The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  Grayce stared at Davis’ picture. Her chest tightened, deep pain pressing on her chest for the sweet little boy who had suffered. “It must have been terrible for all of them.”

  “My brother tried to do the best he could, but he was grieving, too.”

  Grayce couldn’t imagine Aunt Aideen’s burden of helping the children and her brother adjust to the devastating loss.

  “Davis inherited my brother’s sense of responsibility and the tendency to be a bit controlling, especially when their feelings threaten them. I had years of practice loosening up my two older brothers, so it wasn’t too hard to get the household to lighten up.”

  Grayce could only nod. The ache sat in her throat, not moving.

  “I’ve had this joke going for years about my Scottish cooking. Ewan warned you, didn’t he? I hate to give up my secret, but I’ll swear Ewan to secrecy from his sisters.”

  Aunt Aideen took a big gulp of the champagne. “Just imagine arriving and finding a well-organized but cold household. I’m not criticizing my brother. But he went right back to work, shutting out all his feelings. I had planned to stay for a few months but ended up living with them for twelve years.” She sighed, her eyes gazing at the picture of the children.

  “You did an amazing job.”

  “They carry a few scars, but I tried my best to help them.’

  She leaned toward Grayce. “You’re a lot like Davis’ mother. She had the same gentleness about her. You’re good for him. I already see it. He seems younger, ready to laugh.”

  Grayce felt the heat moving into her cheeks. “We’ve just met…”

  Both women heard the back door open and Mitzi’s clicking toenails on the tiled floor.

  “Where are the chefs? I’m starving,” Davis yelled from the kitchen.

  “Ewan, we’re just having a little champagne.”

  Davis and Mitzi came into the living room. “I left for a few minutes, and you two have already given up the cooking?”

  “There is Auchentoshan on the sideboard, ‘a good Scottish Whiskey; everything else is dish water’—as your dad liked to say.” Aunt Aideen looked out the window lost in a happy memory.

  “I’m happy to drink champagne, but I’m a bit hungry,” Davis said.

  Aunt Aideen jumped out of her chair. “Grayce bring your champagne. Ewan bring the bottle. Everything is ready.”

  Davis walked to the couch to help Grayce. “Did my aunt ask you a lot of questions?”

  “She didn’t ask any. She told me about your mom.”

  His hand was warm, although he had been out in the cold, wet evening. He saw the picture she held in her hand, but he didn’t mention it.

  Grayce didn’t release his hand when he pulled her up. She held it tight, sending her own warmth.

  Aunt Aideen stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. “The cod’s head is ready. We’re having a feast. Sheep’s head too. Please sit down.”

  Grayce tried to suppress the shudder that rippled through her body at the idea of eating a sheep’s head. Aunt Aideen was kidding, wasn’t she? Did the Scots only eat heads of animals?”

  Aunt Aideen walked into the dining room with the fragrant lasagna. “How do you like the sheep’s head that Marcello prepared?”

  Davis laughed aloud, his mouth open wide, his body shaking. “Aunt Aideen, you did that to torture me. Didn’t you? I have a mind to pick you up and put you over my knee.”

  Aunt Aideen started the same laugh, the same loud sound with her mouth spread wide. “Grayce, I used to threaten to put the children over my knee. Well, my lad, I suppose if you’re strong enough to toss the caber then you’re strong enough to toss me.”

  * * *

  Davis insisted that he clear the dishes after dinner.

  Grayce, Aunt Aideen and Mitzi remained seated in the dining room, lingering over their tea and blackberry pie.

  “I know the children warned you about the Scottish cooking but what about my palm reading and Tarot card readings?” Aunt Aideen asked.

  Still struggling with the idea of his aunt referring to Davis as a child, Grayce wasn’t quick enough to hide her reaction to the question.

  “Oh, I can see it in your eyes.” Aunt Aideen gave another loud chortle, her endless joy exploding and expanding into the atmosphere.

  Davis had warned Grayce about his aunt’s beliefs. He’d been very clear about his feelings concerning intuition and psychic phenomenon. He couldn’t believe anyone as intelligent as his aunt could believe in such crap.

  Grayce had hoped to avoid the whole conversation about other worldly gifts.

  “I should live up to my reputation and read your palm tonight, but I’m a bit fagged from the jet lag. Make sure when you meet Ewan’s sisters, you tell them I’m going to read your palm and cards.” There it was again, the loud chortle. Then she whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t tell the girls this, but I don’t need to read your palm to know how special you are. It’ll be our little secret.”

  Aunt Aideen stood when Davis came back into the dining room. “I’m sure you both have lots to do tonight.” The Davis family eyes danced with mischief. Aunt Aideen thought she knew exactly how they were going to spend their evening. What was she thinking? This was only their second date.

  Grayce picked up the last plates and headed to the kitchen.

  Mitzi woke from her deep slumber and trotted behind Grayce into the kitchen. The dog rolled over and played dead for the crust of Grayce’s pie.

  “I always knew she was an amazing actress, but I had no idea she knew that trick,” Grayce said.

  “My grandkids taught it to her. Mitzi is an amazing dog. Best thing Daphne ever did.”

  Aunt Aideen’s mention of Davis’ old girlfriend and Mitzi’s previous owner seemed to be a signal between Davis and his aunt.

  Davis picked his Aunt Aideen up and squeezed her. In the Davis family, it seemed demonstrations of brute strength were part of their communication. “Okay, okay. You’re right as always,” was all she could hear Davis whisper to his aunt.

  Aunt Aideen was giggling when Davis put her down. “That boy just doesn’t know his strength.”

  Aunt Aideen hugged Grayce tight. “Welcome to the Davis family.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rule Number Four: Trust your gut.

  Davis’ gut was dancing, boogying and doing the cha-cha after his conversation with Zac at the Seattle Division FBI Headquarters on Third Avenue. A major heroin route went through Alaska. Afghanistan’s one hundred billion dollar heroin business was exported to Russia, then dispersed throughout the world and Alaska was one of the conduits.

  His hypothesis that heroin was packed in crab cases and delivered straight to Fisherman’s Terminal didn’t seem so improbable. All he needed was proof. There lay the challenge and the struggle of fire investigation. The proof was under fallen lumber, buried in ashes. He needed a crane to get under the fallen roof. He was willing to beg Maclean if it meant he would uncover evidence of drug smuggling.

  Once he had definite proof that this was a drug smuggling case, he’d call the Feds. Then everyone would be involved—Coast Guard, DEA, ICE, FBI and he would lose total control of the case. At this point, all he had were disjointed clues. He liked to solve his own problems, especially when one of his problems might be a retired firefighter.

  Steeling himself against his truculent boss’ inevitable harassment, Davis knocked on the assistant chief’s door. “Do you have a minute?” He took in the gold-framed pictures of Maclean’s wife and two children, filling a third of the polished desk; honorable commendations covered the wall behind.

  “Does it look like it?” Maclean gestured at the neat stacks of paper in front of him.

  He ignored the antagonism in Maclean’s question. He needed to play nice if he wanted to get the crane. “What’s the status on my crane?”

  “What crane?” Just like Maclean to pretend he didn’t remember.

  “I spoke with you at the fireground. I nee
d a crane.”

  “You’re kidding? No way. Do you have any idea how much a crane costs?”

  “This fire was torched by a pro.”

  Maclean laughed harshly. “Someone paid for one shed to be burned?”

  “They knew what they were doing. Brake fluid and chlorine.”

  Maclean stood from behind his desk. Even working alone, in his own office, the assistant chief always wore his uniform jacket, displaying his rank. “You found evidence of the brake fluid and chlorine?”

  “I found the brake fluid bottle but haven’t gotten any results yet from the lab.”

  “You need my job for a while. Then you wouldn’t have time to spin fantasies about a shed and spend the department’s money.”

  Maclean walked around his desk. Davis stepped forward. He wouldn’t let Maclean try to intimidate him.

  “I want to dig under the fallen roof.”

  Maclean scowled. “I’m not going to spend department money on a fire that will never be determined.”

  “Someone with skill and experience burned down that shed.” He withheld the mention of drug trafficking, since he knew Maclean would love nothing more than to take this case from him and hand it over to the Feds.

  Maclean locked his eyes on him. “Any idiot could’ve burned a wooden structure.”

  “Nah, the wood planks were thick—logs, in fact. It would take a hot explosion to start that fire. And someone knew how to do it, someone with experience. There can be only one type of person who has that kind of skill.”

  “Come on, any dumb shit can read how to do it on the internet.”

  “Nah, this was too good. I’m thinking it has to be one of us.”

  He waited, expecting an eruption from Maclean. When nothing showed on Maclean’s face, he continued. “And you know who came to mind?”

  “We’ve already gone over the list. There’s no one worth considering.”

  “One stands out and I plan to find him.”

  “Who?”

  “Benson.”

  “Benson?” Maclean scoffed.

  “Benson was a damn good firefighter and I can’t find him. Personnel doesn’t have any information about him moving to Las Vegas. They gave me a local number that’s disconnected and an address for a motel on Aurora Avenue.”

  Maclean leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms.

  “You said he moved to Las Vegas. How did you know that?” Davis asked.

  Maclean shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Office gossip.”

  “Wasn’t Benson married? I thought I’d call his wife.”

  Maclean straightened. “I don’t need you spending your time trying to embarrass this department. The chief is still taking flack in the press about that disgruntled woman who didn’t make the cut.” Maclean’s mouth twisted as he spat the word woman. “Just what he doesn’t need right now is an ex-firefighter lighting fires on the terminal. Can you see the media circus? You weren’t around when the Blackstock Lumber or the Mary Pang fires went down. Back off.”

  Davis recognized the stubborn set of Maclean’s jaw. “How about my crane?”

  “You never give up, Davis, do you?”

  Maclean walked behind his desk and sat down. “Is the paper work in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, you can have your damn crane, but give up on Benson. You got that?”

  Davis walked down the hallway, trying to sort out the meeting. Maclean hadn’t meant that he shouldn’t pursue his investigation even if it included exposing Benson. Nah, Maclean was just trying to cover the chief’s ass.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Grayce made a wide U-turn and pulled the Subaru in front of her office. At yesterday’s visit in Los Angeles, she had declined Elizabeth Marley’s offer to foot the bill for a stay at Malibu’s Villa Constanza Hotel “or in the guest room here… It would be no imposition.” Poor Elizabeth—so starved for human interaction. But Grayce had been firm—she had to be on the 4pm flight to Seattle, she had plans—even though she couldn’t tell Elizabeth what those plans were. So now, instead of relaxing in style in a five star hotel, or playing gin rummy with one of America’s shiniest celebrities, she was in pursuit of clues to convince Davis he was in danger—a target for a hired killer.

  She spotted her assistant, looking out of place in front of the slick development that had sprouted up next to her funky warehouse/office. Hollie was dressed in her World of Warfare guild T-shirt, wrist bands, torn blue jeans and jacket. Her hair hung around her face, shading her eyes.

  “There’s Hollie.”

  James jumped out of the car and opened the back door. With his forest green fedora, black wrap arounds and black suit, he looked like The Green Hornet. “Good Evening, I’m James, your escort for this evening of adventure and mayhem. Do you prefer the front or back position?”

  Grayce leaned across the front seat. “James, stop.”

  He tittered. “I didn’t mean anything. It slipped out.”

  James hadn’t even met Hollie and he had already started his salacious banter. If James had his way, Grayce was convinced he’d turn the night into a farce.

  Hollie stood on the sidewalk, arms at her side, motionless.

  “Come on guys. Let’s go.” Grayce tried for her enthusiastic voice.

  Apparently she’d hit the right note of animated optimism, because Hollie brushed past James and climbed into the back seat. James swooped low in a grand bow. “And good evening to you, too.”

  Settled in the front seat, James twisted to talk with Hollie. “You really dressed the part. Where did you find those atrocious clothes?”

  Grayce gripped the steering wheel, unable to think of anything to say to alleviate the awkward moment.

  “Hollie, this is my good friend James Dewitt and I’m thinking of dropping him off at the next corner, if he doesn’t mind his manners.” She tried to sound teasing but heard brittleness in her voice.

  “Grayce, I meant it as a compliment to Hollie. Honestly, I thought we were all trying to look…Okay, never mind. Let me apologize. I think you look fabulously homeless.”

  Grayce looked in her rearview mirror to gauge Hollie’s reaction. The young woman’s face was hidden in the shadows.

  “I included James because I felt we would be less conspicuous, you know…not stand out…if there were more of us.”

  “I love it. James Dewitt, making two women look normal. Let’s face it girls, you need a man on this mission.”

  The only response from the back seat was the sound of cracking knuckles. Not a good sign.

  “Do I understand you ladies don’t believe I can be called upon to do the manly thing? Just because I’m wearing my Louis Vuitton shoes doesn’t mean I can’t protect you. I refuse to wear tennis shoes. My God, who deemed tennis shoes a fashion statement?”

  Of course, James would see this evening’s attempt to get information about the person who tried to stab Davis as a fashion challenge.

  “Hollie, he’s kidding.”

  “Who’s kidding? Hollie dear, you didn’t get those piercings just for tonight?”

  “James. Please.” She used the same voice as her mother. The night was deteriorating.

  “Okay, okay. Hollie, is Grayce always this grim?”

  No answer from the back seat.

  “Ladies, you know what your problem is? You both lack a sense of joie de vivre. You don’t need me along for my karate training. You need me for entertainment. The idea of me standing in for Ewan Davis, the hulk, is amusing enough.”

  Grayce needed to get control of the evening, but James, in his usual style, was turning this into a social event, as if they were all headed to a club. She used her rearview mirror to talk with Hollie. “It’s true. James has a black belt.”

  A snort of derision came from the back seat.

  “Right now, my only black belt is Armani.”

  Grayce heard Hollie’s snort change into a loud laugh.

  “Underneath this perfectly coiffed stud is a fight
ing machine.”

  Hollie snickered. Her snorts became mixed with laughter.

  James continued. “The woman is skeptical.”

  Another answering snort from the back seat.

  “I’m endowed with great kokoro.”

  Grayce laughed aloud right along with Hollie. The tightness in her neck and shoulders began to loosen for the first time since she had decided on this attempt to help Davis.

  “The ladies are contemplating my kokoro…I like where your minds are going but you’re wrong. In karate, kokoro is attitude, your dedication and perseverance. I did achieve a black belt in karate, but it was a long time ago. My father realized I wasn’t going to excel in the manly sports, you know, football, baseball. He decided on martial arts. It appealed to his sense of humor to have me trained as a finely-honed, aggression machine, when he knew I’d prefer reading fashion magazines.”

  Grayce tried to stay focused on her driving. The traffic was backing up on Elliot Way.

  “Also, I was slow in growing, slow in a lot of things, but I’ve made up for it.”

  Grayce checked her rearview mirror again. Hollie was leaning against the far side of the car staring out the window.

  Grayce reached over and squeezed James’ hand. “I’m not anticipating that you’ll need your karate skill tonight. The plan is only to talk.”

  James coughed dramatically.

  “I know, I know. You think tonight is going to be useless. That it’s totally illogical that we’re investigating on the behalf of an investigator.” She didn’t expect them to understand why she had to protect Davis.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t need to say anything. Your cough said it all. Thank you for coming, anyway.” She felt incredible gratitude for the two people who hadn’t questioned her plan and who willingly accompanied her.

  James, always sensitive to her moods, filled in the silence. “Next time we go on a mission, I need more time to plan our clothes. I’ve almost given up on Grayce with North Face as her designer. But Hollie, with your dark eyes and hair, I could do so much. You’re a knockout.”