Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

Of course the wise thing would be to tell her nothing. He could just go to bed right now, get a few hours of sleep before leaving for Beaulac, and then face Grace later in the day. As much as he hated to leave her under someone else's protection, he trusted Dom and Kate to keep Grace safe. But by not coming clean with her, all he was doing was putting off the inevitable.

He paced the room in his sock feet. Sometimes avoiding an issue was a solution. A temporary solution. He sat on the edge of the bed, yanked off his socks, then unbuttoned his shirt. If he told Grace that Booth Fortier was his uncle, would that satisfy her curiosity? If he swore to her that he hated the man as much as she did, would she believe him? Or would she distrust him, turn against him, fire him as her bodyguard?

Jed removed his shirt and hung it on the cannonball bedpost of the Colonial style oak bed, then flopped down across the top of the bedspread. Lying there his hands cupped behind his head, he tried to stop thinking about Grace… about the trip to his uncle's house tomorrow… about Jaron. He had no idea what sort of man Jaron had become, how many crimes he'd committed for Booth, for the syndicate. But he figured his old friend had been guilty of just about every offense on the books. What Jed couldn't figure out was what had made Jaron so desperate to escape Booth's hold that he'd risked everything for Grace's five million.

A soft rapping on his door abruptly ended his speculation. He started to get up, but didn't. Instead he said, "Yeah, come in."

The door eased open. Grace peeked inside. "Jed, may I speak to you?"

"You should be in bed trying to get some sleep." So much for putting off a confrontation, he thought.

"I can't sleep." She opened the door all the way, walked in and shut the door behind her. "We need to talk."

Why was it that just the sight of this woman made him soft in the head and hard everywhere else?

"Can't it wait?" he asked.

"Did you telephone Mr. MacNamara?"

"Yeah. And the answer is no. No way in hell."

She nodded. "I figured as much."

"If it was my decision to make, I'd tell you." Jed sat up and slid over to the edge of the bed. "But I work for Dundee 's and-"

"I understand."

Standing in the muted light from the one bedside lamp, she looked like an angel. A golden angel, all shimmering beauty. And he could tell that the fiery indignation with which she'd confronted him an hour ago downstairs in the kitchen had burned itself out. She seemed quite calm, even a bit subdued.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Grace said. "I think I've figured it out. You're working for Dundee 's, but you're cooperating with the FBI. They're interested in proving that Fortier and Lew Miller are in cahoots."

"Grace…"

She signaled him to say no more. "Don't worry, I'm not sharing my theory with anyone else. I promise."

"Look, Blondie, you should go to bed. It's been a rough night." Jed stood, but made no move to go to her. "If you've got a sleeping pill, take it. You're the boss over at Sheffield Media. You can take the morning off if you want to. Stay home tomorrow. Before I leave for Beaulac, Dom and Kate will come over here and stay with you. They'll act as your bodyguards while I'm gone."

Grace nodded; then suddenly an odd look appeared in her eyes and her mouth opened on a surprised gasp. "Booth Fortier lives in Beaulac? Didn't you tell me that you're originally from Beaulac? Did you know Fortier years ago when you lived in the same town?"

The inevitable had arrived sooner than he'd expected. What are you going to tell her? he asked himself. The truth? Or a lie?

Troy Leone sat in a chair near the window where the old air conditioner chugged out cold air as it rattled and rumbled. He reached over and picked up a pack of cigarettes off the table, knocked a fresh one from the pack and lit it with the butt of the one he'd finished. Josie had fallen asleep right after they'd had sex. She was a wild thing in bed, but she wasn't one for cuddling afterward. Hell, neither was he. It wasn't like he was in love with Josie or anything. She was red-hot and couldn't get enough, which suited him just fine. But now that he'd decided not to return to the warehouse and wouldn't be making big bucks, he figured Josie would tell him to get lost. She liked pretty things; and without money, he couldn't buy her clothes and jewelry and whatever else she wanted. He knew what she wanted more than anything-to quit her waitress job.

Troy scratched his chest, then glanced over his shoulder, back into the bedroom where Josie slept. He sure wished she'd let him stay. He liked having a place of his own and a willing woman in his bed; but mostly he dreaded the thought of tucking his tail between his legs and crawling home to Elsa. Okay, so his sister cared about him, worried about him, wanted what was best for him. But God Almighty, she smothered him. Couldn't she get it through her head that he was a man now, not some snot-nosed kid? So he'd made a mistake taking the warehouse job. He'd thought he was tough, that working for the mob wasn't such a big deal. But after that guy had paid him a visit today and he'd found out he really was working for none other than Booth Fortier, Troy had known he was in way over his head. He wasn't interested in a life of crime, in becoming a career criminal. All he'd wanted was some easy money.

Puffing on his new cigarette, Troy leaned his head back against the wall as the front legs of the straight chair lifted off the floor. If he moved home-when he moved home-Elsa would be onto him again about his smoking. If it wasn't one thing with her, it was another.

So, don't go home, he told himself. Go back to the warehouse tomorrow night. But if he did that, he'd knowingly be working for Booth Fortier and that guy would show up again and ask him to do a job for the big boss. Fortier would expect him to kill somebody. He just didn't think he had it in him to be a murderer. Ask him to lie, cheat or steal and he'd do it. But kill another human being in cold blood? No way.

He took a last draw on his cigarette, ground it into a nearby ashtray and headed back to the bedroom. He stood over the bed and watched Josie sleeping. She wasn't pretty, but she was built good. He crawled into bed beside her, draped one arm over her and cuddled to her back.

She had no idea he'd quit his job at the warehouse. Tonight he'd stayed at a bar on East Sixth Street until the place closed down, then he'd come back to the apartment and told Josie he'd gotten off work early. He'd have to tell her the truth before tomorrow night, but he wasn't going to mention it until then. Since tomorrow was her off day, he figured they could spend most of the day in bed. If she needed a little incentive, he'd just show her the five hundred bucks Booth Fortier's man had given him.

Troy kissed Josie's ear. She grunted. He licked her neck. She slapped at him as if she were swatting a fly. He chuckled.

"Wake up, honey. Wake up just enough to say yes."

She growled, then flopped over, but kept her eyes closed. "What time is it?"

"Early. Not quite four."

Josie groaned. "I'm too sleepy to-"

He kissed her, stuck his tongue in her mouth while he whipped the covers off her. When he rubbed his erection against her belly, she started kissing him back. God, he was going to miss getting sex all the time like this. But as soon as Josie found out he didn't have any big money coming in, she'd sure as hell kick his ass out the door. Just get it while you can, man, he told himself. You'll miss it-miss her-but you can always find another woman. But if you let yourself get in too deep with Booth Fortier, you could wind up in the pen for life or end up dead. He didn't intend for either to be his fate. He loved money and he loved sex, but not enough to die for either.