime. He couldn't recall right this minute, but it would come to him. Sooner or later. "So far, what's he done in the way of investigating?"

  "I'm not sure. He took a look at the accident report and he's set up an office at Sheffield Media. And he has the entire Dundee Agency network at his disposal. I figure you can find out more. Make a few phone calls. Hell, call the governor."

  Oliver heard more smug chuckles, the kind that said I'm amused with myself. Damn infuriating bastard. Dealing with self-serving amateurs was always a pain in the butt.

  "Don't call again unless you have invaluable information," Oliver said. "It's safer for both of us."

  "I understand. The ball is definitely in your court. And I don't envy you the task of reporting this news to Fortier."

  "Good night." Oliver placed the receiver in its cradle, then walked across the den to the bar set up on a rolling cart in the corner. He undid the lid on the Crown Royal, lifted the bottle and poured the whiskey into a glass.

  He wondered if Grace Beaumont realized that by her actions she had probably signed her own death warrant. Hell, no probably about it. He'd heard she was a smart lady, that to everyone's surprise she'd turned out to be as shrewd in business as her father had been. So did her life mean so little to her that she'd risk death to seek revenge on Booth Fortier?

  Damn! He didn't want to make that call to Booth. And he wouldn't. Not tonight. Booth was in New Orleans at an exclusive brothel, his sickest, most vile pleasures being catered to around the clock. Tonight he was probably drunk or drugged and sated from hours of S&M titillation.

  Oliver knew it was best to wait for morning to call Booth. Wait until he'd had a good night's sleep, eaten breakfast and was thinking clearly. Even at his best, Booth was a real son-of-a-bitch.

  * * *

  The earth glistened with morning dew, and puddles of rainwater, only partially evaporated from last night's thundershower, rippled ever so slightly in the morning breeze. As Jed paced himself to Grace's fast walk, he observed everything around them: the tall, ancient trees that lined the long, winding driveway to Belle Foret; the thick, verdant springtime grass, not yet dried out by summer's relentless heat; the quiet approach of daylight as the sun began its daily climb over the eastern horizon. At six o'clock there was no more than a hint of the day's upcoming humidity and high temperature.

  But what he paid closest attention to was Grace herself. Fresh out of bed, not a hint of makeup, her long blond hair tied in a ponytail and bobbing up and down as she walked, the woman was beautiful. Born beautiful. And would no doubt be beautiful till the day she died. Her type of beauty didn't fade with age; it simply matured.

  Jed hadn't slept well last night and he suspected Grace hadn't either. There was a slight darkness under her eyes and when he'd joined her downstairs just as she started out the door for her morning walk, she'd been a bit testy.

  "What are you doing up?" She'd practically snapped his head off. She'd taken one look at his seen-better-days shorts, T-shirt and running shoes and said, "I don't need for you to go with me. I don't—"

  "I'd like to go with you," he'd told her. "It will give us a chance to talk while we get some exercise."

  She'd snorted, opened the door and made no further protest when he'd followed her.

  They had walked to the end of the half-mile drive at a quick, steady pace, but they hadn't talked. He'd been waiting for Grace to acknowledge his presence, which she finally did when she came to a halt at the high, wrought-iron gates separating her estate from the road leading into St. Camille.

  Staring pointedly at him, she placed her hands on her hips. "What do we need to talk about?"

  He inspected her from head to toe, taking particular note of her long, slim legs, shown off to perfection in her jogging shorts, and the swell of her breasts beneath the matching cotton cropped top.

  While she tapped her foot on the driveway, she narrowed her gaze and gave him a warning glare. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

  Jed laughed. "Sorry, but it's your own fault for looking so damn good first thing in the morning."

  Grace crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip higher than the other. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"

  Jed shrugged. "Look, Blondie, I apologize. I promise I'll behave myself from now on." He held up two fingers in a salute. "Boy Scouts honor."

  "You were never a boy scout. A juvenile delinquent, maybe, but not a boy scout." She looked away from him and began walking back up the driveway.

  He fell into step beside her. She'd been right on the money when she'd said he'd never been a boy scout; and she hadn't been far wrong when she'd suggested he'd been a delinquent. He'd been a damn rowdy teenager, and had known that any trouble he got into, his uncle Booth would get him out of at a snap of his fingers. There had been a time when he'd looked up to his uncle, had even admired him. But that had been before he'd found out exactly how ruthless Booth Fortier really was. If he hadn't learned about Booth's part in Lance Tyree's death, he might now be his uncle's right-hand man, in training to take over as head of the crime syndicate. The very thought that he might have chosen to follow his uncle's path in life sickened him.

  "By the way," Grace said, "do you call all the blond women you know Blondie?"

  She didn't look at him or slow her pace, so he followed her lead and kept walking and looking straight ahead. "Funny you should ask. I'm not sure why the term popped into my head. I've never called anyone else Blondie. Why, what difference does it make?"

  Grace picked up speed, getting several feet ahead of him. "It doesn't make any difference. I was just curious. But I'm not sure I like your referring to me with a pet name. It seems a bit too familiar."

  She'd slapped him down again. Put him in his place. He'd have to keep in mind that calling her Blondie annoyed her. And maybe it bothered her because she liked the familiarity more than she'd ever admit.

  Jed caught up with her. "We should discuss the five million you're picking up from your banker today. I want my two Dundee associates with us when you transport that much cash from the bank to your house. "

  "Fine. You work out the particulars with your people. Mr. Dotson will call me at work as soon as he has the money ready for us."

  "I hope you're right about Dotson being a hundred percent trustworthy. If he's not, then we might have a problem."

  "He's the president of St. Camille Savings and Loan," Grace said as she slowed her pace a bit. "Daddy always trusted him, so I see no reason why I shouldn't."

  "Five million is enough money to make the most trustworthy person consider becoming untrustworthy for the first time in his or her life."

  "Isn't there anyone you trust implicitly or do you automatically distrust everyone?"

  "I trust people who have earned my trust," he told her. "I learned at a rather young age how devious and conniving people can be."

  Just as Grace started to reply, the cell phone he'd stuffed into his shorts pocket rang. When he stopped to answer the phone, Grace continued without him. "Wait up, will you?" he called to her.

  She stopped about fifteen feet from him, glanced over her shoulder and frowned. But then she nodded, moved off the drive and braced her back against the nearest tree.

  Jed hit the On button. "Tyree here."

  "Jed, it's Rafe. You were right about the warehouse where Troy Leone is working. It's owned by Garland Industries. And it's a sure bet that there are drugs going in and out of there on a regular basis, covered up with a legal wholesale business. Supposedly Garland Industries imports all kinds of goodies from South America."

  "Yeah, I was afraid the Leone kid had gotten himself involved with the wrong people."

  "One more thing�
�" Rafe hesitated.

  "What?"

  "I spoke to Sawyer before I called you and it seems when I had Dundee's do some online checking for me, Sawyer got in touch with Dante Moran."

  Jed glanced at Grace and lowered his voice. "Don't tell me—the Feds already know about Garland Industries and are simply waiting for the right moment to pounce."

  "Hell, man, you're good. Ever thought of taking up fortune-telling?"

  "The Feds don't want to make a move on the warehouses now, not until I help them trap Fortier. They don't want the small fish without the big fish. Right?"

  Grace glared at him, then shoved herself away from the tree and came toward him. "I'm heading back to the house for a shower."

  He held up his index finger, indicating for her to wait. "Anything else?" Jed asked Rafe.

  "The guy overseeing things at the warehouse is Curt Poarch. Ever heard of him?"

  "Curt Poarch, huh? Yeah, he was working for Fortier before I left Louisiana. If he's like he used to be—and my guess is that he is—he'd do anything my uncle asked him to do. And I mean anything."

  "Moran told Sawyer that Poarch is Fortier's number two man."

  "Let me guess—Jaron Vaden is number one. Right?"

  "Right."

  "Anything else I need to know?" Jed asked.

  "That's about it, for now. Except Dom and Kate should arrive before noon today. They'll be in touch."

  "Thanks. Later, okay?"

  Jed hit the Off button and shoved the small phone into his pocket, then met Grace in the middle of the driveway.

  "Troy Leone is working at a Garland Industries warehouse," Jed said. "Garland Industries is a front for a major portion of Booth Fortier's illegal activities."

  Grace clenched her teeth together and shook her head. "Damn. This is just the kind of news Elsa doesn't need."

  "What she needs is to get her brother out of there … and soon."

  "Yes, of course, she should, but—" Grace eyed him quizzically. "What do you know that you aren't telling me?"

  "When Fortier goes down, his fall is going to cause some mighty big ripples that will reach far and wide."

  "What do I tell Elsa?"

  "Tell her what she already knows," Jed said. "Tell her that if Troy continues working at the warehouse, it's only a matter of time before he'll wind up in prison."

  Grace nodded, then without another comment, they fell into place side by side and returned to their morning walk, heading for the antebellum mansion Grace had called home her entire life.

  "Jed?"

  "Mmm-hmm?"

  "How long do you think it will be before Booth Fortier finds out that I'm having the accident looked into and that Dundee's is digging into any connection he might have with Governor Miller?"

  "A few days, a week at most. Sooner if what I suspect is true."

  "What do you suspect?"

  "I've been looking at what happened the night of the accident from several different angles and there's something I can't figure out."

  "What's that?" she asked.

  "How did Booth's hit man know in advance that your family—you, your father and your husband—would be in a car together that night? And how did he know the particular route you'd take?"

  "I don't know." Pausing when they reached the front veranda, Grace slumped down on the steps. "I'd never thought about it, of course, because I'd always believed the accident really was just that—an accident. But I suppose he could have been tailing Dean and just waiting for the right opportunity."

  "Possibly, but if his orders were to eliminate your entire family all at the same time—Dean, your father and you—then he might have had to wait for weeks. That's not Fortier's style. He gives a couple of warnings, then if they go unheeded, he strikes."

  "Well, actually, I wasn't supposed to go with Dean and Daddy that evening. I'd been in bed with the flu and was just barely on the mend, but that afternoon I'd started feeling a lot better, so I decided to join them. I'd never missed any of the St. Camille Annual Charity Auctions, not since I was sixteen, and I desperately wanted to go."

  "Did anyone know about the change in your plans, that you were going?"

  Grace shook her head. "No, I don't think so. No. Only Laverna and Nolan. I didn't even take the time to phone Joy and tell her."

  "Then if someone were keeping tabs on your husband's and father's activities and plans, they would have assumed the two men would be alone in the car that night, right?"

  "Yes, I suppose so, but I don't see—"

  "Nothing to see at this point," he said. "I was mostly just thinking out loud."

  "Well I'm heading into the house. By the time we shower and dress, Laverna will have breakfast waiting for us."

  "You go on, I'll be there in a few minutes."

  Jed waited until Grace went inside before he punched in Sawyer McNamara's private home number on his cell phone. The man answered on the third ring.

  "It's Jed. I need Dundee's to poke around and see what, if anything, can be found on a couple of guys—Willis Sullivan, lawyer, and a Beaumont and Sheffield family friend. Then check out Hudson Prentice, the senior VP of Sheffield Media, Inc."

  "And you suspect them of what?" Sawyer asked.

  "I don't actually suspect them of anything. Let's just say I'm curious as to whether either man would have had a reason to want to see both Dean Beaumont and Byram Sheffield out of the way."

  "I thought Booth Fortier was the suspect."

  "He is. Fortier gave the orders. I'm just wondering if someone was feeding Fortier information. Someone close to either Beaumont or Sheffield. After all, we don't know who told Fortier that Beaumont knew about his connection to Lew Miller and that Byram Sheffield was set to expose the proof by using all the radio and TV stations Sheffield Media, Inc. owned. And someone knew Beaumont's and Sheffield's plans the evening they were killed. Knew where they were going, at what time and which route they'd probably take." Jed cursed softly under his breath. "While you're at it, run a quick check on Laverna and Nolan Rowley. It's a long shot and I don't think it'll pan out. They're the household staff. Been with the family over thirty years. And might as well add Elsa Leone to that list. I'd say she's loyal to a fault, but the lady has big-time family responsibilities and probably money problems."

  "Willis Sullivan, Hudson Prentice, Laverna and Nolan Rowley, and Elsa Leone," Sawyer recited the names. "Is that it?"

  "Yeah, for now."

  "I planned to call you later," Sawyer told him. "I wanted to give you a message from Moran. He wants you to make a move to get in touch with Fortier sooner than expected. "

  "What's up?"

  "They need to get word to their inside man at the Fortier house to let him know they've moved up the timetable on their sting operation inside Fortier's business empire. Things have progressed there faster than expected."

  "I'll get in as soon as I can. But tell Moran that I won't do anything to jeopardize Grace Beaumont's life."

  "Of course not. The lady is Dundee's top priority. She's our client and she comes first."

  "Just remind Moran of that fact."

  "Can and will do." Sawyer paused. "I'll run a check on those names and see what we come up with."

  "Yeah. Call me when you find out something … if you find out something."

  Jed shoved his phone into his shorts pocket, then bounded up the front steps and onto the veranda. When he opened the door and entered the foyer, he nearly ran smack-dab into Nolan. He grabbed the old man's shoulders to steady him.

  "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be standing there," Jed said.

  "It's quite all right, Mr. Tyree. It was my fault entirely. I heard you coming in, but I'm afraid I couldn't get out of the way in time. My reflexes aren't quite what they used to be."

  Jed patted the old man on the back. "Glad we avoided a fatal collision. I'll be more careful myself from now on."

  Nolan nodded solemnly and when Jed started to walk away, he called to him. "Mr. Tyree, me and Laverna know
what's going on, at least pretty much know. We reckon Miss Grace could be in danger real soon, if she's not already."

  Jed nodded.

  "We love that gal. She's been mighty good to us, just like her daddy before her." Nolan's faded blue eyes misted with tears. "You just take good care of her, you hear? Don't let nothing bad happen to her. We want to see her happy again, but somebody's got to protect her, keep her alive, so she can get her second chance."

  Jed felt guilty for having asked Sawyer to run a check on Nolan and Laverna. He'd spent so many years seeing the world's underbelly that he didn't trust anyone. Now his gut instincts told him that, apparently, he'd been dead wrong to have ever suspected the Rowleys.

  "It's only a matter of time before Grace is under fire," Jed said. "But I plan to stand between her and whatever comes her way."

  He added silently, I've been trained to protect and I'm ready to lay my life on the line. Whatever happens, I'm prepared to kill to protect Grace—and I'm prepared to die for her.

  For some unfathomable reason, he wanted Grace to have a second chance at happiness just as much as Laverna and Nolan did.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

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  It was hot. A lot hotter than yesterday. Summertime hot, despite the fact that it was only the last week of May. But Charmaine didn't mind the heat. Never had. She'd been a summertime kid, loving the water, sunbathing and running wild through these woods. Despite the absence of caring parents, she'd had a fairly decent childhood, mostly thanks to Jaron. Her big brother had always looked after her, worrying about her the way a parent should. His only mistake had been introducing her to Booth Fortier. The first time she met her future husband, she'd been impressed. Impressed with his good manners, his fancy clothes, his sleek sports car and his large, beautifully decorated house. But it had been his teenage nephew she'd fallen in love with, practically at first sight. Jed Tyree had been the handsomest boy she'd ever seen. Thick curly black hair and smoky hazel eyes that had studied her body with hungry passion whenever they'd made love. And it had always been making love with Jed. But never with Booth. Not even on their wedding night.