Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

"You know we will. Stop worrying. The way you're acting, you'd think she was your-" Dom grinned, then grimaced. "Holy shi- What am I saying? I realize she's not just a client to you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know I've screwed up. But save the name-calling. I've already called myself every name in the book. And don't think I don't know how she'll react when she finds out that Booth is my uncle."

"She's a smart lady. Give her time and she'll understand. She won't blame you for the things your uncle has done."

"I just hope you're right."

Jed opened the car door, slid behind the wheel, started the engine and drove away. When he reached the gates at the end of the long drive, they already stood open. Nolan's doing, no doubt. He pulled the car just beyond the gates, then punched in Moran's number on Dom's phone and waited. On the second ring, Moran answered.

"Jed Tyree here. I'm leaving Belle Foret right now. I should be in Beaulac in about forty-five minutes."

"Our agent's name is Jim Kelly," Moran said. "He's been undercover for two years. Fortier and everyone in the syndicate know him as Ronnie Martine. He's been Charmaine Fortier's personal bodyguard for six months."

The Fortier home was located toward the back of twenty acres, along the riverfront outside the small town of Beaulac. Although at first sight no one would suspect the extent of the security surrounding the place, Jed knew. No one got near the house without being watched like a hawk. Booth had guard points set up all around the property and underlings manned those inconspicuous stations. When he'd stopped at the front gate and announced himself, he'd been allowed entrance, without hesitation. Whether Booth had given the okay or one of his flunkies had, Jed didn't know. But it seemed Booth's nephew was welcome. And that's just what Jed had been counting on. Booth was a ruthless man, a true killer at heart, but he considered blood relatives different from other people. Jed had heard his uncle say more than once that a man didn't eliminate his own blood kin. Besides, Booth had to be curious about why Jed would come to see him, especially since his uncle no doubt already knew he was working for Grace Beaumont. As he drove up the road toward the house, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He hadn't seen his uncle in seventeen years, but the closer he got to the house, the hotter the rage inside him. Being at the old homestead brought back memories-both good and bad. Foremost in his mind was the fact that Booth had ordered his father's death, something Booth hadn't denied when Jed confronted him.

From the moment he'd been conceived, Jed's life had been affected by his uncle's actions. As he parked the rental car in front of his grandparents' old house, he realized that despite having separated himself from Booth, putting time and distance between them, he hadn't been able to escape his heritage. He was part of the Fortier family; and just as Booth had, Jed had inherited a legacy of criminal activity that went back generations.

He'd grown up in this house, the privileged nephew of a powerful man. His childhood had been less than perfect, but he'd learned at a young age to be tough and resilient. A boy without a mother, with only a ruthless dictator as an adult role model, Jed had been a cocky, smart-ass kid. And Booth had allowed him unlimited freedom, more than any teenager should have had. He had both feared and admired his uncle, and in an odd way he'd loved Booth. But all that had changed when his mother had told him the truth-Booth had ordered his father's murder.

After parking the car and getting out, he was met by Aric, who had changed very little in seventeen years. His uncle's chauffeur and private bodyguard stood on the veranda, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his black eyes narrowed to a warning glare.

"Morning," Jed said as he slammed the car door. "Uncle Booth around?"

Aric uncrossed his arms and dropped them to either side of his body. The sunlight reflected off the gun riding inside his shoulder holster. "He's not up yet. But you're welcome to go on inside and wait for him."

"What about Charmaine, is she up?"

"Mrs. Fortier is having breakfast by the pool this morning."

"Then maybe I can see her first, pay my respects and give her my condolences."

Aric stepped aside as Jed walked up the steps and onto the veranda. "You know the way, Mr. Tyree."

"Sure do."

Aric hadn't even flinched at the mention of giving Charmaine condolences. Jed had thought maybe the big black man would respond by saying what a tough break it was that Jaron had been killed. But he said nothing more. Jed moved past Aric, who stood ramrod straight; then he opened the unlocked front door and went into the foyer. As he looked around, he realized the place had been redecorated. He glanced up the staircase and wondered what Booth had done to his old bedroom-a teenage boy's bedroom. Burned the furniture and had the room fumigated? Inwardly Jed laughed, but it was a bittersweet emotion.

A big, rugged guy with dark hair and a pensive glare came down the hallway and met Jed. "Mr. Tyree?"

"Yeah." Jed nodded. "And you're…?"

"I'll have to ask you for your weapon. Mr. Fortier doesn't allow anyone who doesn't work for him to carry a weapon on the property."

Jed shoved back his jacket, undid the holster and removed his Beretta. He had to admit that he felt naked without it. Whenever he was at work, he carried a gun. And during his life, he'd spent more time working-for Booth, for the U.S. Army and for Dundee 's-than doing anything else. Jed was surprised this guy hadn't frisked him. If he had, he would have discovered Jed's backup weapon strapped just above his ankle.

"I understand Booth isn't up yet." Jed studied the guy who still hadn't told him his name. From the description Moran had given him of Jim Kelly, Jed figured this man was the undercover agent.

"He sleeps late most mornings."

"Then I'd like to see Mrs. Fortier and give her my condolences…"

"She's in pretty rough shape. Mrs. Fortier cared a great deal about her brother and his death has hit her pretty hard."

Jed knew genuine concern when he heard it. This guy cared that Charmaine was grieving. What Jed didn't know was whether it was simply sympathy for another human being or a sentimental attachment. Had Jim Kelly fallen for Charmaine? If so, heaven help him, because if the FBI agent was in love with Booth Fortier's wife, then he was in a worse situation than Jed was with Grace.

Jed patted his coat pocket. "Damn, I forgot my cigarettes. You don't happen to smoke do you? I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself."

The guy held out his hand as he studied Jed. "I'm Ronnie Martine, Mrs. Fortier's private bodyguard." Jed and he shared a firm handshake. "Sorry, but I don't smoke anymore. But I still carry around my old cigarette lighter." Ronnie pulled a red-and-silver lighter from his pocket, flipped open the lid and flicked the striker. An orange-red flame shot half an inch high.

"I should give up smoking," Jed said. "It's a nasty habit."

Ronnie closed the lighter and returned it to his pants pocket. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Fortier."

Jed followed Ronnie down the hall, but refrained from saying more than the code phrase he'd used-I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself. In this house, the walls often did have ears. He'd wait for Ronnie to make the next move. At least now, they knew each other. The contact had been made.

When they entered the patio, Ronnie stopped abruptly before alerting Charmaine of their presence. "Everything is set here," Ronnie said low and soft.

"That's good."

"I need to know when it's coming down. There are preparations I have to make."

"All I know is soon. Things have escalated since Grace Beaumont became involved."