Grace Under Fire

Chapter 5

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?" Grace asked, wanting desperately to alleviate Elsa's pain.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid there's nothing anyone can do at this point. I've talked to Troy until I'm blue in the face." Elsa's effort to smile failed miserably. "I would do absolutely anything to help him. You know that. But I can't help him if he fights me every inch of the way. He's damned and determined to do what he wants to do."

"Perhaps we could offer him a part-time job here at Sheffield Media," Grace suggested.

Elsa shook her head. "I have a feeling that the part-time job he has is paying him ten times what a job here would pay. And that's what has me really worried, more than him moving in with some girl who is probably…" She stopped short of calling Troy 's new girlfriend a tramp, but Grace got the idea. "Anyhow, I'm afraid whatever is going on at that warehouse is illegal."

"I could call and talk to Chief Winters-"

"No!" When Grace gave her a puzzled look, Elsa explained. "We have no evidence that there's anything illegal going on. If the chief of police has one of his officers poke around down there… Oh, God, Grace, what if the police catch Troy committing a crime? He would go to jail. And even though his juvenile record is sealed, he did have a few run-ins with the law right after he turned eighteen."

Neither Grace nor Elsa had heard the office door ease open, so when Jed Tyree said, "Want me to run a check on the place?" both women gasped simultaneously.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Jed said. "I thought y'all heard me open the door."

"How much did you hear?" Grace asked.

"Enough to know that your assistant-" he nodded to Elsa "-that Ms. Leone's brother might get into trouble with the law on his new job."

Ever mindful of her manners, Grace said, "Elsa this is the Dundee agent I hired, Jed Tyree. Jed, my assistant and friend, Elsa Leone." After a moment of awkward silence, Grace asked, "How discreet could you be in checking out the warehouse where Troy is working part-time?"

"No, please, I can't afford-" Elsa protested.

"Consider it a freebie," Jed said, then responded to Grace, "I could be so discreet that no one connected with the warehouse would know I'd even run a check."

"That's discreet enough." Grace turned to Elsa. "Is it all right with you?"

Elsa nodded. Any other woman would have been in tears by now, but not Elsa. Years of being strong and tough and responsible had hardened Elsa. Grace understood that particular self-protection technique all too well. A person could endure only so much suffering and disappointment before erecting a giant shield around her heart.

"All right," Elsa said. "As long as the police aren't involved. I figure if Troy continues on his chosen path, he'll eventually wind up in prison. But I don't want to be the cause of it by sending the police to check on him."

"We understand, don't we, Mr. Tyree?"

Jed hesitated and during that momentary pause Grace noticed an odd expression cross his face. It was as if he truly did understand Elsa's concern. Had he ever been in a similar situation? she wondered.

"Yeah, we understand," Jed said.

Elsa offered them a fragile smile. "Thank you, Mr. Tyree."

"Call me Jed. And as soon as I find out anything, I'll let you know."

Elsa nodded, then said to Grace, "I'll get to work now. I'm so sorry I was late this morning."

"You had good reason," Grace replied.

The minute Elsa exited the room and closed the door behind her, Jed faced Grace. "You know the odds aren't in her favor."

Grace's gaze connected with his. "Meaning?"

"Meaning her brother is headed for big-time trouble and we all know it. He's got a high-paying part-time job at night in a riverfront warehouse. There's a ninety-percent chance he's working for Booth Fortier."

Grace's heart lurched at the mention of the monster's name. "Isn't that quite a leap? You're assuming-"

"I'm assuming nothing. Booth Fortier controls organized crime in Louisiana. Everyone knows it, including law enforcement, but the guy's been too smart all these years to ever get caught. He prides himself on being able to flaunt his wealth and power and thumb his nose at the police, the state boys, the Feds… He thinks he's invincible, which makes him twice as deadly. But it also makes him vulnerable. It's his major weakness."

"You seem to have learned a great deal about Fortier in a very brief period of time." Grace sensed that Jed's assessment of the mob boss came from something more than recent research on her case. "Did you know about Fortier before you took this assignment?"

"Yeah, I knew about him. Don't forget I'm from Louisiana."

"I see." But she didn't; not really. Not unless Jed Tyree had been in law enforcement, which he hadn't been-or unless for some other reason he'd kept tabs on Fortier's career. Was it possible that Jed had suffered a personal loss, as she had, at Fortier's command?

"I'll have the warehouse where the kid works checked out. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out which warehouse it is," Jed said. "Now, back to the case at hand-I've gone over the accident report from four years ago and taken a look at the photos of the scene. I agree with the police. From the evidence, it appears to be nothing more than a drunk driver who lost control of his vehicle and hit the car your husband was driving. But…"

"But?"

"If the other driver was so intoxicated that he couldn't control his vehicle, then why didn't his car go over the embankment the way your husband's car did? It is possible that his erratic driving, swerving back and forth, saved his life, which is what the police think."

"That's not what you think, is it?"

"My guess is the other driver wasn't drunk, he knew exactly what he was doing and once he'd made certain your husband's car crashed over the embankment, he turned just in the nick of time and went on his merry way. He'd been hired to do a job, told to make sure it appeared to be an accident. The guy was a professional."

"If he was a professional, why did Fortier kill him?"

"We don't know he was killed, do we?"

"But the letter I received said-"

"The letter you received said a lot of things, made a lot of accusations, none of which we've proven. Not yet. Whoever wrote that letter, wrote it to get your attention. He wants something. He'll contact you again."

"What?" Grace spun around and glared at Jed. "He said in the letter that his conscience was bothering him. Are you saying he-"

"To have that type of inside information means he's either one of Fortier's boys or he's close to Governor Miller. My guess is that he belongs to Fortier. He's double-crossing the head of the crime syndicate, which in Fortier's world is punishable by death, so this is no soul-cleansing confession. Believe me, you'll hear from him again. That's why I want your personal phone line here at the office tapped and your home phone as well."

"You think he'll call me?"

Jed nodded. "Either that or he'll send another letter."

"When?"

"Soon. He can't afford to waste time. Once Fortier realizes that you're having him investigated, he'll know why… or least he'll be able to make an educated guess. Then he'll start looking around at those closest to him and figure out who has stabbed him in the back. Out of fear for his life, our guy is working on a strict timetable."

"I'm impressed," Grace admitted. "You seem to know an awful lot about the way these people think. But I suppose you have to possess that type of knowledge in your line of work."

Jed didn't respond.

"What's next?" she asked. "Where do we go from here?"

"A great deal of investigative work is done by computer these days, so Dundee is already taking that route. And when Domingo and Kate arrive tomorrow, they should have a report for me. They'll be doing the hands-on investigation, but I'll be coordinating their efforts along with my own and with what's being done at Dundee headquarters."

"If you need an office at my house, you can use mine. My father had a state-of-the-art home office and I've taken full advantage of it."

"Sounds good. Thanks for the offer."

"Okay." Grace's whole body relaxed as she willed the tension to drain away. She'd learned how to release negative energy and wipe her mind clear. The technique helped, but it worked on a temporary basis only. But even temporary relief was better than none. "Are you about ready for lunch? I can have Elsa order in for us or we can go out. Your choice."

"I need to tie up a few loose ends," he told her. "Then I'll be ready to leave. I'd like to take a look around St. Camille, familiarize myself with the town. Besides, I'm in the mood for Crawfish Etoufe."

"I know just the place. Beula's Crab Shack, over on Ayenall. It looks like a seedy dive, but they serve the best Crawfish Etoufe in La Durantaye Parish. "

"Give me ten minutes."

"All right."

Jed grinned at her, then winked just as he turned and headed out the door. A peculiar quiver radiated through her tummy. She couldn't remember the last time a man had winked at her. Or the last time she'd responded to an innocent flirtation.

Be very careful, Grace , a warning voice inside her head cautioned. An innocent flirtation could easily turn into something serious, something you aren't prepared to handle.

Why was she entertaining man-woman thoughts about Jed? She wasn't sure she even liked the guy. Okay, so she might not like him, but she was attracted to him. No use in denying the truth. There was something unique about Jed Tyree, something undeniably appealing.

Jed dialed the digital phone number for one of the two undercover Dundee agents already in place-the two Grace Beaumont didn't and wouldn't know anything about. Not yet. Rafe Devlin answered on the second ring.

"I need for you to check out some warehouses down by the river," Jed said. "This isn't directly connected to the case, but it just might have ties to Fortier. Check the warehouses owned by Garland, Inc. first. Garland, Inc. is controlled by Fortier. See if you can find out what comes in and out during the nighttime hours. And see if a kid named Troy Leone is working part-time there."

"Leone? Isn't Grace Beaumont's personal assistant named-"

"He's Elsa Leone's little brother. Probably getting in over his head, thinking about nothing but making some big money the easy way."

"Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it," Devlin said, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Call me on my cell phone when you find out something."

"Will do." A slight pause. "Hey, did you know that when Dean Beaumont passed the bar and went into private practice, back when he was a green kid, he briefly worked for Oliver Neville?"

"And Neville is?"

"He's been Fortier's lawyer for the past fifteen years. An odd coincidence, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but it could be just that-a coincidence."

"Maybe. But then again it's possible the evidence Beaumont was so close to getting on Fortier and Governor Miller was going to come from Neville."

"And if Neville was the source, then Neville could be our letter writer."

"Bingo."

"It's worth checking into," Jed said.

"I'm already on it."

"Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I will. I'm not stupid. I know what I'm dealing with here. I won't take any chances and I won't make any mistakes. You're the one who's in the most danger. You'll soon be walking into the lion's den."

"I'm familiar with the territory."

"Familiarity doesn't make it any less dangerous."

"Right." Jed paused for a split second as long-ago memories flashed through his mind. Memories he'd spent a life-time trying to erase. "Just let me know about the warehouse ASAP. Okay?"

"Sure."

Charmaine Fortier had made a decision, one that might put her life in danger. But she didn't care. Not anymore. For months now she had pretended she wasn't falling in love with Ronnie Martine; she'd tried with all her might to resist her feelings. And even though Ronnie hadn't made an overt move or said anything that indicated he felt the same way, she knew he cared about her, too. Of course he was loyal to Booth, as were all Booth's employees. But unlike most of Booth's other boys, Ronnie didn't seem to be afraid of him. Not the way Jaron was. Her brother practically quaked in his boots every time Booth entered a room. And with good reason. Booth had a reputation of eliminating anyone who displeased him. She didn't know it for a fact, of course, but she didn't doubt for a minute that her husband had ordered the deaths of countless people. And whenever he took his vile temper out on her, she wondered how many people he had murdered personally. There was an evil in Booth that fed off other people's suffering. Off humiliation. And death.

If he ever finds out about you and Ronnie, he'll kill you both , she reminded herself.

"Turn off at the next right," Charmaine said. "I want to take a ride by the river before we go home."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ronnie acted as her chauffeur and bodyguard, a position Booth had assigned him six months ago. Booth always chose a bodyguard for her within the ranks of his personal staff, the boys he kept around him, the ones who lived in the house with them. During the fifteen years they'd been married, he had rotated her bodyguards on a yearly basis, which meant Ronnie had only six more months to be at her side.

They'd taken Charmaine's silver BMW convertible, a car Booth had given her on her birthday two months ago-her thirty-fifth-when she'd decided to run into town. She was thirty-five goddamn years old. One day she'd been Booth's twenty-year-old bride and the next thing she knew she was his middle-aged prisoner. Yeah, that's exactly what she was-a prisoner. He had never allowed her to go anywhere without an escort, not in fifteen years. She was watched over day and night. Guarded, but from what she didn't know. Or maybe she did know. Wasn't Booth afraid she would betray him, that given the chance she'd turn to another man for the love he was incapable of giving her?

Jealousy was one of Booth's personality disorders-only one of many. When he'd married her, he'd known she still had feelings for someone else, but he had been so sure he could make her forget her first love. Whenever her performance in the bedroom had been less than he expected, he'd throw up the fact that she had been soiled goods, that she hadn't come to him a virgin. And she would never forget what he'd said to her the first time he hit her.

"So help me, I'll get Jed Tyree out of your system even if I have to beat him out of you."

As the late springtime wind whipped through her hair while Ronnie drove her along the bumpy gravel road, Charmaine let her mind drift back to her teenage years, to when she'd first met Jed. They'd been sixteen, both of them a little wild and looking for fun. Jaron had just gone to work for Booth a few months earlier and was in awe of his boss and encouraged Charmaine to cozy up to Booth's nephew. Jed had been her first love, in every sense of the word. And she'd thought he loved her, too, during their teenage affair. But after Jed had left so suddenly at eighteen and hadn't asked her to go with him, she'd hated him. Hated him enough to marry his uncle two years later. What a fool she'd been. Not a fool for having loved Jed, but to have believed marrying his uncle would be a sweet revenge.

"Do you want to stop anywhere, Mrs. Fortier?" Ronnie asked. "Or do you just want me to keep driving?"

"There's a little house not far from here, about a half mile down the road." She and Jaron had grown up in that shack by the river, just the two of them fending for themselves after their mother died when Charmaine was twelve. They'd never known their father. Hell, they didn't even know if they had the same father.

"You planning to visit somebody?" Ronnie glanced at her quickly then returned his gaze to the road.

"I'm going to pay a visit on some old memories."

"Pardon?"

"I used to live in the house," she told him. "Back before I married Booth."

"Yes, ma'am."

She tossed back her head, closed her eyes and let the afternoon sun warm her skin while the humid breeze caressed it. Right this minute, she was free. Gloriously free. Booth was in New Orleans. And she was alone with Ronnie. Away from the house. No prying eyes to spy on them.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked.

"What?"

"I said have you ever been in love?"

"Yeah, sure I have."

"Was it wonderful and passionate and-"

"We were young. Got married. Had problems. Got a divorce."

"Are you still in love with her?" Please, say no, Charmaine prayed. Say that you don't love anybody but me.

"It was a long time ago," Ronnie said. "So long ago I barely remember."

"Then it wasn't real love. I remember Jed, you know. Even though Booth thinks he's erased his nephew from my memory. He hasn't."

"Mrs. Fortier, I don't think you should be-"

"There it is!" She squealed with delight, then sighed when she noticed the dilapidated state of the old house. "Lord, what a pitiful sight."

Ronnie pulled up in the weed-infested driveway, the dirt path almost totally obscured by vegetation of various varieties. "Do you want to get out? Looks a bit shaky to me. Might not be safe."

Charmaine flung open the door and stepped out. "I was a lot safer in this house than I am in the one where I live now."

Ronnie got out and joined her as she walked toward the ramshackle front porch with rotting floorboards and a sagging roof. He came up beside her, his gaze scoping out the area, his open palm hovering over the small of her back. Hovering but not touching.

She paused before she reached the rickety front steps, turned slowly and smiled at him. "I came here for another reason. Other than to visit some old and very pleasant memories." He waited for her to continue, his gaze downcast as if he didn't want to make direct eye contact with her. "I brought you here for a reason."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't you want to know what that reason is?"

"If you want to tell me."

"The first time I made love, it was in this house. One cold winter night when I was seventeen. Jed Tyree was the sweetest, most tender lover."

Ronnie cleared his throat, then shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't still love Jed, if that's what's bothering you. I just love the memory of him."

"Mrs. Fortier-"

"It's just the two of us. Call me Charmaine." When she reached out and laid her hand on his chest, she felt the hard, steady beat of his heart.

He stood there, stiff as a board, unmoving, except for his eyes. His eyes devoured her.

"I brought you here because I want to make some new memories," she told him. "New sweet memories to add to the old ones."

"Ma'am, I don't… you shouldn't-"

Charmaine slunk closer, lifted her arms up and around his neck, then pressed herself against him. "I want you to make love to me, Ronnie. Here in this house. No one will ever know. Only the two of us."

He hesitated for a split second before he reached up, grabbed her arms and flung her away from him. "I'm taking you home right now, Mrs. Fortier. And we're both going to forget this ever happened."

For just a moment, she felt the sting of rejection, then she looked at Ronnie and saw how desperately he was struggling to remain in control. It was so obvious that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but he was fighting his desire.

"All right. We'll go home," she said. "But we won't forget. We can't forget. And tomorrow you'll drive me into town and we'll make this same detour on our way back. Think about it tonight. Think about the two of us… naked… making love… over and over again."

Ronnie swallowed hard. His hands knotted into tight fists. Charmaine tilted her chin high and walked toward the convertible. She could have forced the issue today. Right now. And Ronnie would have made love to her. But she didn't want to seduce him. She wanted him to be unable to resist her. She could wait another day. After all, she'd been waiting seventeen years to fall in love again. One more day couldn't possibly matter.