An Unforgettable Lady

by Jessica Bird

  "I don't want your money."

  "But you will take it, won't you? So there'll be no ties left between us, so the cut will be a clean one."

  John took the check, looking grim.

  "Now, take your buddy and get out of here," she told him.

  "Tiny is staying." John's jaw was set but she refused to be intimidated by the force of his will. Or swayed by it.

  "Tiny or Vic or whoever he is can go to hell and so can you. I don't need another tough guy in my life or in my bed. From now on, I'm sticking to my own kind."

  "I don't give a good goddamn what you say, Tiny is going to be here tonight."

  "Oh no, he isn't. I fired you and your whole team!" She was being totally irrational but had no way to stop herself. She'd lost sight of everything but the hollow core in her chest.

  "Black Watch is off my payroll."

  "So he's going to do it pro bono."

  “I’ll have him arrested for trespassing."

  "I'd like to see you try," John countered coldly. "The NYPD won't touch one of my boys, Countess."

  Grace leapt to her feet, balling her hands into fists. Her body was trembling. "Get out! Just get the hell out of my life!"

  He was silent for a long time.

  And then she was surprised when he acquiesced, simply turning and striding across the room. When he got to the double doors, he paused. His head went down, as if he were bracing himself.

  "Good-bye, Grace."

  And with those two, simple words, he left.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath.

  Blindly, she began shuffling papers on the desk, pulling out sheets from files at random, making a mess. Faster and faster, she rifled through them, searching for nothing at all.

  The tears fell from her eyes onto her father's desk, leaving water spots on her memos and contracts, policies and reports.

  She was still crying silently twenty minutes later when Kat buzzed.

  "Yes?" Grace cleared her throat. "What is it?"

  "That man is still here," Kat said quietly.

  Tiny. Vic. John's partner. Another hard man with a gun. "Well, he can sit and rot for all I care."

  chapter

  24

  After talking with Tiny about the Gala, and hearing the man decide to let Grace go ahead with attending the event, Smith hopped in a cab and went to her home. On the way there, he was thinking that Tiny was probably right. The risk to her was small, especially with Marks's men there, and Tiny promised to cover her like she was the president of the United States, the Pope, and Nelson Mandela all rolled into one.

  As soon as Smith opened her front door, a compelling urge not to leave her kicked off a wave of self-doubt that had him cursing. Rushing through her home, he gathered his things while doing his damnedest to ignore the subtle smell of her perfume lingering in the air. Before he left, he took a last look at the photo of her and her father.

  Then he put his key on a side table, activated the alarm, and walked out.

  When he got to the street, he hailed a cab and asked to be taken to the hotel down on Wall Street that was so close to the Hall Building. The minute he got to his room, he picked up the phone and dialed Senator Pryne's private line. He needed to confirm locations and do a little cyber legwork and he was hoping both would distract him.

  It rang only once before he hung up.

  Sitting down on the bed, Smith put his head in his hands.

  Everything felt wrong. The hotel room. The whole idea of flying off to a different part of the world. His goddamn duffel and his metal briefcases.

  When he lifted his head, he caught himself staring back in the mirror over the dresser. Looking at his face, he saw a man who was missing his woman. A man who, quite possibly, would always feel lost without her. A man who was making a mistake.

  She was right. He did love her.

  So what the hell was he doing leaving?

  But he had to let her go, he told himself. To keep her safe.

  In a flash, he heard Grace calling him a coward.

  Or was he just keeping himself safe?

  * * *

  The next thing Grace knew, Kat's voice came over the speaker. "I'm going down. Are you ready yet? "

  Grace glanced at her watch. Hours had passed and she was close to being late for her own party.

  "I just need to get dressed. I’ll meet you in the atrium."

  She changed quickly into the gown she'd brought with her, not really caring how she looked. In the bathroom, she slipped a ring of diamonds around her neck, clipped a pair of earrings on, and touched up her makeup.

  After spraying on some Cristalle, she stepped out of her office and was surprised to see Tiny still in the waiting area. She'd forgotten the man was even there and the reminder of John brought fresh tears to her eyes.

  Tiny got to his feet like he was coming to attention and nodded, stiffly. He'd changed into a tuxedo.

  "You need to leave," she told him.

  He just shrugged. "Nowhere to go except here."

  "So get creative. This town is full of tourist attractions."

  "Sorry, Countess, I've got my orders."

  She squared herself and sent him a withering glance. "Not from me you don't and I run this place. You are not welcome here."

  "I've got a lot of experience not being welcomed places,"

  "I imagine that's true. But you still need to leave."

  Before he opened his mouth again, she went over to Kat's desk and dialed security's number. She knew she was being extreme but, with a suspect in custody, she could see no reason to torture herself by keeping the other man around.

  "I have an intruder up in my office," she said in a half-dead voice. "Please come immediately."

  When she hung up, Tiny was giving her an indulgent look. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

  "If you leave now, it won't be."

  Moments later, her head of security and three other men flew down the hall. What happened next was a blur. The Foundation's officers swarmed around Tiny only to be sent down to the floor or over against the wall, hard. John's partner was a whirling dervish of fists and legs and it was obvious he was going to win even though he was outnumbered.

  As she was watching the melee, and wondering how many of her men were going to need medical attention, Grace remembered Eddie's present. Reaching into her evening bag, she pulled out the Mace just as two men grabbed onto Tiny's shoulders. She felt conflicted about using it but then decided he'd already done enough damage to her security detail. Tiny was showing no signs of tiring and she worried that someone was going to get hurt.

  "I'm sorry to do this," she yelled over the din. All of the men briefly stopped moving and she took advantage of the opportunity, letting a stream off, right into Tiny's face.

  The man cursed and started blinking furiously as the fight resumed. Though he kept on lashing out, the security officers had the upper hand now and were finally able to subdue him.

  "We'll take him down to dispatch," her head of security said between heaving breaths. He was straddling Tiny's back while an officer put cuffs on the man. "And then we'll have him arrested."

  "That's not necessary. Just get him out of the building." Grace paused. "Will he be okay, though?"

  "I’ll be goddamn fine," Tiny said from underneath the pile of men. "As long as you call off your dogs and let me protect you!"

  The man on his back looked down in confusion.

  "Just make sure he's alright," Grace said, feeling incredibly numb. "I really got him a good one."

  "Countess," Tiny protested, lifting his head off the carpet. His eyes were watering and he'd started to retch. "Don't do this. You don't know if they've got the right man or whether they can keep that suspect in custody."

  As she looked into his red and swollen eyes, she took a deep breath and addressed the sargent. "Carmine, I'd like to have one of our officers around me at all times tonight."

  His thick eyebrows rose. "Sure. But you don't need to be af
raid of this guy. He's not getting away from us. Not with what you did to him. And Marks's men are here. We've got enough blue uniforms to make a quilt down there."

  She groaned. "Unless they're in plain clothes, tell them to leave. I don't want everyone scared that the terror alert has gone up or something. I do want someone with me at all times, though."

  The man nodded and assigned one of the others.

  As Grace went down to the party, she was perversely relieved that she was feeling so numb. Under more normal circumstances, she would have been nervous as hell about the outcome of the evening. The kind of people who went to expensive galas like the Foundation's had as much of a herd mentality as any other group of humans and they regarded a decline in prestige like a bad stock tip—as something to be avoided at all costs. The night was going to be a test of the Foundation's strength. Of people's faith in her.

  Grace emerged into the atrium and saw that everything was arranged in time for the guests who had already started to arrive. Tables had been erected in an ever widening circle around the marble entrance to the museum and, in the center of each, magnificent bouquets of white and red roses mixed with stalks of deep blue foxglove lent a dramatic air. Uniformed waiters were already passing trays and getting drinks and a string octet had begun to play.

  Before she could greet the first arrivals, Kat came up to her and they ran through some last details.

  A half hour later, the lobby of the Hall Building was positively packed. The great, glittering masses, it turned out, had rallied around the Foundation. And Grace. She was astonished by the number of people who genuinely seemed to wish her well and were offering their support as she took over her father's role. They also had a lot of good things to say about the Walker painting, the food, the change in venue.

  Even the old fogies on the board seemed eager to be in her good graces, now that the evening was proving to be a success. As they came up to her one by one and proclaimed their support, she nodded and smiled. She noted that not one of them protested Lamont's departure.

  She was thinking she should have been feeling some kind of triumph, but nothing broke through her fog. In the face of the success she'd wanted and worked so hard for, she had to fall back on her breeding with a vengeance just to get through the night and be who all the people wanted her to be Grace Woodward Hall. The beautiful daughter of Cornelius and Carolina Woodward Hall. The trendsetter and the social star, now the head of the Foundation.

  As she looked over the crowd, seeing the beautiful clothes and the jewels, the wide smiles blooming out of well-known faces, she realized she was standing in a roomful of people who all looked like her—and yet she was totally out of place.

  Even though the reaction was logical, given everything that had happened recently, the dislocation seemed somehow more permanent than the growing pains that inevitably came with big changes in life. She was starting to view her world differently and what once was familiar was beginning to seem foreign.

  Where the new direction would take her however, she had no idea.

  At the appointed time, Grace went up onstage and introduced the video montage of her father's life. As she watched, she remembered the places and the times and the circumstances of each photograph. Though she was familiar with all of them, she saw each one differently now, as if the colors had been recalibrated. When the last photograph appeared, she regarded the image of her father, sitting at his desk with a pipe between his teeth, through eyes that were strained from conflicting emotions.

  She knew that any resolution about the lies he'd lived would have to come without explanation or apology from him. She had to wonder if the remembrance of the love he'd shown her would be enough to help her find some kind of peace with it all. But she wasn't sure.

  As the picture of her father dimmed, she had to swallow a few times before she was able to speak.

  When the lights came back on, Grace looked down and saw her mother standing in the front of the crush of people, back ramrod straight, neck elegant as a swan's, black dress hanging perfectly from her dainty shoulders. The expression on her face was one of regal forbearance, although the light in her eyes was something close to warm.

  When the Walker portrait was unveiled, the crowd fell into a hushed silence. Jack and Blair came up front and a battle ensued between her friend and a media mogul whose fondness for American art was well known. As the two took good-hearted jabs at each other, the price climbed over $3 million, with Jack finally taking the painting with a bid close to $5 million.

  The crowd burst out in applause. As flashbulbs went off like firecrackers, Jack came up and embraced Grace, his austere face showing pleasure at his success.

  Sometime later the guest began to disperse and Grace's mother was among the first to leave.

  "I think it went well," Grace said, as she kissed Carolina good-bye. "Although of course, Father's parties are a high standard to meet."

  Her mother reached out and squeezed Grace's hand with surprising urgency.

  "It was just perfect, darling. You did a perfect job." Their eyes met. "Your father would have been very proud of you tonight."

  "Why, thank you, Mother." But she felt more relief than pleasure at the praise.

  "I am also very proud of you. And I told Bainbridge the same thing." Carolina leaned forward and kissed Grace's cheek. "You are going to make a fine president."

  With a parting wave, her mother turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Grace shook her head. It was hard to comprehend that, after having given up on ever hearing a supportive word from the woman, her mother had finally come through with one. At a moment when Grace actually needed it. She knew better than to think this was the start of a trend, but she appreciated the gesture.

  And then the Gala was all over.

  Grace lingered afterward, talking to the caterers for a while and watching the cleanup crew start to reclaim the atrium from the detritus of the party. She thanked the security guy who'd tailed her discreetly all night long and was about to dismiss him when she decided that being escorted home was probably a good idea.

  She asked the man to call them a car while she went up to her office to get her bag of clothes and daytime purse. As she rode up in the elevator, she felt solitude and silence push into her.

  The distraction offered by the Gala had been a relief, but, like all Band-Aids over fresh wounds, its effects were transitory. Listening to the electronic beeps as floors were passed, she couldn't help but wonder where John was and what he was doing. She pictured him on a plane, somewhere over the ocean, heading for God only knew where.

  A part of her refused to believe it was truly over. Common sense told her she'd better get with the program and embrace reality.

  Her office was dark as she entered but she found the desk easily, sidling around the conference table and various chairs. She turned on the light next to her phone.

  She was getting her purse from a drawer when a man's voice cut through the quiet.

  "What a great success it all was."

  Grace looked up to see Fredrique standing between the open doors. He shut them as he stepped into the room.

  * * *

  Smith came back from the hotel's gym in a grim mood. He'd deliberately beaten the hell out of himself, but even after miles of running and having lifted enough weights to make his shoulders scream in pain, he still hadn't gotten what he'd been looking for. He'd been shooting for the kind of dead, exhausted state he remembered from his combat days. Instead, he was still keyed up, only sore now.

  He knew he had to call Pryne's office. They were expecting to hear from him.

  He took a shower, first.

  Smith was drying off when he heard his cell phone ringing. His instincts came alive, his first thought of Grace.

  When he answered it, an unfamiliar voice said, "Mr. Smith?"

  "Yeah?"

  "It's Joey. The countess's doorman."

  Smith gripped the phone. "What is it?"

  "You, ah—y
ou told me to call you if anyone wanted to get into her apartment. Well, this guy showed up here a little while ago."

  "Tell me."

  "He's a caterer. I've seen him here before. Fredrique-something. He said the countess needed a change of clothes after the Gala and that he'd been told to pick them up and take them to the Foundation for her. I mean, I've seen him with her before. Last year, as a matter of fact. But you did say to call you."

  "Did you let him in? " Smith shot back.

  "No. He got a little steamed. I hope he doesn't screw me for this."

  Thank God.

  "You did the right thing, Joey. Is she home yet?" Smith rushed to the phone next to the bed.

  "No, she's not back."

  "Tell me what he was wearing."

  "It was a chef's outfit. Whites. He said he'd been at the Gala cooking, but they were clean, which I thought was weird."

  Smith was dialing Tiny's cell while they talked. "Tell her to call me the moment you see her. Thanks, Joey."

  "When a woman answered Tiny's cell, he had a feeling the shit had hit the fan. A minute later, Tiny finally got on the line, sounding hoarse and breathing harshly.

  "What the hell's happening?" Smith yelled.

  "Ah, shit, Boss."

  "Talk!" Smith held the phone to his ear as he started to throw on clothes and strapped his gun holster across his shoulders. "Where's Grace?"

  "I don't know. I spent the evening in the ER and this is the first time they've let me use the phone. Look, she's not alone. I think she's got one of the local yokels with her and I know Marks and his boys are around. She's fine."

  "The hell she is! They've got the wrong man." Smith slammed the phone down and re-dialed the number on his cell phone while he left his room. He was pounding down the hall to the stairs when Tiny answered again. "How the hell did you end up in the hospital?"

  "She maced me."

  Smith looked at the phone as if it had malfunctioned. "She what?"

  "And I had a reaction to the shit."

  "Christ. Take care of yourself."

  "I'm sorry about this, Boss."