Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

It would only be a matter of time, perhaps weeks, perhaps even days, before the love affair between his sister and Ronnie would become obvious to the most casual observer.

Jaron patted the envelope hidden away in his coat pocket. He had intended to drive over to New Iberia and mail the letter to Grace Beaumont this afternoon. But Booth had called and sent him out on a job with Curt Poarch-overseeing a daytime shipment at the riverfront warehouse. Now he was glad he hadn't gotten the chance to mail the letter. He didn't dare waste the time-the one or two days it would take for the letter to reach St. Camille. With Charmaine and Ronnie's relationship heating up, Jaron knew he had to accelerate his plan. He'd drive into New Iberia tonight, find a pay phone and call Grace Beaumont. With Booth in New Orleans until the end of the week, now was the perfect time to get the documents out of the safe and exchange them for the five million he was certain Grace would pay him.

Charmaine's sultry laughter echoed through the open French doors. Nola, the housekeeper, came to an abrupt halt on the patio, the stack of fresh towels for the pool house teetering in her arms. Charmaine stood on tiptoe and ran her long, coral nails across Ronnie's lips, over his chin and down his throat.

God in heaven, why wasn't Charmaine being more discreet? What if Nola telephoned Booth and told him that his wife was carrying on shamelessly with her bodyguard?

Jaron shook his head. No, don't worry, he told himself.

Nola is fond of Charmaine. She would never betray her, never jeopardize her life.

This time it had been Nola who'd seen Charmaine up to no good. But what about next time? Jaron removed his cigarette lighter from his pants pocket, pulled the letter from his coat and set the edge of the letter on fire, then let the damp evening breeze scatter the ashes.

On his way out of the house, he spotted Curt in the den and called to him. "I'm heading out for a while. Got a hot little number waiting for me."

Grinning broadly, Curt nodded. "Nothing like a hot piece of tail. I need to take a night off from the warehouse sometime soon and get me some. If this gal you're with tonight is any good, let me know."

"Sure thing." Jaron closed the door behind him, then halted on the front veranda. He took a deep breath. Sweat moistened his palms and dampened his shirt. He would call Grace Beaumont tonight to set things up and call her tomorrow with the particulars of the exchange, after she'd had time to get the money. Then day after tomorrow he'd have the five mil. Once he deposited the money in a bank account in the islands, he'd arrange for an "accident," so he could fake his and Charmaine's deaths. With a little luck, everything would come off without a hitch and by the weekend, he and Charmaine would be out of the country and free of Booth Fortier forever.

Grace didn't have much appetite for supper. She'd eaten a huge lunch at Beula's Crab Shack; and afterward she'd taken refuge with Jed in an alley alcove where they'd shared a kiss that had her lips still burning-and had set a fire that still raged inside her. As much as she'd tried to forget that kiss, as much as she'd tried to rationalize the way Jed had made her feel, she'd thought of little else all afternoon.

Shortly after Jed and she had shared the evening meal, she had excused herself and rushed off to the sanctuary of her room. Now was not the time to suddenly discover her sexuality had at long last come back to life. Jed was an employee, a trained investigator and bodyguard. He had been in her life for one day. One day! Never, in her thirty years, had she ever kissed a man she'd known for only one day; nor entertained thoughts of making love with him.

In high school and college she'd had a reputation for being a good girl. Grace Sheffield didn't put out. She'd been engaged-briefly-her senior year in college and had believed herself to be madly in love with Marty Austin. But Marty had resented Grace's loyalty to her father.

Marty hadn't understood the strong bond between her father and her, a bond that had strengthened greatly after Grace's mother's untimely death when Grace was sixteen. Elizabeth Ann Sheffield's death had devastated her husband and daughter. From that day forward, Grace tried to make her father happy, even if that meant bending over backward to please him. She had felt that it was the least she could do for her mother, a woman Grace had so adored. Marty had wanted her to marry him and for the two of them to forge a new life together as Peace Corp workers. Her father had said Marty was a worthless bum who'd never amount to anything. When the time came to choose between the life of privilege she knew as Byram Sheffield's daughter and the unknown and uncertain future as a poor man's wife, Grace had chosen the easy route. In retrospect, she realized she'd been more in love with love than with Marty.

Marty had been her first lover, her only lover, until she'd married Dean Beaumont, a brilliant lawyer, ten years her senior. She had admired and respected Dean. They had instantly formed a genuine rapport based on similarities in backgrounds, likes, beliefs and future plans. Her daddy had thought the world of Dean and had encouraged their relationship. She had loved Dean. He'd made her very happy. Their life together had been everything she'd hoped it would be. And then it had ended. Suddenly. Tragically.

She had never even considered the possibility that she might love again, that someday she would want another man. But rough-around-the-edges Jed Tyree had opened the door of possibility, had given her a glimpse of what it could be like to live again. Really live instead of simply exist.

The telephone rang. Grace ignored it. Laverna or Nolan would pick up on the fourth ring. Whoever it was, she didn't want to talk to them. What she needed was a long soak in the garden tub in her bathroom. A bubble bath. With some soft music, a few scented candles. Quiet time. Stress-reducing time. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with all her problems.

Just as Grace chose a pair of beige silk pajamas from her closet and headed toward the bathroom, a soft rapping on the door interrupted her plans.

"Miss Grace, there's a phone call for you," Nolan said from outside the closed door.

"Please, take a message," Grace replied. "I'll return their call tomorrow."

"Miss Grace, you might want to take this call. The man said if you didn't talk to him, you'd be sorry."

Grace's heart caught in her throat. It was him. The man who'd sent her the letter. Jed had told her that he might call, but she hadn't seriously believed he would.

"All right, Laverna, I'll take the call. And would you please tell Mr. Tyree about the call and ask him to come to my room immediately."

"Yes, ma'am."

Grace glanced at her hands. They were trembling. Her stomach fluttered and a tingling nausea churned inside her. She tossed the pair of pajamas on the foot of her massive four-poster bed, then hurried toward the nightstand where the antique-inspired French phone rested. Her hand hovered over the receiver for a split second, then she lifted it and mentally prepared herself for whatever was to come.

"Hello, this is Grace Beaumont."

"Listen very carefully," the voice said. "I won't repeat myself. I have documents that will prove Booth Fortier controls Governor Lew Miller. I want five million dollars in exchange for that proof."

"Five million is a lot of money."

"Not for a woman as rich as you."

The bedroom door opened quietly. Grace glanced at Jed as he entered the room, a portable extension phone in his hand. Oh, Lord, Jed was listening to her conversation with the caller.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?" Grace asked the caller as Jed came toward her.

"You don't ask any questions. Just get the money together. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know when and where to bring the money for the exchange."