The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  She’d written him back. He’d sent the email to his birth mother like a message sent out into space, a wide unknown, hoping she’d respond. And she had. She’d emailed him. Goosebumps prickled along his skin in a cold wave. This proved she cared more about him than that thing with Dad.

  He didn’t know what’d happened between them. Dad shut him down whenever he brought up his birth mom. When he was younger that’d been okay. He had a mom. Ellen. But it wasn’t okay anymore. So Tyler had taken it on himself to find her. He’d done research, but had come up empty. Until he’d hired a private detective. Now he knew his biological mother was Gracie Parish.

  Getting her email from Club When?’s website had been easy. And now she’d written back.

  Tyler turned off his headset so he wouldn’t hear the other players cursing at him, and opened the email. He pulled his headset down so it rested on his neck, and read.

  Dear Tyler,

  Thank you for contacting me. I bet you have lots of questions. I want to answer them. But these aren’t answers I can put in an email. Can we talk?

  PS. This message will self-destruct after you’re done reading it. Remember the number.

  Was that a joke? He memorized the number, picked up his cell. The message disappeared. What the heck? He quickly put the number into his phone before he forgot it. He checked his email for the message. It was gone. No sign that it had ever been there.

  Huh. That was weird. His mom had computer skills. And owned a bar. Cool. His hands shook as he pressed the call button. She picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  His heart sank. Her voice sounded young, and she had a Spanish accent. Not his mother. He remembered enough of her to know her voice, her hair, her eyes. “Who is this?”

  “Cee. I’m your mother’s sister. Adopted sister.”

  Cee. He’d read about her. After he’d discovered who his mother was, he’d researched her family. Cee was the newest sister. “Why didn’t my mom call me?”

  “She doesn’t want to put you in danger. I have less scrutiny on me. We must be careful in our work.”

  Her work? “You mean as a club owner?”

  She paused. “You know of our family, our extended family?”

  Our. She was including him in that. It felt surreal. It felt great. Like an adventure was starting. He loved his family. His real family. But it was so cool to be related to the Parish family, with their world-famous boarding school, private jets, private airport, and rockin’ parties. He swallowed the sawdust in his throat. “They’re wealthy. Powerful. Sort of celebrities. So my mom didn’t call ’cause she’s afraid of the paparazzi or whatever?”

  Another pause, longer. “There’s more to this. But to show…uh, what we do, who we are, you must do a few things.”

  Anger flashed through Tyler’s body. “I wasn’t the one who abandoned her kid. If she doesn’t want to know me, then fuck her.”

  He clutched his phone, thought of hanging up. Didn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Cee said, and she sounded sincere. “This is not what you could have expected, but if you do this, you will live a life unlike what you could imagine.”

  Tyler’s hands were still tense. His anger still red hot. “Just spit it out. I’m done with this shit.”

  If she had delayed one second, he would’ve hung up. She didn’t. “Tomorrow you go to the nearest corner. The vendor there—”

  “You mean the guy with water ice?”

  “Yes. He will hold a small envelope for you.”

  This was bullshit. And weird. But it didn’t seem dangerous. Just mysterious. “Okay. What then?”

  “Inside the package will be a fake ID.”

  Yes! “So I can get into Club When?”

  “No. Will only make you eighteen.”

  Oh. That sucked.

  “And you must never, EVER, come to the club. Too dangerous. Promise. Right now. Promise.”

  “Okay. I promise. Then what?”

  “Once you have the ID, set up a private mailbox. Not a P.O. box. After, I’ll mail you a laptop with Tor on it. Do you know what that is?”

  He wasn’t a total idiot. “The Onion Router. It’s for surfing anonymously and for getting on the darknet.”

  “Yes. For dark web or darknet. Take this laptop, go to a coffee shop. Not too close to your house. At least ten miles.”

  “That far?”

  “Yes. Once there, boot up. Instructions will appear on the screen. And that’s where you will find answers. Promise. It will be worth it. Gracie, your mom, is one of the coolest people, and what we do, the family, is what you see in video games, but in real life. Okay?”

  He wasn’t sure but couldn’t think of any reason not to give it a try. It wasn’t his laptop. And it wasn’t like he was being lured to a remote location. Or like he was a ten-year-old girl. “How do I get in contact with you to let you know when I have the private mailbox?”

  She laughed, and before hanging up, said, “We’ll know.”

  Chapter 14

  Notwithstanding the strobing Fourth of July light show, the inside of Club When? was kind of a throwback. Dusty had noticed this the first time he’d come here. It had a ’50s feel. Lots of shiny wood molding with gold stripes and strip lights. Behind the bar, a wall of mirrors reflected shelves of every conceivable craft beer in long, short, and goofy bottles.

  The music, photos, decorations, even the drink names—names like I Ain’t Heard No Fat Lady Sing—all underscored the Independence Day theme.

  The club was packed. Not an empty seat at the bar. Or an empty space around it. People pushed in hard.

  The chatty bouncer working the door had told Dusty two bartenders had quit. Now that was a sin. Especially since, coincidentally, a bridesmaid party and a bachelor party had shown up. They were now competing to see who could better hold their liquor. The bouncer had been taking bets.

  Dusty had put a tenner on the ladies.

  Behind the bar, little Miss Gracie Parish was overrun, making multiple drinks simultaneously, while she nodded to acknowledge people and instruct servers.

  Only one other person was behind the bar. A brunette with tattoos, in the server’s white shirt and black pants. He pulled beers and gave shots, but Dusty didn’t see him making any mixed drinks.

  Never say he wasn’t a man to help a friend in distress. Even if he had orchestrated that distress.

  He navigated his way through the crowd with care. Being as big as he was, he was well aware of his ability to intimidate without trying, so he tapped shoulders, nodded politely, and made his way behind the bar as graciously as he could.

  Upon seeing him, Gracie jerked her head in surprise then smiled. Hadn’t expected that. Kind of warmed his heart.

  He put up a single digit, a give me a second before you kick me out. He leaned closer. She was a good foot shorter. “Stopped by to check on you and have that drink.” He gazed around. “Looks like you’re slammed. Okay if I help? Worked as a bartender in college.”

  Gracie’s face walked the line between yes please and stay the hell away, then tipped over to acceptance. “I could use the help.”

  She sent the obviously relieved server back into the club, opened a couple of beers and handed them to a guy across the bar. She took his cash and smiled when he told her to keep the change.

  When she turned back to Dusty, her eyes ran down him like it was involuntary. That kind of warmed him too. Warm enough to start a fire.

  She pointed to a notepad. “There are two parties that have a tab, try to handle those. You can just write the drinks down. We have the credit cards, so we can tally them later.”

  She began making a mixed drink, efficient and calm and sexy as anything he’d ever seen. “Cash is king for you. Drink prices are there.” She pointed to a laminated document held together at a punch-holed corner with a
silver hoop. She winged a slice of lemon around the drink she’d made and handed it to a woman, who handed Gracie a credit card. Running the card, she gave Dusty a quick overview of the cash register.

  Basically, he had to push three buttons. He could handle that and the math. “What about credit/debit cards?”

  She pulled out the receipt that had just spit from the credit card machine. “I’ll handle all people with cards.”

  “Got it, boss lady.”

  She smiled, and as she walked away, tossed back, “Thanks. Really.”

  Lady had a great ass. “Happy to help.”

  The beat of music pulsed under his feet as Dusty turned and did what he hadn’t done since college—tend bar. He went over to a woman he’d seen trying to get Gracie’s attention. “Cash, credit, or other?”

  “Other. Stevenson. We’ve got a tab running.”

  He found the name in the book. Bachelorette party. “Got it. What’ll you have?”

  The woman smiled in gratitude, or maybe warning, and gave him a drink order that must’ve been for ten people.

  The order was mostly craft beers, so not that hard to line up. As he made one of the mixed drinks, he asked, “Who’s winning? I got money on you guys.”

  She laughed the laugh of the cynical sober. “As the designated driver, I can tell you it’s close. My team switched to beer. They’re at the point where they think that’s strategic.”

  He laughed. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  She shook her head. “I think those guys ingested fourteen pounds of nachos, so they’ve got a cushion.”

  Sounded like he was going to lose ten bucks. Dusty spotted a bag of pretzels and placed them on the tray next to the beers. The woman, a dark-haired Filipino with a thousand-watt smile, lifted the tray and said, “You must really hate to lose.”

  He winked at her. “I just prefer an even playing field.”

  She maneuvered herself from the bar with the caution of a sober person in a sea of drunks.

  Quick to learn where everything was, Dusty hit his stride. It wasn’t hard to find people with cash or on account, so he didn’t hurt for business. For the next few hours, he and Gracie worked, brushing hotly against each other as they buzzed here and there.

  But, much to his disappointment, not standing in one place long enough to talk or explore that heat. The crowd kept them hopping. A few people got handsy with him and her, trying to get attention. Nothing they couldn’t handle, until the big guy.

  Dusty watched him. Impatient as hell, using his size to insert himself at the bar as if the crowd were an insult. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud to get Gracie’s attention. She turned.

  If it had been him, Dusty would’ve ignored the guy. But he saw Gracie’s eyes evaluate the guy and the situation. A smile on her face, she went right over. They exchanged a few words. She tapped the bar as if asking for his patience and began to turn.

  Guy’s big hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Gracie looked at where he held her, said something, smiled like it was the only warning she’d give.

  The guy’s knuckles whitened on her wrist. A few people at the bar were paying attention now. Someone had taken out a cell. Gracie Parish on camera. Which meant she wasn’t likely to pull any self-defense. She surely wouldn’t want that all over the internet.

  Dusty would’ve moved to help, but he was sure the lady didn’t need it and wouldn’t appreciate him butting in. Plus he wanted to see what she’d do.

  Still smiling at the guy, she reached under the bar, pulled out a nozzle for the fountain drinks, and blasted the guy, not in the face, but directly up his nose.

  Shock and the sting of it had him reeling back. The people lining the bar sprang away. Gracie backed up too but kept hold of the nozzle.

  That second was all that was needed for one of the bouncers to move in for the kill. He wrestled the dude, got him under control, grabbed him by the neck. Forcing the guy’s head down, he marched the soaked idiot out.

  By the time the bouncer reached the front door, Gracie was already getting bar towels and handing them to customers, apologizing for the mess and offering free drinks.

  Maybe feeling his gaze, she looked over at him. He’d thought he’d see condemnation, like why hadn’t he hotfooted it over there and given her a hand, but she smiled. She smiled and mouthed, “That was fun.”

  Lady was going to break his heart.

  As things slowed—the two big parties headed off for greener pastures and he was ten bucks lighter—they were able to catch their breaths. Even stood side-by-side and made drinks.

  He looked down at her. She looked up and stopped dead with a bottle of rum in her hand. Did he imagine it, or was there a slight change in her face, not just the red that crept up and made her look so sweet, but another softening?

  She moved off.

  An hour later, the club was closed. The servers had left, and he helped clean up behind the bar. “’Cept for that incident, I had a great time tonight,” he said.

  She stopped stacking glasses on the shelf under the bar and graced him with a full smile. “It happens. But you did great. I’m impressed with the way you can make drinks and conversation simultaneously. You have what my biological mother called the social virus.”

  He laughed. “That’s funny. But just so we’re clear, I’m clean as a whistle.”

  Her face heated. She ducked her head, looked away.

  This was becoming his favorite game, making her blush. He returned to wiping the bar, but even with his back to her, he was hyperaware of where she was, when she moved.

  All night, the atmosphere in the club had been buzzing in him, through him. He’d assumed it was the crowd, the music, the action. It wasn’t. It was her.

  Pretty obvious now when he could feel her behind him, smell her, almost hear her intent as she brushed past him and began to wipe the bar area right next to him.

  His body heated to tense awareness as her legs pressed closer. This was more than a softening. This was a probe of the heat between them.

  He’d take that bait. “Gracie.”

  She stopped with the bar rag and smiled up at him, a genuine smile. The zing between them caused his blood to surge, hot and eager. She felt it. He saw it in her eyes and the way her mouth parted the slightest bit.

  She stood on her tiptoes, fisted his shirt. “Don’t talk.” She pulled him down and kissed him, long and slow and wet. He put his hands under her ass, pressed her body against his.

  Need hummed and throbbed along his skin. They were breathing heavily in no time, moaning against each other, and he was sure it could end only one way.

  Then she stopped. She stepped back, stared at him. Her eyes were hungry. Her face flushed with want.

  Her gaze rolled across him. “Thanks for helping tonight. I can handle the close.”

  A thank-you wasn’t what he wanted. Needed. “You know, you keep doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Kissing me into madness and sending me away.”

  “That’s because you are you.” She waved as if that statement made total sense. “And I can’t stop myself”—her voice lowered—“until I remember you’re spying on my family.”

  This woman was one awkward honesty bomb after another. “You don’t know that.”

  “I know you can’t admit it.”

  Had him there. He wiped his hands on a bar rag. “I’ll be by for that drink sometime.”

  As he moved past, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Her face warmed. “You’re a really good kisser.”

  Lord help him, but he wasn’t the only one not going to sleep tonight. He lowered his head, close enough he could whisper hot sighs in her ear. “It’s not just kissing that I’m good at.”

  He heard her breath catch.

  Oh man. The red creeping up her face. His heart jumped
and bucked like a bull released from a chute. As bulls went, he came equipped with only one horn, but it was hard and determined and rarin’ to charge at her.

  Aw, hell. This might’ve been a mistake.

  Chapter 15

  Inside her pristine upper level office, Gracie yawned and punched another key on the computer keyboard. She hadn’t slept well last night. Having someone who wanted to kill her had turned every noise in her apartment into a threat. And since she’d been awake anyway, her mind had turned to Dusty.

  He was a really good kisser.

  It’s not just kissing that I’m good at.

  Ugh. The man was wheedling his way past her defenses. And it was somehow working. Thanks, hormones. This was getting messy. She hated messy. Attested to by her upstairs office—orderly white walls, white desk, rounded white grandfather clock, and white leather chairs. Neat and clean.

  Everything here was where it should be, and it made her feel better. It reminded her she had control. Things were bad, scary, but she’d set up new security protocols, added panic buttons behind the bar, and had planned a refresher course in threat response for her employees. It was a bar, so they’d take the changes seriously but wouldn’t find them suspicious.

  She looked at the time on her cell. Almost eleven a.m. Victor said he’d call at eleven. She needed him to call. Still in sweats, she had to dress and head downstairs to handle lunch. But doing that seemed ridiculous when her list of would-be killers was downright unnerving.

  Well, actually, it was the two names left on that list that unnerved her—John and El. Because how could she defend herself from them, take them down, and not hurt Tyler? She couldn’t. So, what, let herself be a sitting duck?

  Her cell rang. Her heart picked up its pace and every nerve in her body rushed forward at the same time. She fumbled with the phone. “What do you have on them?”

  Victor answered her anxious tone with, “They seem like a stable couple. Well respected. But there was an unusual transfer of money, ten thousand dollars. I tracked it. It went into an offshore account.”

  Gracie froze. Her face. Her heart. Her muscles. Her breath. Her vision dimmed to the point where she had to remind herself to breathe. “When?”