Grace Under Fire

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."

"Yes, ma'am." Jed clicked his heels and saluted her.

She glowered at him. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. It's just no one would ever suspect that under that cover-girl beauty beats the heart of a commanding army general."

"Look, it's none of your business-"

"You've already made your point."

" Hudson thinks he's in love with me. I pretend not to know how he feels. But he also resents the fact that I took over for my father when he expected to be named permanent CEO. I want him as a friend. I need him as an executive. So I walk a fine line as far as our working relationship goes."

Jed nodded. "Are you trying to tell me that your Hitler routine was strictly for Prentice's benefit?"

"I'm a woman whose claim to fame prior to my father's death was being a prominent socialite. How do you think my employees would have reacted to me if I hadn't come in here on the first day with a hard-ass, I'm-the-boss-attitude?"

"I see your point."

"What is it with you, Mr. Tyree-do you have a problem with strong, aggressive females? If so, I suggest you get over it for the duration of this assignment, while you're working for me."

"I'll do my job, Ms. Beaumont, but there's one thing you should know-I don't jump through hoops for anybody, so don't expect it." Without giving her a chance for a rebuttal, he nodded toward the outer office. "I need to make some phone calls, get the ball rolling. My boss is supposed to have contacted the local authorities to see about getting me copies of the accident report and the file on the subsequent investigation into the wreck that killed your husband and father. We'll start there, see if there's anything that might indicate the hit-and-run wasn't accidental."

"Use Elsa's desk until Hudson can arrange for you to have your own office."

When Jed walked into the outer office, Grace followed him, then paused at his side when he sat down at the desk.

He glanced up at her. "Yeah?"

"For your information, I do not expect anyone to jump through hoops for me."

"If you say so."

Grace huffed. "Why begin with looking into information about the accident? Why not investigate the allegation that Governor Miller is involved with Booth Fortier?"

Should he be totally honest with her? Jed wondered. Should he tell her that Sawyer, Special Agent Moran and Sam Dundee had all agreed that Jed shouldn't start digging into the governor's supposed involvement with the syndicate until they had several Dundee agents on the job and a couple of Feds in place? Once they started the investigation, it was only a matter of time-hours or days-before both the governor and Fortier would learn about it. And when they discovered who was behind the probe into their affairs, Grace Beaumont's life would be in imminent danger.

"We've already started putting out feelers from Dundee 's headquarters in Atlanta," he told her. "Once our other agents, Domingo Shea and Kate Malone, arrive tomorrow, they'll be involved exclusively in that investigation."

With a somber expression on her face, Grace said, "It's going to get really ugly, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Real ugly, real fast."

"Do you earn double pay for double duty?"

"Double duty?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Tyree. It doesn't suit you. You and I both know that very soon you'll be acting as my bodyguard."

Jaron checked to make sure the door to his room was securely locked. He couldn't risk having one of Booth's people walk in on him while he was composing his second letter to Grace Beaumont. He didn't like living under the same roof with Booth, but agreeing to live here was the only way he could keep an eye on Charmaine and try to help her however he could. Booth treated him well, for an underling. The big man trusted him. And why shouldn't he? Jaron had bowed and scraped to Booth most of his adult life. If Booth said jump, Jaron asked how high?

Sitting down at his desk, he turned on his laptop computer and stared at the blank screen. He had already worked out the details of where, when and how she would have to deliver the money, but that information could wait for the next letter. This time, he would simply explain that he was in possession of evidence that would link Governor Miller to Booth Fortier and for five million dollars, he would put that evidence in Grace's hands. And as a bonus, he would add all the details he knew about the "hit" put out on Dean Beaumont and his father-in-law four years ago.

Jaron typed as fast as his hunt-and-peck technique allowed, being careful just how he worded the letter. As soon as he finished, he hit Print. The minute the sheet rose from the printer, he snatched it out and read it hurriedly, then immediately deleted the letter from his computer.

A noise outside his room alerted him to possible danger. He folded the letter and slipped it into the inside pocket of his sport coat. Sweat popped out on his upper lip. He listened. Heard nothing. He inserted a four-by-nine envelope into the slot in the printer, typed out Grace Beaumont's name and work address at Sheffield Media headquarters, then put the letter inside the envelope, added a stamp and returned the message to his inside coat pocket.

There was that noise again. Footsteps? Then his doorknob jiggled. Jaron swallowed. Perspiration dampened his palms.

Get a hold of yourself. There's no way Booth can suspect you of anything. You're letting your fear get the better of you. You've got to act like a man with nothing to hide.

Taking a deep breath, he stood, straightened his shoulders and crossed the room. He unlocked and opened his bedroom door, then glanced up and down the hall. Braced casually against the wall several feet away, one of Booth's devoted employees, Curt Poarch, grinned at Jaron.

"You want something?" Jaron asked.

"Hey, man, sorry if I disturbed you. With your door locked, I figured you were taking a nap or humping somebody or jacking off or-"

"What do you want?"

"As you know, Mr. Fortier just left for a couple of days in New Orleans," Curt said. "Before he left, he told me to take any questions or problems to you."

Inwardly Jaron sighed with relief, but outwardly his body language didn't change. "Yeah, so?"

"We got a big shipment coming in tonight and I'm gonna need some extra cash to pay the part-time guys. Mr. Fortier said you'd handle it since you got the combination to that safe."

"Yeah, sure. Just tell me how much you need and I'll see that you get it."

"Thanks, Mr. Vaden. And sorry I made a crack about why you had your door locked."

"No apology needed," Jaron told him. "When you get to know me better, you'll learn I like my privacy. That's all there is to it."

"Yes, sir."

Jaron put his hand on Curt's shoulder. "Let's go get ourselves a nice cool drink and you can tell me if any of the temporary boys you've got working at the warehouse are candidates for permanent jobs."

Curt grinned. "A cool drink on a hot day sounds good to me. And as far as promising workers, there's this one kid-reminds me of myself a bit when I was his age. Eager to please. Smart. Follows orders without question. Got himself an expensive playmate, if you know what I mean."

"Sounds like our kind of guy. What's his name?"

"Leone. Troy Leone."