Her heartbeat which usually normalized quickly after exercise, kept up its frightened Muppet-arms in space pace. She needed to be fast.
As fast and deadly as her training, she burst out, rushed forward. He turned. Not fast enough. Her fist snapped against his side and carried the full weight of her body.
He cried out, lost his weapon, grabbed at his side. She kicked his kneecap, sent him to the ground. Securing his wrists behind his back with a zip tie, she picked up his gun and searched him. No cell phone. No wallet. So not a total idiot.
Pocketing his weapon, keeping her own out, she moved around to his front.
He lifted his head. “This is not legal.”
No kidding. She got him to his feet and began to march him deeper into the woods. Never can tell when family might show up. “What’s your name?”
“Wilkes. James Wilkes.”
“You are on private property, Mr. Wilkes. There are no trespassing signs all over.”
“So call the police.”
He tried to turn; she put her gun into his side. “Call and tell them what? That I stood my ground? You came on private property and shot at me, after all.”
“Call them,” he insisted. Panic worried his voice into a higher octave.
He should be worried. A woman who feared for her safety, the safety of her family, of her child had a gun to his side on private property in the middle of rural-as-an-outhouse USA.
Once she’d marched him far enough into the woods, she slammed her fist into his kidney. Wilkes buckled like origami. On the ground, he curled onto his side.
His face was beet red and tears leaked from his eyes. He rotated his face against the earth. He sucked in a breath, drawing in a bit of leaf and dirt. He coughed it out, wiped his lips on his shoulder.
She squatted beside him. “Why are you here, Wilkes?”
“Porter Rush,” he wheezed, “wanted information on you.”
Gracie nearly bit her tongue in half in the aftermath of her shock. Sure, this wasn’t Austin Powers, and she didn’t need to ask him three times, but who gives up the ghost on the first question?
Which meant he could be lying. But for who? Gracie grabbed the guy’s shoes, dragged them around, forced him to sit up. He cried out, gasping for breath.
She put her hand on his bent knee. “Why you?”
Sagging over his knees, he whispered in a voice minted with mud, “I work for him, for the campaign.”
“Rush’s campaign?”
“Yeah. I do deliveries and stuff.”
“Volunteer or paid?”
“Volunteer. I’m on disability. It’s something to do.”
Disability? Crud. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Bone cancer. Could you take your hand off my knee?”
Gracie pulled back her hand like it had been lit on fire. Cancer. The way he walked… It’d been pain. She winced, remembering how much pain her mother had been in before cancer took her life. “Why did you agree to this? Why not let him pay someone? He’s got the money, you know.”
“You can’t trust no one in this business. They’re all out to get you. Porter knew he could trust me. I owe the senator my life. What’s left of it.”
She was sure there was a longer story there, and she was interested in any good her father did, but she couldn’t be distracted by those things. “So you took it on yourself to kill me?”
“I didn’t… You startled me. I… just reacted.”
Maybe. Or maybe he was lying. “What did he ask you to find out about me?”
“If you visited anyone. You know, like a boyfriend or maybe someone you cared about seriously.”
That was a very bad thing for Porter to want to know. A thing that meant he was thinking about going after those she loved, not just her. “What did you discover?”
The guy’s face was only splotchy now. His tears dried. The dirt on his face mostly drifted off with his movement. But he still held his shoulders hunched and looked like he’d been defeated. Gracie had to harden her heart. Not think of this man trying to do something he thought was good, trying to live his life despite the pain and…
“I know you have a kid.”
Her heart froze solid. “Did you tell Porter this?”
He looked away, as if he didn’t want to answer, but shook his head. “Not yet.”
She was going to have to make sure he never did. “How’d you find out?”
“I’ve been following you and the girl.”
Gracie let out a breath that vibrated with relief. This man had no idea how close he’d come, how close she’d come to having to… “I don’t have a kid. That was my sister.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
“You suck at this.”
“I know.”
She went around behind him, sliced off the zip tie with her pocket knife. “I’m going to let you get back in your car and go. You tell Porter that we need to talk. I’m not a threat to him or his father’s campaign.” Unless, they threaten me. “Let him know that. And don’t follow me again.”
She came around to his front, helped him to his feet, caught and held his eyes with her own. “Understand?”
“Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”
Stepping back, she indicated which way was out and watched him limp out of the woods. Porter would never call her. But at least she knew a few things. He knew about her. He knew she was his sister. He wanted to find out more about her, about who she loved. That meant he was planning something. Threatening her?
But why send a guy who was not only incapable but sick? That made no sense. If he’d already hired a sniper to kill her, why send this random guy after her? So risky.
Unless… He could’ve wanted her to know that someone was following her. Distract her while he came at her from a different direction, plotted against her elsewhere.
That was really paranoid.
So why did it seem like she was on the right track? Feel that way in her gut? No one ever talked about how a political figure’s affair might affect his family. And Porter, who had so much to lose… Poop.
The truth was, if she wanted to end this nightmare, go back to trying to find a way into Tyler’s life and make herself respectable enough to deserve that opportunity, she was going to have to fight for it.
Chapter 28
Early afternoon sun and the July heat wave screamed against the hood of Dusty’s Dodge and front windshield. He wiped sweat from his face, deciding whether to turn the car back on.
He was already at his destination, the partially full parking lot of Club When? And would’ve gone in, but his cell was ringing. Mack.
Too damn hot. Turning the engine over, he picked up the phone. “Secret Agent Man,” Dusty said, “got something for you.”
“Good to hear it. But first, something personal. Your dad’s in a hospital in California.”
Dusty’s hand flexed around the phone as the air in the car started to cool. “That fucker. He let my mom die.” He’d nearly let Dusty die too. Not to mention torturing all the other followers of his crazy ministry with his let God heal ’em policy. “Getting treatment?”
“Yep.”
This was it. This would do it. His ministry would shut down. “Tell me his followers have wised up.”
“Some. Not all. He told them he had a vision. God told him the exact man who would heal him, gave him his name and everything, so it’s like God’s healing him. Crafty SOB.”
Same boat, different river. “Thanks for the update, but from now on, I don’t want to hear unless he kicks it.”
“Understood. What you got for me?”
Dusty pushed his sunglasses up on his head as he watched a group of people get out of a car and walk around the side of Gracie’s club, headed to the front door. “I think Gracie Parish’s biological father is Senator Rush from Pe
nnsylvania and the front-runner to become the next president of the United States. And I think he’s being blackmailed by Mukta Parish.”
Mack was silent for a long moment. “Keep going.”
Dusty quickly explained to him what he suspected about the connection between Gracie, Sheila, Mukta, and Rush.
“Did you send me any of this?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Don’t? “Okay.”
“How sure are you about this blackmail thing? What is Mukta Parish getting from Senator Rush? She obviously doesn’t need the money.”
No. She didn’t need the money. “It’s only preliminary. But recently, Rush pulled a bill he’d sponsored that would’ve raised the bar on women proving workplace discrimination. Came out of nowhere. It’s the kind of bill Mukta Parish would’ve openly disdained.”
“That’s a bit mild. Almost influence peddling.”
“Not so mild. Some of the senator’s key decisions have resulted in benefit for her companies and power for her family.”
“Like?”
“He supported one of Mukta’s daughters, helped get her a judgeship for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.”
Mack whistled. “Okay. You’ve got me interested. If you’re right, we could take out Mukta. And expose these crazy bitches.”
“Hey. Dial it back.” And don’t call Gracie a bitch unless you want my fist in your face. “What about getting Rush? He’s in this too. Could be after Gracie Parish.”
“Yeah, well, thirty years is a long time to be someone’s lap dog. He could help us here.”
“What? Hold on.” Dusty watched a woman from the club wobble across the gravel parking lot to her friend’s car. Heels, gravel, and lunchtime mojitos didn’t mix. Maybe he should talk to Gracie about paving. “I’m not convinced that what Mukta has on Rush is just an illegitimate kid. Let me do my job.”
Mack grunted. “You think she has something else on Rush? Something dark enough to get him to initiate policy for her for thirty years? Something that made him want to kill his bastard child?”
He did. Because in this instance, going after Gracie felt personal. Or maybe it was just that he took it personally. He intended to find out. “You interested in knowing for sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s step on some toes. I’ll work my end. See what you can uncover between them. And, Dusty, this is it. Get the job done.”
“You picking up the tab now?”
“Yeah. But let’s keep this between us.”
Between them? This was it? Mack was worried. Seemed like time was not on their side. “Will do, Mack.”
Dusty hung up, switched off his car, got out, and faced the heavy fists of July heat as he headed into the club. He’d come to town looking for one case and had stumbled onto something entirely different.
Chapter 29
Gracie held open the back door of Club When? to let one of her chefs, Jack, wrestle boxes of meat through. Once he passed her, she picked up her own box and let the door shut.
They’d had to pick up from her local supplier, because the farm’s delivery truck had broken down. Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal, because Gracie padded her deliveries, but she’d been distracted lately by the threat of death, and they were running unusually low on supplies.
After putting away the meat, she apologized to her chefs and returned to her office near the kitchen.
She sat down at her desk to make a record of what they’d received, and her cell rang. When it rains…
She picked up. Leland’s gruff voice greeted her with, “Where did you find Cee?”
Ready, set, avoid. “Philly. She regretted running away and wanted someone to come get her. At midnight.”
Leland gave an exasperated sigh. “She’s a handful.”
Yeah. Which was why they didn’t usually adopt that late, but she wasn’t bringing that up again.
“Why’d you go to the fields yesterday?”
Of course. Gracie considered the bowl of watermelon goodness on her desk. Even went so far as to pick one up, twirl it in her fingers. “I was just reconnecting with nature. Needed a break from the bar.”
A heavyweight pause. A pause that weighed as much as Mike Tyson and Tyson Fury combined. “You’ve changed security protocols at the club. Something we should be aware of?”
Yes. But nothing she’d tell them. “I had an incident in the club. No need to worry about it. Been planning to change things up for a while anyway.”
“Gracie, you know we’re on your side here, right?”
Gracie’s heart sank. Normally, that would be true. Normally, there wouldn’t be any doubt in her mind who could protect her, help her, support her when she was in trouble, but not now. The League was still reeling from the drone attack and the loss of Tony in Mexico. And the truth about the danger she was embroiled in was messy. And somewhat her fault. “I know. Thanks, Leland.”
She hung up. And her cell beeped letting her know the facial recognition software out front had identified someone. She opened the screen. Toots on toast.
John.
A moment later, the door to her office creaked open. She looked up. Her heart jumped into her throat. She pushed it back down with a swallow as her fingers fisted around the Jolly Rancher.
John walked through her door, closed it. She froze. Not just deer-in-the-headlights froze, Neanderthal-trapped-in-ice froze. Only her eyes moved.
He looked the same and different. Still thin, with a runner’s body, but no longer the wiry teen she’d once known. He’d filled out. He was wearing a blue suit, tailored and tapered and too trendy by far. His dark hair slicked back. His dark eyes focused.
And she felt…nothing. Not the stirring of lost love, not the longing that had held her for a decade, not a spark of lust.
John’s perceptive brown eyes traveled up and down her black-and-yellow Club When? T-shirt, scholarly bun, and the startled look on her face.
He nodded. “Hello, Gracie Divine.”
Crud. That was a jab, saying her first and middle names. As if her name were contradictory. He used it when angry, had done so ever since that day she’d told him the shocking truth about her family’s activities—her activities—a shock that had destroyed them.
She sat forward. “It’s been a long time. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Oh, good. Her voice sounded normal. That normalness steadied her breath and her mind. She might be able to get through this.
He ran a hand over his face and through his slicked-back hair, then let out a breath deep enough to dispel old feelings or push them into the past. “I didn’t want to give you a chance to prepare.”
Gracie discreetly reached down and checked the gun attached to the bottom of her desktop. “Prepare for what?”
“I’m here to get you to stop. Stop with the computer. Stop coming by my house. Stop stalking my son.”
They’d detected the backdoor she’d made for Victor on their computers? No way. “I stopped—”
“Don’t lie, Gracie. We saw you.”
Lie? She’d stopped going by after his text. Even though it had killed her. “Was it so wrong, wanting to see him?”
John leaned against the door, as far from her as he could get and still remain in the room. He shook his head. “You don’t get to see him. That’s the agreement. I stay quiet. You stay away. You get your precious League.”
This was it. Her opportunity to tell the truth. And to fight for a chance to be in Ty’s life. “Let’s stop here.” Her heart paddled the breaststroke into her throat. “I need you to know the truth. I didn’t want you to go. After I told you about the League, there was blowback from Momma and Leland.” This felt like betrayal, but it needed to be said. She exhaled a deep breath. “I sent you away, told you I chose the League over you and Ty to protect you—”
“Stop.” John adjusted his tie, coughed. “You asking me to leave was a relief. After you told me about that chip thing under your skin…” His forehead pinched together. Disgust? “I’d planned on going and taking Ty.”
The candy she’d been holding dropped from her hand and onto the desk, cracking inside its translucent wrapper. He’d planned on taking Ty away from her? “You planned on taking Ty away from me? But I thought…you loved me.”
His dark eyes flashed with something—a spark, a memory—and for a moment she saw the young man she’d fallen in love with. “We were young. What did we know of love?”
Like a decade’s worth of candles being blown out, her old image of John vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I loved you. I gave up my son to keep you safe. To keep you whole for him.”
He stared at her. “For me?” He shook his head. “Leland and Momma knew I was going to go. I told them if you fought for custody, I’d reveal what I knew about their illegal activities. If they told you something different, gave you some story…”
For a moment, Gracie’s world tilted on its axis. Everything she’d thought she’d known about giving up John, about being forced to give up John, suddenly shifted. Like when she’d found out Bruce Willis was dead in The Sixth Sense, her mind began unraveling all the clues she’d not seen before.
And the undeniable conclusion. John had threatened Momma and Leland. When Momma and Leland had offered her the choice to take John’s memory or let him go, they were letting her decide what they should do.
She flushed a red so hot it felt like someone held a live wire to her skin. Her cheeks were flames of distress. She’d been an idiot. “So if I’m no longer involved with the League, just a woman who owns a pub, and Ty wants to see me?”
“Come on, Gracie. You have to know that…” He hesitated, and then, “There’s no way I will let Ty anywhere near you or your family. I don’t want him to know what you all do.”
The Price of Grace Page 11