by Jessica Bird
If he could trust Grace with anyone, it would be Tiny.
As soon as the man's voice came through, Smith said, "What are you doing right now?”
Tiny laughed. "I'm up to my balls in spiders, to tell you the truth. God, I hate these tropical details. There's always something crawling into your clothes, only it's rarely of the feminine persuasion."
"I need you to take over a project."
"When?"
"Now," Smith said gruffly.
"Sorry, what?"
"Now."
Tiny let out a little hiss. "Jesus, you're bailing on the countess. What the hell'd that woman do to you?"
Smith let that one fall by the wayside. "When can you be here?"
"Ah—I'll see what I can do. Does this mean you'll be free to cover Senator Pryne on his trip to the Middle East? Flat Top was going to do it, but he'd be better down here."
"If you can get to New York, I'll go."
"Good deal. I'll call you tomorrow with my ETA."
Smith clipped the phone shut.
He stared ahead without really seeing anything. It was a while before he realized he was staring at the piano.
He walked over to it. Anytime he'd run across one, he'd made a point of playing if he could. They'd been few and far between while he was in the Army, but once he was out, he'd played in hotel lounges, in private homes, the occasional bar.
He raised his hands and looked at them. They had been trained to do many things, few of which were uplifting.
The playing had come naturally, though.
* * *
Grace came awake the moment she heard the music. It was soft and low, powerful yet quiet.
She picked her nightgown off the floor, slipped it over her head, and went out to the hall. She paused before going into the living room, entranced by the sounds but afraid if John knew she was listening he might stop playing. Leaning against the wall, turning her head to the sound, she closed her eyes. He was good. Better than good.
As he played, she allowed herself a few tantalizing fantasies. Of him staying in her life. Living with her. Giving her children.
When the music died away, she stepped out into the room. He was sitting on the bench, head down, long fingers still on the keys. He was wearing only boxers and the contrast between his bare skin and the glossy piano was appealing.
"How long have you been listening?" he asked without looking up.
"Sometime."
He turned his head. In the dim light, his eyes glowed. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"I'm glad you did. You play beautifully." As he got to his feet and closed the guard, she asked, "Did you train somewhere?"
"I just make it up as I go along." He faced her, putting his hands on his hips. His expression was grave.
When she'd gone to him earlier, ostensibly to say good night, she'd been surprised and relieved when he'd kissed her, because he'd been so distant during the day. As he'd made love to her, it had been tempting to believe all was forgiven, but afterward she'd had her doubts.
The poignancy with which he'd held her while she fell asleep had been curiously troubling. It had been almost as if he were saying good-bye.
"We've got to talk," he said.
Grace's stomach rolled. "About what?"
"I called one of my boys tonight. I want to put him on this job."
Grace took a deep breath, relaxing some. "I don't care how many members of Black Watch back you up. Especially if it means I can go ahead with the Gala."
"That's not what I have in mind."
Instinctively, she put her arms around herself. "Then what are you saying?"
"I'm leaving."
Grace heard the words but instantly rejected them. "What do you mean? You can't leave. I—we—they haven't found whoever killed—"
"Tiny's a good man. I'd trust him with my life. And yours."
"I don't want Tiny. I want you."
"I've taken another assignment."
Her mouth fell open and then she laughed bitterly. "Quitting on me?"
"Changing jobs."
"It's the same line of work, though. Right?"
"Different," he paused, "client."
He'd told her only after it was done, she thought. Only after he'd taken care of everything and there was no way to argue.
She turned from him as tears welled in her eyes. She refused to let them fall, blinking furiously.
"Grace," he said roughly. "I have to go."
She wheeled back toward him. "No, you don't."
"I can't trust myself with you any longer. I'm not the righ man for this job."
"Don't you think I should decide that? I'm the one who's paying you."
"You aren't qualified to judge my skills."
She shot him a glare. "Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
"You're no more objective than I am at this point."
Impatiently, she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "And when did you decide all this?"
"Tonight.”
"You—you make love to me and then you tell me you're leaving?" she exclaimed. "What? Worried you wouldn't have a chance to get laid before your next assignment?"
He frowned, his brows drawing tight over his eyes. "You know it's never been like that between us."
"Oh, really? Then maybe you'd like to tell me what happens after you leave? Will I ever see you again?"
His silence was the answer.
"Oh, God," she said.
"I don't want it to be this way."
"So make it different," she snapped.
When he stared at her in stony silence, she shook her head. "I can't believe you're prepared to just walk away."
His response was quiet. "I'm sorry, Grace. I really am."
She thrust her chin up and brushed by him, going over to her desk and taking out a checkbook.
"I think you should just leave now." She began hastily scribbling with a gold pen. She ripped the check free and held it out to him. "Go on. Take it. Let's just end this now."
"Not until Tiny's here."
"You said you wanted to leave, so pack your things and get the hell out. I have no interest in being passed off to one of your boys."
Tension crackled in the air as the check hung between them. He slowly came forward and took it out of her hand only to put it down on the desk.
"I'm not going anywhere until Tiny shows up."
"I don't think you understand," she said, pointing at the front door. "You and Black Watch are fired. Get out."
His voice was flat when he spoke, belying in its softness his awesome will. "I'm not leaving until I know you're safe."
Rage, borne out of hurt and frustration, had her blinking tears away. "This is incredibly cruel of you. To say that you're going and then force me to—"
"You have no idea what it was like when you disappeared."
She threw her arms up.
"I'm sorry. I said I was sorry." She bunched her hands into fists. "And I came back."
He cut her off. "I have seen death up close before, Grace. Imagining yours was the closest I've come to crying in thirty years."
She shut her mouth, stunned.
"I don't know what I would do" he said with stark emphasis, "if anything ever happened to you. The depth of my fear tells me I have to leave you in someone else's protection. And that I can't see you again."
Impulsively, she reached for his hands. "No, you're wrong. If you care that much for me, you shouldn't go."
"Grace, don't delude yourself. Those three women who were killed weren't careful enough. You need to be ruthless about your safety, as ruthless as that man who's cutting up your friends. You don't want me to be watching you and you don't want me hanging around in your life. Trust me on this."
"So let Tiny or whoever come. That doesn't mean you have to leave. We can figure out the future, together."
He shook his head. "A clean break is the only way."
She dropped his hands and turned away, sensing there'd be no negot
iating with him. He was leaving and there was nothing she could do about it. In a rush, a numb feeling washed over her, taking away some of the pain.
"I don't want Tiny," she said.“I don't want him."
Because he will only remind me of you, she thought.
"Grace, don't let your anger at me impair your judgment about letting someone take care of you. You know it's not safe for you to be alone right now."
She thought about her three friends.
As much as she was mad at John, she wasn't going to be stupid about her own life. No man, even him, was worth getting killed over.
Although, Christ, with the pain in her chest at the moment, she felt half-dead already.
Grace squared her shoulders. "When will Tiny be here?"
"Twenty-four hours if all goes well."
"And what about the Gala? You realize it's this weekend. I still have every intention of going."
"If he can get a few men to cover him, and you allow Marks and his squad in the building that whole day and through the event, the risks could be mitigated. The killer does seem to like getting them at home. But it's Tiny's call. Myself, I wouldn't take the chance."
The hell it was Tiny's choice, she thought.
She was willing to concede that John was right. She still needed a bodyguard. But not one from Black Watch. She had twenty-four hours to find another firm.
And one day until she never saw John again.
She lifted her chin.
"I want to make something clear," she said. "I think you're making a terrible mistake by walking out on me and I have to question whether you really feel as deeply about me as you say you do. It strikes me that if you were truly concerned for my well-being, you would move heaven and earth to be by my side."
"Grace, I—"
"Stop lecturing me. And while you're at it, stop being so convinced you have all the answers and listen. I think you love me, John, and for a man who's lived his life alone, that's probably scaring the hell out of you. I can't help wishing you'd find the strength to stay but I'm done with begging. If you leave me now, know this. I'm not going to wait for you. I'm going on with my life. And I may never be able to open my heart to you again."
She shook her head sadly as she turned away from him.
chapter
22
When Grace rolled over at five a.m. the next morning, she caught a whiff of coffee brewing and knew John was up.
Facing him was something she needed to prepare for, so she took a bracingly cool shower and put on one of her power suits. It was black and formfitting, with lapels that were trimmed with a thin red piping, and she felt stronger wearing it. With a pair of high heels and a splash of vibrant red on her lips, she felt like she'd armored herself to get through the day.
When she came down the hall, John was on his cell phone, pacing back and forth between the living room and the dining room. The expression on his face was grim and he looked up at her.
"No, let me do it," he said under his breath and then hung up.
She shot him a cool stare.
"Isadora Cunis was attacked last night."
Grace's throat closed up.
Feeling her defensive pose crumble, she began to shake. "I thought she and her husband had gone out of state. What happened?"
"She came back to get ready for her event. She was found in the lobby of her building. She'd evidently been attacked in her home and somehow managed to drag herself into the elevator. Considering how extensive her wounds were, that maneuver was a miracle. She's in a coma at Lenox Hill."
Grace reached out a hand to steady herself and felt the cool plane of the wall under her palm. "How did he get to her?"
John shrugged. "There's only one explanation. She knew him and she let him in."
Grace fumbled with the buttons of her jacket and took it off, throwing it over the arm of the sofa. Against the creamy fabric, she thought the splash of black looked violent.
"Good Lord," she whispered, sitting down. She crossed her legs at the ankles and folded her hands in her lap.
As if arranging her body would somehow order her mind.
"I—I don't think I’m going to go to Connecticut,'' she said.
"I'll call Eddie."
She heard the electronic beeping from his phone as he dialed and then the rumble of his voice.
She imagined Isadora lying in a hospital bed and grieved for the woman's suffering.
"Grace?"
At the sound of her name, she looked up and saw that he was kneeling in front of her.
"Grace? Do you want me to tell Kat that you're not going in today?"
She started to nod but then looked around the penthouse. The fact that the women were being attacked in their homes made the place feel somehow contaminated.
"No. I think I'd rather go to work."
Grace started to get to her feet and John offered a hand to help her up.
She forced herself not to take it.
"I need some time to myself," she said, heading for her room. "If you'll excuse me?" She didn't wait for a response.
* * *
Later in the morning, when she walked up to Kat's desk, Grace flashed a steady smile that the girl apparently didn't fall for.
"Are you okay?" Kat asked.
"Fine, just fine."
"How was Connecticut?"
"I had to reschedule." Before Kat could ask any more questions, she said, "Will you do me a favor and cancel my regular meetings today? I have to work on the Gala preparations and I need some uninterrupted time."
"No problem."
With her schedule cleared, Grace spent the rest of the morning in a daze. She tried to do some work, but nothing she read sank in and nothing she wrote made any sense. In a last-ditch effort to accomplish something, she tried to finish the seating chart for the Gala.
After she'd been staring at it for twenty minutes, she pushed it away and looked up at the bust of her father. She hit the intercom.
"Kat? Will you please call maintenance? I'd like to move something down to the museum. Oh, and tell them I want to change some of the paintings in here. The ones on these walls have been here too long."
She released the button and looked at John, who was talking on his phone. He'd been doing that all morning, gathering information, she imagined, on what had happened to Isadora. She wanted to ask him for details, but wasn't sure whether that would make her feel any better. Bad news coming from him seemed liked a double hit.
Grace looked back at the bust and then at the candy dish and the pipe rack. She was thinking that she would get rid of them, too, when Callie's image came to mind.
When John put the phone down, she asked, "What do you know about Callie ?"
He finished writing some kind of note and then looked up.
"She lives in the building we dropped her in front of. She's twenty-seven, never been married, lives alone, nothing in the bank. Works at a gallery, did very well in school. Graduated summa cum laude from NYU as an undergrad and then excelled in her master's program in art conservation. Her mother's dead."
Grace lifted her brows. "When?"
"Two years ago. Of MS."
She was about to ask if Callie had any siblings when Kat buzzed in. "Mr. Lamont is here to see you."
Grace pursed her lips in annoyance, tempted to send him away. With the Gala only a day away, however, she didn't think she should chance it. He might actually have something constructive to say. "He can come in, but it's not going to be for long—"
Lamont threw open the double doors.
"Why hello, Lou," she said dryly.
As he marched up to the desk, she looked over his sharp suit and perky tie. She noticed dimly that the folded handkerchief in his jacket pocket was the same kind her father had worn.
"Your auction piece has arrived," he said with a humorless smile. "They just unpacked it. That thing is so dark, God only knows what it really is."
She fought against responding to the cutting tone in his vo
ice. "I believe that painting's documentation speaks for itself, Lou. Or perhaps you'd like to argue with the Copley scholars who've authenticated it?"
He let out a disparaging noise.
"You better be prepared to duck and cover tomorrow night because you're going to look like a fool. This whole thing has been a mess from start to finish. The invitations were wrong, it took you weeks to set the menu, and I haven't even seen that retrospective on your father yet. The portrait is a nightmare and God only knows how you're going to stage the party in the atrium downstairs. I tell you, Bainbridge is very uncomfortable."
"Stay away from my board," she said sharply.
"I'm just trying to save you from yourself."
Grace bit her lip to keep from snapping back. She was sick and tired of him stirring up trouble, of meeting his censure with nothing other than calm detachment. Frustration hardened her voice.
"Thanks, but I don't need to be rescued by you."
An angry flush deepened the color in his face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You've got an amazing sense of balance in this tightrope town. I'll have to remember that when our donors want to know why the single most important event of the year turned out to be nothing more than a bad dinner and an embarrassing exhibition of a painting no one wanted to buy."
She massaged a knot of tension at the base of her skull. " Lou, I can't keep fighting like this."
"We wouldn't have to if you'd just do what I say. But no." He threw his hands up theatrically. "You're still so jealous of my relationship with your father that you can't show me respect."
"I beg your pardon?" Grace was honestly surprised. She didn't like Lou as a person, but it had nothing to do with how close he'd been to her father.
"You always hated the way he appreciated me, mentored me."
She shook her head. "My father did enjoy grooming you, but I wasn't threatened by that. You were a hobby of his, Lou, never his surrogate son. Don't let your ego rewrite reality."
Lamont planted his arms on her father's desk and leaned toward her, full of anger. "You little—"
A hand clamped on his shoulder.
"You want to relax, big guy?" Smith was smiling grimly as he loomed over the other man.
"Get your hands off me!"
"As soon as you calm down."