"Yes, ma'am." Jed clicked his heels and saluted her.
She glowered at him. "Was that supposed to be funny?"
"Sorry, I couldn't resist. It's just no one would ever suspect that under that cover-girl beauty beats the heart of a commanding army general."
"Look, it's none of your business—"
"You've already made your point."
"Hudson thinks he's in love with me. I pretend not to know how he feels. But he also resents the fact that I took over for my father when he expected to be named permanent CEO. I want him as a friend. I need him as an executive. So I walk a fine line as far as our working relationship goes."
Jed nodded. "Are you trying to tell me that your Hitler routine was strictly for Prentice's benefit?"
"I'm a woman whose claim to fame prior to my father's death was being a prominent socialite. How do you think my employees would have reacted to me if I hadn't come in here on the first day with a hard-ass, I'm-the-boss-attitude?"
"I see your point."
"What is it with you, Mr. Tyree—do you have a problem with strong, aggressive females? If so, I suggest you get over it for the duration of this assignment, while you're working for me."
"I'll do my job, Ms. Beaumont, but there's one thing you should know—I don't jump through hoops for anybody, so don't expect it." Without giving her a chance for a rebuttal, he nodded toward the outer office. "I need to make some phone calls, get the ball rolling. My boss is supposed to have contacted the local authorities to see about getting me copies of the accident report and the file on the subsequent investigation into the wreck that killed your husband and father. We'll start there, see if there's anything that might indicate the hit-and-run wasn't accidental."
"Use Elsa's desk until Hudson can arrange for you to have your own office."
When Jed walked into the outer office, Grace followed him, then paused at his side when he sat down at the desk.
He glanced up at her. "Yeah?"
"For your information, I do not expect anyone to jump through hoops for me."
"If you say so."
Grace huffed. "Why begin with looking into information about the accident? Why not investigate the allegation that Governor Miller is involved with Booth Fortier?"
Should he be totally honest with her? Jed wondered. Should he tell her that Sawyer, Special Agent Moran and Sam Dundee had all agreed that Jed shouldn't start digging into the governor's supposed involvement with the syndicate until they had several Dundee agents on the job and a couple of Feds in place? Once they started the investigation, it was only a matter of time—hours or days—before both the governor and Fortier would learn about it. And when they discovered who was behind the probe into their affairs, Grace Beaumont's life would be in imminent danger.
"We've already started putting out feelers from Dundee's headquarters in Atlanta," he told her. "Once our other agents, Domingo Shea and Kate Malone, arrive tomorrow, they'll be involved exclusively in that investigation."
With a somber expression on her face, Grace said, "It's going to get really ugly, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Real ugly, real fast."
"Do you earn double pay for double duty?"
"Double duty?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Mr. Tyree. It doesn't suit you. You and I both know that very soon you'll be acting as my bodyguard."
* * *
Jaron checked to make sure the door to his room was securely locked. He couldn't risk having one of Booth's people walk in on him while he was composing his second letter to Grace Beaumont. He didn't like living under the same roof with Booth, but agreeing to live here was the only way he could keep an eye on Charmaine and try to help her however he could. Booth treated him well, for an underling. The big man trusted him. And why shouldn't he? Jaron had bowed and scraped to Booth most of his adult life. If Booth said jump, Jaron asked how high?
Sitting down at his desk, he turned on his laptop computer and stared at the blank screen. He had already worked out the details of where, when and how she would have to deliver the money, but that information could wait for the next letter. This time, he would simply explain that he was in possession of evidence that would link Governor Miller to Booth Fortier and for five million dollars, he would put that evidence in Grace's hands. And as a bonus, he would add all the details he knew about the "hit" put out on Dean Beaumont and his father-in-law four years ago.
Jaron typed as fast as his hunt-and-peck technique allowed, being careful just how he worded the letter. As soon as he finished, he hit Print. The minute the sheet rose from the printer, he snatched it out and read it hurriedly, then immediately deleted the letter from his computer.
A noise outside his room alerted him to possible danger. He folded the letter and slipped it into the inside pocket of his sport coat. Sweat popped out on his upper lip. He listened. Heard nothing. He inserted a four-by-nine envelope into the slot in the printer, typed out Grace Beaumont's name and work address at Sheffield Media headquarters, then put the letter inside the envelope, added a stamp and returned the message to his inside coat pocket.
There was that noise again. Footsteps? Then his doorknob jiggled. Jaron swallowed. Perspiration dampened his palms.
Get a hold of yourself. There's no way Booth can suspect you of anything. You're letting your fear get the better of you. You've got to act like a man with nothing to hide.
Taking a deep breath, he stood, straightened his shoulders and crossed the room. He unlocked and opened his bedroom door, then glanced up and down the hall. Braced casually against the wall several feet away, one of Booth's devoted employees, Curt Poarch, grinned at Jaron.
"You want something?" Jaron asked.
"Hey, man, sorry if I disturbed you. With your door locked, I figured you were taking a nap or humping somebody or jacking off or—"
"What do you want?"
"As you know, Mr. Fortier just left for a couple of days in New Orleans," Curt said. "Before he left, he told me to take any questions or problems to you."
Inwardly Jaron sighed with relief, but outwardly his body language didn't change. "Yeah, so?"
"We got a big shipment coming in tonight and I'm gonna need some extra cash to pay the part-time guys. Mr. Fortier said you'd handle it since you got the combination to that safe."
"Yeah, sure. Just tell me how much you need and I'll see that you get it."
"Thanks, Mr. Vaden. And sorry I made a crack about why you had your door locked."
"No apology needed," Jaron told him. "When you get to know me better, you'll learn I like my privacy. That's all there is to it."
"Yes, sir."
Jaron put his hand on Curt's shoulder. "Let's go get ourselves a nice cool drink and you can tell me if any of the temporary boys you've got working at the warehouse are candidates for permanent jobs."
Curt grinned. "A cool drink on a hot day sounds good to me. And as far as promising workers, there's this one kid—reminds me of myself a bit when I was his age. Eager to please. Smart. Follows orders without question. Got himself an expensive playmate, if you know what I mean."
"Sounds like our kind of guy. What's his name?"
"Leone. Troy Leone."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?" Grace asked, wanting desperately to alleviate Elsa's pain.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid there's nothing anyone can do at this point. I've talked to Troy until I'm blue in the face." Elsa's effort to smile failed miserably. "I would do absolutely anything to help him. You know that. But I can't help him if he fights me every inch of the way. He's damned and determined to do what he wants to do."
"Perhaps we could offer him a part-time job here at Sheffield Media," Grace suggested.
Elsa shook her head. "I have a feeling that the part-time job he has is paying him ten times what a job here would pay. And that's what has me really worried, more than him moving in with some girl who is probably
…" She stopped short of calling Troy's new girlfriend a tramp, but Grace got the idea. "Anyhow, I'm afraid whatever is going on at that warehouse is illegal."
"I could call and talk to Chief Winters—"
"No!" When Grace gave her a puzzled look, Elsa explained. "We have no evidence that there's anything illegal going on. If the chief of police has one of his officers poke around down there… Oh, God, Grace, what if the police catch Troy committing a crime? He would go to jail. And even though his juvenile record is sealed, he did have a few run-ins with the law right after he turned eighteen."
Neither Grace nor Elsa had heard the office door ease open, so when Jed Tyree said, "Want me to run a check on the place?" both women gasped simultaneously.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Jed said. "I thought y'all heard me open the door."
"How much did you hear?" Grace asked.
"Enough to know that your assistant—" he nodded to Elsa "—that Ms. Leone's brother might get into trouble with the law on his new job."
Ever mindful of her manners, Grace said, "Elsa this is the Dundee agent I hired, Jed Tyree. Jed, my assistant and friend, Elsa Leone." After a moment of awkward silence, Grace asked, "How discreet could you be in checking out the warehouse where Troy is working part-time?"
"No, please, I can't afford—" Elsa protested.
"Consider it a freebie," Jed said, then responded to Grace, "I could be so discreet that no one connected with the warehouse would know I'd even run a check."
"That's discreet enough." Grace turned to Elsa. "Is it all right with you?"
Elsa nodded. Any other woman would have been in tears by now, but not Elsa. Years of being strong and tough and responsible had hardened Elsa. Grace understood that particular self-protection technique all too well. A person could endure only so much suffering and disappointment before erecting a giant shield around her heart.
"All right," Elsa said. "As long as the police aren't involved. I figure if Troy continues on his chosen path, he'll eventually wind up in prison. But I don't want to be the cause of it by sending the police to check on him."
"We understand, don't we, Mr. Tyree?"
Jed hesitated and during that momentary pause Grace noticed an odd expression cross his face. It was as if he truly did understand Elsa's concern. Had he ever been in a similar situation? she wondered.
"Yeah, we understand," Jed said.
Elsa offered them a fragile smile. "Thank you, Mr. Tyree."
"Call me Jed. And as soon as I find out anything, I'll let you know."
Elsa nodded, then said to Grace, "I'll get to work now. I'm so sorry I was late this morning."
"You had good reason," Grace replied.
The minute Elsa exited the room and closed the door behind her, Jed faced Grace. "You know the odds aren't in her favor."
Grace's gaze connected with his. "Meaning?"
"Meaning her brother is headed for big-time trouble and we all know it. He's got a high-paying part-time job at night in a riverfront warehouse. There's a ninety-percent chance he's working for Booth Fortier."
Grace's heart lurched at the mention of the monster's name. "Isn't that quite a leap? You're assuming—"
"I'm assuming nothing. Booth Fortier controls organized crime in Louisiana. Everyone knows it, including law enforcement, but the guy's been too smart all these years to ever get caught. He prides himself on being able to flaunt his wealth and power and thumb his nose at the police, the state boys, the Feds… He thinks he's invincible, which makes him twice as deadly. But it also makes him vulnerable. It's his major weakness."
"You seem to have learned a great deal about Fortier in a very brief period of time." Grace sensed that Jed's assessment of the mob boss came from something more than recent research on her case. "Did you know about Fortier before you took this assignment?"
"Yeah, I knew about him. Don't forget I'm from Louisiana."
"I see." But she didn't; not really. Not unless Jed Tyree had been in law enforcement, which he hadn't been—or unless for some other reason he'd kept tabs on Fortier's career. Was it possible that Jed had suffered a personal loss, as she had, at Fortier's command?
"I'll have the warehouse where the kid works checked out. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out which warehouse it is," Jed said. "Now, back to the case at hand—I've gone over the accident report from four years ago and taken a look at the photos of the scene. I agree with the police. From the evidence, it appears to be nothing more than a drunk driver who lost control of his vehicle and hit the car your husband was driving. But…"
"But?"
"If the other driver was so intoxicated that he couldn't control his vehicle, then why didn't his car go over the embankment the way your husband's car did? It is possible that his erratic driving, swerving back and forth, saved his life, which is what the police think."
"That's not what you think, is it?"
"My guess is the other driver wasn't drunk, he knew exactly what he was doing and once he'd made certain your husband's car crashed over the embankment, he turned just in the nick of time and went on his merry way. He'd been hired to do a job, told to make sure it appeared to be an accident. The guy was a professional."
"If he was a professional, why did Fortier kill him?"
"We don't know he was killed, do we?"
"But the letter I received said—"
"The letter you received said a lot of things, made a lot of accusations, none of which we've proven. Not yet. Whoever wrote that letter, wrote it to get your attention. He wants something. He'll contact you again."
"What?" Grace spun around and glared at Jed. "He said in the letter that his conscience was bothering him. Are you saying he—"
"To have that type of inside information means he's either one of Fortier's boys or he's close to Governor Miller. My guess is that he belongs to Fortier. He's double-crossing the head of the crime syndicate, which in Fortier's world is punishable by death, so this is no soul-cleansing confession. Believe me, you'll hear from him again. That's why I want your personal phone line here at the office tapped and your home phone as well."
"You think he'll call me?"
Jed nodded. "Either that or he'll send another letter."
"When?"
"Soon. He can't afford to waste time. Once Fortier realizes that you're having him investigated, he'll know why … or least he'll be able to make an educated guess. Then he'll start looking around at those closest to him and figure out who has stabbed him in the back. Out of fear for his life, our guy is working on a strict timetable."
"I'm impressed," Grace admitted. "You seem to know an awful lot about the way these people think. But I suppose you have to possess that type of knowledge in your line of work."
Jed didn't respond.
"What's next?" she asked. "Where do we go from here?"
"A great deal of investigative work is done by computer these days, so Dundee is already taking that route. And when Domingo and Kate arrive tomorrow, they should have a report for me. They'll be doing the hands-on investigation, but I'll be coordinating their efforts along with my own and with what's being done at Dundee headquarters."
"If you need an office at my house, you can use mine. My father had a state-of-the-art home office and I've taken full advantage of it."
"Sounds good. Thanks for the offer."
"Okay." Grace's whole body relaxed as she willed the tension to drain away. She'd learned how to release negative energy and wipe her mind clear. The technique helped, but it worked on a temporary basis only. But even temporary relief was better than none. "Are you about ready for lunch? I can have Elsa order in for us or we can go out. Your choice."
"I need to tie up a few loose ends," he told her. "Then I'll be ready to leave. I'd like to take a look around St. Camille, familiarize myself with the town. Besides, I'm in the mood for Crawfish Etoufe."
"I know just the place. Beula's Crab Shack, over on Ayenall. It looks like a seedy dive, but they serve the best Cr
awfish Etoufe in La Durantaye Parish."
"Give me ten minutes."
"All right."
Jed grinned at her, then winked just as he turned and headed out the door. A peculiar quiver radiated through her tummy. She couldn't remember the last time a man had winked at her. Or the last time she'd responded to an innocent flirtation.
Be very careful, Grace, a warning voice inside her head cautioned. An innocent flirtation could easily turn into something serious, something you aren't prepared to handle.
Why was she entertaining man-woman thoughts about Jed? She wasn't sure she even liked the guy. Okay, so she might not like him, but she was attracted to him. No use in denying the truth. There was something unique about Jed Tyree, something undeniably appealing.
* * *
Jed dialed the digital phone number for one of the two undercover Dundee agents already in place—the two Grace Beaumont didn't and wouldn't know anything about. Not yet. Rafe Devlin answered on the second ring.
"I need for you to check out some warehouses down by the river," Jed said. "This isn't directly connected to the case, but it just might have ties to Fortier. Check the warehouses owned by Garland, Inc. first. Garland, Inc. is controlled by Fortier. See if you can find out what comes in and out during the nighttime hours. And see if a kid named Troy Leone is working part-time there."
"Leone? Isn't Grace Beaumont's personal assistant named—"
"He's Elsa Leone's little brother. Probably getting in over his head, thinking about nothing but making some big money the easy way."
"Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it," Devlin said, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Call me on my cell phone when you find out something."
"Will do." A slight pause. "Hey, did you know that when Dean Beaumont passed the bar and went into private practice, back when he was a green kid, he briefly worked for Oliver Neville?"
"And Neville is?"
"He's been Fortier's lawyer for the past fifteen years. An odd coincidence, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but it could be just that—a coincidence."
"Maybe. But then again it's possible the evidence Beaumont was so close to getting on Fortier and Governor Miller was going to come from Neville."
Grace Under Fire Page 6