Grace Under Fire

by Beverly Barton

  Jed wondered if Grace truly had any idea how much danger she was in? Once this deal went down and she had the proof against Booth she needed, that wouldn't be the end of it. Not by a long shot. Even if Booth were arrested, he could and would issue orders from his jail cell—and one of his first commands would be to eliminate Grace Beaumont. But Jed had no intention of letting that happen. When he'd taken this assignment and had agreed to work with the FBI, his main objective had been to find a way to bring his uncle down. Working for Grace had simply been a means to an end. But in a few short days, a great deal had changed. He hadn't expected to get personally involved with the client, hadn't thought her welfare would matter more than anything else.

  "You're awfully quiet." Grace stole a quick glance in his direction.

  "I was just thinking." Thinking about how I'm going to keep you safe, and why the hell you mean so much to me.

  "Having the other two Dundee agents at the park won't cause a problem, will it?" she asked. "I mean, what happens if he suspects we didn't come alone?"

  "Take my word for it—he won't be aware that we have any type of backup. Dom and Kate are professionals. They know what they're doing."

  "I'm nervous," she admitted. "We're so close to getting our hands on the evidence that Dean and Daddy paid for with their lives."

  "You have every right to be nervous. We don't know who we're dealing with, and there's every likelihood that this man is dangerous. He's probably one of Booth's henchmen. And all we have is his word that he's got the documents he claims he has."

  "If he doesn't have the documents, I'm not giving him the money. Right?"

  "Right. Just demand to see the evidence first."

  "Yes, of course."

  "I'll be where I can see you at all times and if I think you're in trouble, I'll either come in after you or I'll take him out."

  "You'll kill him," Grace said.

  "If it's necessary to protect you."

  She grasped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He knew how difficult this was for her. The ugly, sordid, sinister side of life had been alien to her, but now she was getting a hefty dose of harsh reality.

  "Doing the dirty work isn't easy and it's not pleasant," Jed told her. "But the fact is that in order to keep a balance between the right and wrong side of the law—between good and evil, if you want to put it in those terms—then someone has to enforce the law. Despite the fact that I have killed people in the line of duty, in the army and as a Dundee agent, I consider myself one of the good guys."

  Yeah, Tyree, just how much of a good guy would she consider you if she knew Booth Fortier was your uncle? How would she feel about you if the truth ever came out about your family history? A crazy mother who died in a mental hospital and her deranged mob boss brother. He had tried numerous times to convince himself that there wasn't a hereditary mental defect in the Fortier family, that environment had played a major role in warping his uncle and in driving his mother insane.

  "I know you're one of the good guys," Grace said. "You don't have to convince me of that fact. If I implied otherwise, I'm sorry."

  What was wrong with him? He'd never thought it necessary to explain himself to anyone. Yeah, but Grace wasn't just anyone. She was a Dundee client who was depending on his protection, on his expertise. And she had become important to him personally in a very brief period of time. What she thought of him mattered. It mattered a whole hell of a lot more than it should.

  "No matter what happens out there today, believe one thing—I'm going to take care of you. That's my number one objective."

  Grace breathed in and out on an internal sigh. "I think someone up there was watching out for me and sent you into my life right when I needed my own personal guardian angel."

  Jed chuckled. "Blondie, you're the first person who's ever thought of me as an angel of any kind."

  She smiled. "I suppose most women consider you a real devil, huh?"

  "Now that would be kissing and telling, wouldn't it? And that's something I don't do."

  "Jed?"

  "Mmm-hmm?"

  "Thanks."

  "For what?"

  "For everything."

  Their conversation ended on that last comment. What could he say in response? She saw him as her guardian angel, her knight in shining armor; but that was only temporary. Once she learned the truth—the whole truth—how would she feel then? When she discovered that the Dundee agency was working with the Feds to bring down Booth Fortier and that Booth was his uncle, she wouldn't be thanking him. She wouldn't see him as a hero. The best he could hope for was that she'd try to understand … and that she wouldn't judge him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Grace drove her Mercedes into Terrebonne Park, coming in on the south side, as instructed. The park had been built around a small lake, fed by an underground spring, and over the years had evolved into a picnic area, playground and a miniature amusement park. On any given day during the spring and summer months, the place was filled with people … anywhere from a couple of dozen to a couple of hundred. And on holidays, like the Fourth of July and Labor Day, the park swelled beyond capacity, sometimes recording nearly a thousand people.

  As they emerged from the car, Jed noted it was a slow day, maybe twenty-five or thirty people stirring about, most of them picnicking from baskets brought from home or lunches purchased at the dairy bar. Dom and Kate pulled up and parked several slots down from them, then waited inside the car.

  Grace glanced at her wristwatch; Jed took a look at his. Eleven-forty. A twenty-minute wait, if their man showed up on time. As they made their way toward the carousel, Jed surveyed the area, seeing if he could spot Dante Moran's men. He picked out a couple of guys, but wasn't a hundred percent sure about them.

  "Isn't that the Dundee agent who came by the house last night?" Grace whispered as she nervously shifted the briefcase she carried from one hand to the other.

  Jed followed her line of vision to where Rafe Devlin and Jenifer "J.J." Blair were frolicking about on a nearby set of swings, for all intents and purposes nothing more than a young couple having fun.

  "Yeah, that's Rafe," Jed replied, keeping his voice low. "And the woman with him is an agent, too."

  "That's two extra Dundee agents. The number seems to be growing, doesn't it?"

  "It takes as many as it takes. Okay?"

  "Okay. I trust you, Jed. If you think we need a dozen of Dundee's finest, then it's all right with me."

  A pang of guilt hit him square in the gut. She trusted him. And just by being who he was, he was betraying her trust. Nothing could ever change the fact that he was Booth Fortier's nephew, that they shared a gene pool and an ancestry of cutthroats and criminals. His pedigree—or lack of one—had never mattered to him or to any of the women in his life. But it would matter to Grace. She might be able to deal with him being a mongrel, but she'd never be able to accept the fact that his mother had been a Fortier.

  "Do I wait until noon to get on the carousel?" she asked.

  "Yeah. No need putting yourself on display until the very last minute." He nodded to the dairy bar. "How about something to drink? A cola? Iced tea?"

  "Come to think of it, my mouth is as dry as cotton. Besides, I suppose getting something to drink will kill some time, won't it? I need something to do while we wait. I'm so nervous." Jittery laughter bubbled from her lips. "I said that already, didn't I?"

  "Take a few deep breaths," he said. She did. "Now, let's see what's on the drink menu."

  They bought iced tea, sat together at one of the concrete picnic tables and waited. The minutes seemed like hours, each one longer than the one before, until finally twelve noon arrived. Jed scanned the area around the carousel and noticed J.J. and Rafe paying their fares and hopping up on a couple of side-by-side wooden horses. They were laughing and playing around, nothing the least bit suspicious about them. In his peripheral vision he saw Dom and Kate eating ice-cream cones about twenty-five feet away. There was a guy picking
up trash and another trimming hedges, both not more than thirty feet from the carousel. He pegged them for Feds, but only because he knew Moran had people here.

  Jed handed Grace the other briefcase, the one he'd been carrying around. Each case contained two and a half mil. After Jed paid her fare, Grace boarded the carousel. She made her way to the swan seat, eased down and placed both briefcases in her lap, then crossed one hand over the other on top of the cases. Jed's stomach rumbled as tension knotted his muscles. Even with more than a half-dozen sets of eyes trained on Grace, anything could happen. She understood that if he called her name, she was to take a nosedive under the swan seat. He just hoped to high heaven that this whole thing wasn't some sort of setup. But his gut instincts told him it wasn't, that someone wanted out of the organization and needed cash fast. And whoever this guy was, he was willing to risk Booth's wrath.

  Noon came and went. Five after. They waited. Ten after. Still no sign of anyone approaching Grace. She paid the fare again, as did several other people, including Rafe and J.J. He could tell that with each passing minute, Grace grew more nervous. Who could blame her? She'd been holding up remarkably well. So far. By twelve-thirty, Jed was beginning to doubt the guy would show. But they'd wait until one, the time he and Grace had agreed on before coming here today. They'd wait one hour, that was all.

  At twelve-forty-five, a car backfired. Grace cried out and inadvertently knocked one of the suitcases to the wooden floor of the old carousel. Four Dundee agents and two FBI agents came to full alert, but no one made a move. A tall, blond man jumped down off the wooden horse in front of Grace and knelt to retrieve the case. Jed watched carefully, wondering if this could be their man. But the guy, not much out of his teens, placed the case back in Grace's lap and flirted outrageously with her, then when he saw he wasn't making any headway, he walked around to where a teenage girl sat alone on a brightly painted wooden horse. He got up on the horse beside her and started talking.

  Jed let out a relieved sigh. What was going on? Where was their man? If he didn't show, that meant something had gone wrong. Had Booth found out he had a traitor in his organization? Or had the man simply chickened out at the last minute? Maybe he hadn't been able to get his hands on the documents. Anything was possible.

  At one o'clock, Jed motioned to Grace and she nodded, then when the carousel finished that round, she got off, a briefcase in each hand. Jed took one briefcase from her, put his arm around her waist and led her toward the parking area.

  "What happened?" she asked. "Where is he?"

  "If he's lucky, he's still alive and just ran into a hitch of some kind. If that's what happened, he'll be back in touch with us," Jed told her. "But if he's not so lucky, then he's dead and Booth Fortier will make another move very soon."

  "Another move against me," Grace said with utter certainty.

  "And when he makes his move, I'll be right there with you, standing between you and whatever he sends your way."

  "Oh, Jed, I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

  He tried not to react to her revealing statement. Didn't she realize that you didn't say something like that to a man unless he meant something special to you?

  "I'm your bodyguard. It's my job to be in the line of fire."

  "You're more than my bodyguard and we both know it."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Charmaine pushed the food around on her plate, the prime rib unappetizing. Booth preferred his meat rare and everyone was forced to eat it the way he liked it or not eat at all. As she gazed at the thinly sliced, pink beef, surrounded by bloody juice, she barely controlled the overwhelming urge to vomit. Even if she were hungry, she'd find it difficult to chew with a swollen lip and bruised jaw. No one had mentioned her bruises, not even Ronnie; but they hadn't been alone all day. Either Booth or Curt or Aric had been around since she'd ventured from her room a little after two this afternoon.

  Booth and Curt were laughing about something. Charmaine hadn't been paying attention, had tuned out their conversation. A trick she'd learned years ago. Sit there, look as pretty as possible, smile occasionally and always respond instantly when Booth spoke to her. A few times during the course of the meal, she'd stolen a quick glance at Ronnie, who remained silent unless responding to Booth. She liked that about Ronnie, that he was a man of few words. The strong, silent type. She loved Ronnie with all her heart, but she wasn't sure how much she could trust him. If it came down to the nitty-gritty, would he remain faithful to Booth? She wanted to tell Ronnie about her fears for Jaron, but what if Ronnie went to Booth?

  Her brother had left the house early this morning and hadn't returned. She knew where he'd gone and what he'd intended doing. If he'd been successful, if his scheme had worked, why wasn't he home now? Her imagination had gone wild, producing several vividly gruesome scenarios. What if at the exchange site, the police had been waiting? Jaron could be in jail right now. If he was, did Booth know? And on the other hand, what if Booth had suspected Jaron? If that was the case, then Jaron was dead.

  Charmaine barely managed to stifle a frightened whimper. Fear for Jaron's life, fear for her own consumed her thoughts. If Booth had ordered Jaron killed, then it was only a matter of time before he'd come to the conclusion that she had been involved in Jaron's plot. And then he would kill her, too—or worse. She knew only too well what he was capable of, knew what he'd done to his own sister.

  Oh, God, Jaron, I begged you not to do it. You can't betray Booth and get away with it. Somehow, some way, he always knows … and he always takes revenge.

  "What seems to be wrong, my dear?" Booth looked pointedly at Charmaine. "You don't look well."

  "I—I'm afraid I don't feel well." Tears misted her eyes. Don't you dare cry, she told herself. Show him any weakness and he'll use it against you. "May I please be excused?"

  "I'd be glad to see Mrs. Fortier to her room." Ronnie was halfway out of his chair when Booth motioned for him to sit down. He sat.

  "You're excused." Booth's black gaze studied her, as if waiting for her to make a misstep where he could pounce on any small error. "You can make it to your room alone, can't you? There's no need to ruin Ronnie's meal just because you aren't feeling sociable this evening."

  "I'll be quite all right alone." She laid her linen napkin on the table, shoved back her chair and stood. Although she was sore from Booth's brutal beating the night before and every movement was painful, she pretended otherwise.

  When she reached the doorway leading from the dining room into the hall, she looked back at Booth and said, "When Jaron comes in, please, ask him to stop by my room and say good-night."

  Booth cut a huge hunk of meat and stuffed it into his mouth. Bloody juice dripped down on either side. He dabbed his chin with his napkin, then chewed slowly. After he swallowed, he looked at her and grinned. Her heart sank.

  "Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you, Jaron won't be home tonight," Booth said.

  Stay calm. Don't overreact, she warned herself. "Why is that?"

  "I sent Charlie to join Jaron this morning. They're attending to some important business for me. I don't expect either of them back for a while."

  Charmaine swallowed, trying to control her distress. It was all she could do not to look at Ronnie, not to scream aloud that Booth had probably sent Charlie to kill Jaron.

  Without another word, she turned and walked away. She almost made it to her bedroom before the tears overcame her. The minute she got behind closed doors, she threw herself across the bed and muffled her cries in a pillow.

  She knew in her heart that Jaron was dead. It was only a matter of time before his body would show up somewhere and Booth would lay the blame on someone else.

  * * *

  Rafe wasn't in the habit of sticking his nose into other people's affairs, but he knew what it was like to be a kid in trouble, going down the wrong path, headed straight for a life of crime. Anybody who knew him would tell you that Rafe Devlin was a bad-as
s, a guy who didn't take any guff from anybody, a man who minded his own business and expected others to do the same. But a few of his friends were aware of another side to Rafe and even suspected his one weakness. His Achilles' heel was kids in trouble. Looking back now, he realized that if Detective Roy Dutton of the Knoxville PD hadn't interceded in his life when he was eighteen, he'd probably be in the pen by now. Either that or dead.

  Before hunting down Troy Leone in the apartment he shared with his twenty-six-year-old waitress girlfriend, Rafe had put in a call to Sawyer McNamara to okay it with him. After all, Rafe was on an assignment and Dundee's wouldn't look kindly on him doing anything that screwed up his undercover work in St. Camille. And the Feds would hang him out to dry if he messed up their well-laid plans.

  He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to have a talk with a boy he didn't even know. Hell, admit it, man, he told himself. It's because of the sister. Elsa Leone. And it really had nothing to do with the fact that he was attracted to the woman. After all, he'd probably never see her again. But knowing she had practically risked her life just to talk to her little brother, to try to persuade him his new high-paying job was a first-class ticket to the world of organized crime, reminded him of Sandy. His big sister had done her level best to help him, but all he'd given her was grief. God, what he'd give to be able to do that relationship all over again. But he'd never have the chance. He'd lost his only sibling just as he'd begun turning his life around.