Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

Aric, a six-six black guy with a wrestler's body, had been in service to Booth since he'd been a kid and his mama had worked here at the house as one of the maids. Rumors abounded that Aric was Booth's illegitimate son, but there was no physical resemblance and Booth treated Aric the same way he treated his other employees.

"Welcome home." Jaron forced a wide smile as he greeted his boss. "You're back a couple of days early. I hope nothing went wrong.

"Something's gone wrong, all right." Booth's small black eyes glistened with fury. Jaron knew that look; he'd seen it on more than one occasion when Booth was out for blood. "I want a meeting with all of you as soon as possible, by no later than seven this evening. Wherever the hell everybody is, get them back here immediately."

"Yes, sir." Jaron followed behind Booth like an obedient puppy dog, while Aric popped the trunk and unloaded the luggage.

"Where's Charmaine? Didn't you tell her I was on my way home?" Booth stormed across the porch and into the house, where Nola stood waiting to take his hat and cane.

"Ronnie drove Charmaine into town to do a little shopping. They should be back any time now."

"Call her on her cell phone and tell her to get her ass back here. When I come home, I want my wife waiting for me right here." Booth emphasized the word "here" by stabbing his index finger into the air.

"I'll contact Charmaine and the others right away."

When Booth halted outside his office-cum-study, Jaron was so close on Booth's heels that he almost ran into him. Coming to a screeching halt only a few inches behind Booth, Jaron froze to the spot.

"What's the matter with you? You seem unusually jumpy. And you're sweating." Booth studied Jaron, as if sizing him up for a coffin.

Jaron shuddered inwardly, but managed to grin. "Hell, Booth, it's hot weather. That's why I'm sweating. And I guess I had too much coffee this morning. A lot of caffeine makes me jittery."

"Humph."

"Anything you want before I make those calls?" Jaron asked.

"When you've contacted the others, call Oliver Neville and tell him I'm home and for him to come on over this evening and join us."

"Yes, sir. I'll call Mr. Neville. Should I say what it's about?"

"He knows."

A sick feeling hit Jaron in the pit of his stomach. If Ollie Neville was involved, that meant some sort of legal problem. And legal problems for Booth meant problems for everyone in the organization.

When Jaron headed down the hall, intending to use the phone in his room to contact the troops, Booth called, "You ever hear from Jed?"

Jed? Jed Tyree? Why would Booth be asking about his nephew after all these years? "Nah, I haven't heard anything from him. Why would you think he'd get in touch with me?"

"You two used to be big buddies. Before he decided he was too good for the likes of us. I thought maybe you knew where he was and what he was doing these days."

"No, sir. I don't have any idea."

"What about Charmaine? Has she heard from Jed?" A sour bile rose up Jaron's esophagus at the thought of what Booth would do to Charmaine if he suspected she'd had any contact with Jed. "I swear to you that Charmaine hasn't seen or heard from Jed since he left here seventeen years ago."

"I think about him sometimes, you know. I wonder what it would be like if he'd stayed. Despite our differences, that boy was my blood kin. My only sister's only child. Everything I've spent a lifetime building could have been his."

"Jed was ungrateful. You did so much for him." Jaron understood now why Jed had fled, why he'd escaped his uncle while he'd had a chance. If only he'd been that smart and taken Charmaine away before it had been too late.

"Jed wasn't strong enough." Booth's eyes got that far-away, almost glazed look that actually made him seem more human than he was. "He had some of his mama's weakness in him."

"Yes, sir, that he did."

"Get going. Make those calls. And when Charmaine comes home, tell her I want to see her alone for a few minutes. "

Jaron tried not to think about why Booth wanted to see his wife alone, even for a few minutes. He couldn't do anything to stop Booth's tyranny. Not today. Not yet. But soon. Very soon.

The moment Ronnie headed the BMW up the driveway and Charmaine saw the limo parked out front, she knew her brief afternoon of happiness was over. Booth was home. Two days early.

"I can't bear the thought of him touching you," Ronnie said. "I know how he treats you. You don't know how many times I've wanted to beat the hell out of him."

"No, you mustn't. Don't even think that way." She gazed lovingly at Ronnie-for one last time today. "I can endure anything now that I know you love me. I'll live for our stolen moments. But we have to be very careful."

"One of these days, I'll take you away from here. I swear I will."

He wouldn't. He couldn't. No more than Jaron could. Both men loved her. Both promised to take her away from Booth Fortier. Neither would ever be able to fulfill that promise. The only thing that would ever free her from her husband was death. She knew that as surely as she knew cats had kittens. There were some things in this life that were inescapable.

Jaron stood on the front porch, rocking nervously back and forth on his heels. What the hell was wrong with her brother? He'd been acting like a whore in Sunday school lately. Fidgety. Nervous. He was up to something and hiding it from her. But what?

When Jaron saw them drive up, he came running. "Booth's home and something's wrong. Something big." The words flew from Jaron's mouth in a breathless rush. "He's building up to a fine rage. He's calling a meeting. Everybody's on their way in, including Ollie Neville." Jaron looked at Ronnie. "Stay out here with me, do you hear?" He glanced at Charmaine. "He wants to see you. Alone."

"No!" When Ronnie reached for Charmaine, Jaron stepped between them.

"It's all right," she said quietly. "Nothing will happen that hasn't happened before. I'll be all right. Just don't give us away by saying or doing anything to make Booth suspicious."

Jaron blocked Ronnie's path until after Charmaine entered the house. Once inside, she took a deep breath and hurried down the hall toward her husband's office. She knocked.

"Enter," he said gruffly.

She eased open the door. He sat behind the massive, elaborate antique desk, his head bent over as he snorted coke. In the past several years, Booth Fortier had become a drug addict. He couldn't make it through a day without his fix.

She closed the door, crossed the room and stood in front of the desk. "Welcome home."

He sniffed several times, lifted his head and grinned lasciviously. A shudder of apprehension fluttered along her nerve endings.

"Did you miss me, baby?"

"What do you think?"

His smile vanished. "I didn't miss you. I've been having me a real good time with some of the best trained whores in Louisiana. They know when to scream, when to cry, when to beg for mercy. It's your own fault that I have to hurt you more. You make it harder on yourself by being silent."

She knew. And that's the very reason she tried so hard to stay as quiet as possible, no matter what he did to her. Crying out in pain would give him too much satisfaction. And always in the back of her mind was one thought-if I scream and beg for mercy, Jaron might hear me. Now she had to worry about Ronnie, too.

"Come here." Booth waved his hand in a beckoning gesture.

Charmaine swallowed hard, then went to him, stopping when she was within arm's reach. He grasped her wrist tightly and tugged. The pain shot up her arm as his fingers bit into her flesh and he jerked her down onto his lap. He grabbed her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks; then his bleary black eyes focused on her.