Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

"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."

" 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."