Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

But what he paid closest attention to was Grace herself. Fresh out of bed, not a hint of makeup, her long blond hair tied in a ponytail and bobbing up and down as she walked, the woman was beautiful. Born beautiful. And would no doubt be beautiful till the day she died. Her type of beauty didn't fade with age; it simply matured.

Jed hadn't slept well last night and he suspected Grace hadn't either. There was a slight darkness under her eyes and when he'd joined her downstairs just as she started out the door for her morning walk, she'd been a bit testy.

"What are you doing up?" She'd practically snapped his head off. She'd taken one look at his seen-better-days shorts, T-shirt and running shoes and said, "I don't need for you to go with me. I don't-"

"I'd like to go with you," he'd told her. "It will give us a chance to talk while we get some exercise."

She'd snorted, opened the door and made no further protest when he'd followed her.

They had walked to the end of the half-mile drive at a quick, steady pace, but they hadn't talked. He'd been waiting for Grace to acknowledge his presence, which she finally did when she came to a halt at the high, wrought-iron gates separating her estate from the road leading into St. Camille.

Staring pointedly at him, she placed her hands on her hips. "What do we need to talk about?"

He inspected her from head to toe, taking particular note of her long, slim legs, shown off to perfection in her jogging shorts, and the swell of her breasts beneath the matching cotton cropped top.

While she tapped her foot on the driveway, she narrowed her gaze and gave him a warning glare. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Jed laughed. "Sorry, but it's your own fault for looking so damn good first thing in the morning."

Grace crossed her arms over her chest and cocked one hip higher than the other. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"

Jed shrugged. "Look, Blondie, I apologize. I promise I'll behave myself from now on." He held up two fingers in a salute. "Boy Scouts honor."

"You were never a boy scout. A juvenile delinquent, maybe, but not a boy scout." She looked away from him and began walking back up the driveway.

He fell into step beside her. She'd been right on the money when she'd said he'd never been a boy scout; and she hadn't been far wrong when she'd suggested he'd been a delinquent. He'd been a damn rowdy teenager, and had known that any trouble he got into, his uncle Booth would get him out of at a snap of his fingers. There had been a time when he'd looked up to his uncle, had even admired him. But that had been before he'd found out exactly how ruthless Booth Fortier really was. If he hadn't learned about Booth's part in Lance Tyree's death, he might now be his uncle's right-hand man, in training to take over as head of the crime syndicate. The very thought that he might have chosen to follow his uncle's path in life sickened him.

"By the way," Grace said, "do you call all the blond women you know Blondie?"

She didn't look at him or slow her pace, so he followed her lead and kept walking and looking straight ahead. "Funny you should ask. I'm not sure why the term popped into my head. I've never called anyone else Blondie. Why, what difference does it make?"

Grace picked up speed, getting several feet ahead of him. "It doesn't make any difference. I was just curious. But I'm not sure I like your referring to me with a pet name. It seems a bit too familiar."

She'd slapped him down again. Put him in his place. He'd have to keep in mind that calling her Blondie annoyed her. And maybe it bothered her because she liked the familiarity more than she'd ever admit.

Jed caught up with her. "We should discuss the five million you're picking up from your banker today. I want my two Dundee associates with us when you transport that much cash from the bank to your house. "

"Fine. You work out the particulars with your people. Mr. Dotson will call me at work as soon as he has the money ready for us."

"I hope you're right about Dotson being a hundred percent trustworthy. If he's not, then we might have a problem."

"He's the president of St. Camille Savings and Loan," Grace said as she slowed her pace a bit. "Daddy always trusted him, so I see no reason why I shouldn't."

"Five million is enough money to make the most trustworthy person consider becoming untrustworthy for the first time in his or her life."

"Isn't there anyone you trust implicitly or do you automatically distrust everyone?"

"I trust people who have earned my trust," he told her. "I learned at a rather young age how devious and conniving people can be."

Just as Grace started to reply, the cell phone he'd stuffed into his shorts pocket rang. When he stopped to answer the phone, Grace continued without him. "Wait up, will you?" he called to her.

She stopped about fifteen feet from him, glanced over her shoulder and frowned. But then she nodded, moved off the drive and braced her back against the nearest tree.

Jed hit the On button. "Tyree here."

"Jed, it's Rafe. You were right about the warehouse where Troy Leone is working. It's owned by Garland Industries. And it's a sure bet that there are drugs going in and out of there on a regular basis, covered up with a legal wholesale business. Supposedly Garland Industries imports all kinds of goodies from South America."

"Yeah, I was afraid the Leone kid had gotten himself involved with the wrong people."

"One more thing…" Rafe hesitated.

"What?"

"I spoke to Sawyer before I called you and it seems when I had Dundee 's do some online checking for me, Sawyer got in touch with Dante Moran."

Jed glanced at Grace and lowered his voice. "Don't tell me-the Feds already know about Garland Industries and are simply waiting for the right moment to pounce."

"Hell, man, you're good. Ever thought of taking up fortune-telling?"

"The Feds don't want to make a move on the warehouses now, not until I help them trap Fortier. They don't want the small fish without the big fish. Right?"

Grace glared at him, then shoved herself away from the tree and came toward him. "I'm heading back to the house for a shower."

He held up his index finger, indicating for her to wait. "Anything else?" Jed asked Rafe.

"The guy overseeing things at the warehouse is Curt Poarch. Ever heard of him?"

"Curt Poarch, huh? Yeah, he was working for Fortier before I left Louisiana. If he's like he used to be-and my guess is that he is-he'd do anything my uncle asked him to do. And I mean anything."

"Moran told Sawyer that Poarch is Fortier's number two man."

"Let me guess-Jaron Vaden is number one. Right?"

"Right."

"Anything else I need to know?" Jed asked.

"That's about it, for now. Except Dom and Kate should arrive before noon today. They'll be in touch."

"Thanks. Later, okay?"

Jed hit the Off button and shoved the small phone into his pocket, then met Grace in the middle of the driveway.

"Troy Leone is working at a Garland Industries warehouse," Jed said. "Garland Industries is a front for a major portion of Booth Fortier's illegal activities."

Grace clenched her teeth together and shook her head. "Damn. This is just the kind of news Elsa doesn't need."

"What she needs is to get her brother out of there… and soon."

"Yes, of course, she should, but-" Grace eyed him quizzically. "What do you know that you aren't telling me?"

"When Fortier goes down, his fall is going to cause some mighty big ripples that will reach far and wide."

"What do I tell Elsa?"

"Tell her what she already knows," Jed said. "Tell her that if Troy continues working at the warehouse, it's only a matter of time before he'll wind up in prison."

Grace nodded, then without another comment, they fell into place side by side and returned to their morning walk, heading for the antebellum mansion Grace had called home her entire life.