Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

"Yeah, that about covers it. For tonight. Guess there's no reason to question your staff."

"No, there isn't. The Rowleys are elderly and I assure you they know nothing."

Adams looked pointedly at Jed. "I want to be kept informed from now on."

"Certainly," Jed agreed.

"I'll see the sheriff out." Kate stood, then motioned to the kitchen door with a sweep of her hand, and Adams followed her without a backward glance.

Grace released a pent-up breath and turned to Jed. "What happens now?"

Before Jed could reply, Dom interrupted. "Kate and I will head on back to the hotel."

"Thanks," Jed said. "I'll talk to y'all in the morning about that other matter."

As soon as Dom left the kitchen, Grace asked, "What other matter?"

Should he come clean with her now? Jed wondered. Should he confess everything? At least about his personal life? "I'm going to pay a visit to Booth Fortier tomorrow and I also plan to attend Jaron Vaden's funeral."

"What?" Grace glowered at him, disbelief and a hundred questions in her blue eyes.

"If I asked you to take me on faith, to not question my motivation, would you?" When he reached for her, she side-stepped his grasp. "Yes, I'm keeping things from you. And yes, there's more to this situation than you know about, but-"

"But what? Don't ask any questions, don't expect to be fully informed by the agent and the agency I'm paying-and paying damn well-and take you on faith? Why? Because we slept together last night?"

"Damn it, Grace, can't you just trust me to take care of things, to take care of you?"

"No, I can't. I let Dean and Daddy do all my worrying and a lot of my thinking. I let them take care of things. But that was the old Grace." She tapped her index finger on her chest. "This Grace Beaumont takes care of herself."

"I'll have to get permission from my boss-" he didn't mention the FBI or Dante Moran "-before I can explain."

"Then get permission."

"I'll call him in the morning."

"Call him now."

"Now?"

"Yes," Grace said, a determined expression on her face. "Now."

Charmaine lay in bed, wide-awake. She had spent all evening wondering when Booth would come to her room, waiting for him to tell her Jaron was dead. The sadistic bastard would take great pleasure in detailing every moment of her brother's last hours on earth. Oh, Booth hadn't done the deed himself, but he had watched. Watched and enjoyed. Fresh tears sprang free; she didn't bother wiping them away. No doubt her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Along with her bruises and cracked lip, she probably looked like hell. But what did that matter? With Jaron gone, it was only a matter of time before Booth killed her, too. He would try to beat the truth out of her, try to make her confess that she'd been involved in the plot all along.

Oh, God, what would Ronnie do? He was a strong, rugged man, but he was no match for Booth's unparalleled power. She had to find a way to protect Ronnie. She couldn't let Booth kill him, too.

As she racked her brain trying to think of some way to protect the man she loved and coming up with nothing short of killing Booth herself-a well-worn fantasy of hers-she heard a ruckus downstairs. The doorbell rang, then loud voices filled the house and the sound of footsteps, walking hurriedly, running. She crept from the bed and tiptoed to the closed door that connected her room to Booth's. She tried the knob, and when she found the door unlocked, she eased it open. Before even entering the room, she heard Booth snoring. Aric had no doubt carried him to bed after he'd passed out. Drugged to the gills. It would take a damn tornado to waken him.

Kill him now! an inner voice commanded. You're going to die anyway, she told herself. Do the world a favor and get rid of Booth Fortier. It would be one way to save Ronnie.

A weapon. She needed something more than her nail file. A knife? A gun? She stood at the foot of the bed and watched Booth. Suddenly she noticed the pillows stacked all around the head of the bed. Smother the bastard! Filled with a courage she'd never before possessed, Charmaine walked quietly toward her sleeping husband. Just as she reached out to grab a pillow, she heard someone calling her name. Nola was in her room!

Charmaine backed away from the bed, then whirled around and fled. By the time she returned to her room, Aric had joined Nola.

"You've got to come downstairs right away, Mrs. Fortier," Nola said. "The sheriff's here and he wants to talk to you."

Charmaine's gaze linked with Aric's. "If they want to see Booth, you'd better tell Sheriff Long that Mr. Fortier is sick and on medication and can't be disturbed."

"Ronnie's handling things with the sheriff right now," Aric said. "But the sheriff's wanting to see you. He says it's about Jaron."

Yes, of course it was about Jaron. Undoubtedly his body had been found. The law had come here to tell her that her brother was dead. Strange. Everyone in this house probably already knew that Booth had ordered Jaron's execution.

"Is Charlie back yet?" Charmaine asked, amazed at her calmness.

"No, ma'am. We're not expecting him back for a while," Aric replied.

"Is Curt here?"

"Curt's at the warehouse tonight."

Charmaine nodded. "I'd appreciate it if you stayed up here to keep an eye on Booth. We can't have him waking up and making a scene in front of the sheriff." Charmaine looked directly at Aric and saw from his expression that he understood her meaning.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll see that Mr. Fortier stays put. And you let Ronnie handle things with the sheriff."

She caught an odd look in Aric's black eyes. Sympathy? Yes, that was it. Aric knew the sheriff was going to tell her Jaron was dead and Aric felt sorry for her.

"Nola, get me my robe, please." Charmaine allowed Nola to help her into her robe, then she belted it tightly, put on her house slippers and marched into the hall. She took her time, bolstering up her strength as she made her way downstairs. She found Ronnie in the living room with Sheriff Long. Both men turned to face her when she entered the room. Ronnie watched her intently and she could tell that he wanted to hold her, comfort her. The sheriff's eyes widened when he noticed her battered face. If he asked, she knew what to say. I tripped over a stool and fell into the door. Wasn't that the standard response for abused wives?

"What brings you out to our neck of the woods, Sheriff?" Charmaine asked, as if she didn't have a clue.

"I hate to be the one to deliver bad news, Mrs. Fortier, but I don't suppose bad news is anything you haven't heard before… considering…"

"Please, deliver your news and forget about preaching a sermon on the evils of crime. It's wasted here."

"Yes, ma'am, you got that right." Eugene Long removed his hat and held it at his side. "No easy way to say it, so I'll just tell you straight. Your brother, Jaron Vaden, is dead. He was knifed to death and his body dumped outside the Belle Foret estate belonging to Ms. Grace Beaumont, over in La Durantaye Parish. "

The words bounced off her heart, like arrows off a shield. She had already cried, already mourned her brother. And she would again. In private. And in Ronnie's arms, if that was possible. She closed her eyes for a split second and allowed the reality of Jaron's death to sink in fully.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" the sheriff asked.

Before she could respond, Ronnie was at her side, a strong, steady hand on her shoulder. "Would you like to sit down? Or do you need a drink or-"

"I'm all right." She looked directly at the sheriff. "When may we have the body? I'll need to plan a funeral."

"Can't say for sure, but it could be a few days. Maybe a week or more. Gotta do an autopsy and all."