Beverly Barton - Grace Under Fire

Charmaine, who reclined on a chaise longue halfway across the patio, lifted the wide-brimmed straw hat from her head, removed her sunglasses and stared at Jed and Ronnie.

"Mrs. Fortier," Ronnie called to her. "Your husband's nephew, Jed Tyree, is here to see you and your husband. He's come to pay his condolences."

Charmaine shot up off the chaise, tossed aside her hat and glasses and came running toward Jed. Her long, wild red hair bounced on her naked shoulders. Jed watched her as she came to him, still gorgeous at thirty-five, her figure displayed to perfection in the slim-skirted, strapless sun-dress. When she reached Jed, she threw her arms around him and hugged him, then pulled back, grabbed his hands and smiled. He noticed the bruises on her face and the slightly swollen lip. A pain of regret and remorse shot through him. He knew without asking that Booth had done this to her. Even when he'd hero-worshiped his uncle, he'd known the man had a mean streak, had even seen several demonstrations.

"Lord help me, it's good to see you, Jed." Tears misted her eyes. "You've heard about Jaron." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He would have loved to see you. He missed you when you went away. We both did."

Jed brushed his hand across Charmaine's discolored cheek. She drew back, suddenly embarrassed, and her gaze connected with Ronnie's. Jed recognized the look that passed between them, a silent explanation of why it was all right for another man to touch her so gently, with tender concern. Heaven help them both, Jed thought, Charmaine and Jim Kelly were lovers. Apparently Booth didn't know; otherwise, they'd both be as dead as Jaron.

"I'm really sorry about Jaron," Jed told her.

Charmaine motioned to the umbrella-shaded table several feet away. "Come on over and sit down. Talk to me. Tell me all about yourself. Are you married? Do you have kids? Where do you live? What do you do for a living?"

Jed sensed her nervousness, noted the way she kept staring back at the house. She was playing a game. But why?

"Not married. No kids." Jed followed her to the other side of the patio and sat with her at the table. "Booth's up, isn't he?" Jed whispered.

"I guess you know I married your uncle Booth," Charmaine said, then mouthed the word yes.

"I live in Atlanta," Jed told her, then asked softly, "is he watching us?"

" Atlanta, huh? What brings you back to Louisiana?" Charmaine busied herself pouring them both a glass of orange juice. She handed Jed his glass, then whispered, "He knows you're working for Ms. Beaumont."

"Thanks." Jed accepted the juice, then said in a normal voice, "I work for the Dundee Agency. I'm here on business, working for Grace Beaumont. She's hired our agency for some investigative work and to act as her bodyguards."

She pointed to Ronnie. "Booth sees that I'm well protected at all times. He rotates my personal guard once a year."

"Booth always was a man who looked after his own."

Robust laughter echoed from the open French doors. Jed glanced over his shoulder and saw his uncle, smartly dressed in white slacks and navy shirt, standing in the doorway. Charmaine blanched when she saw her husband, then forced a smile.

"Booth, darling, come see who's paying us a visit. He-he's here in Louisiana on business and heard about Jaron." Although Charmaine's voice was syrupy sweet, the look in her eyes told Jed of her true feelings. Anger. Bitterness. Hatred. But above all else, fear.

Head high, shoulders straight, Booth Fortier marched toward Jed, then when he drew near, he sized up his nephew and said, "It's been a long time, boy."

"Yes, sir, it has. Seventeen years." Jed stood to greet his uncle, showing the respect Booth demanded.

"You're looking well."

"So are you," Jed lied. Even though his uncle appeared quite fit, there was something not quite right about his appearance. It was in the eyes. Just a hint of illness. What plagued the old buzzard? Jed wondered.

Booth walked over and stood behind Charmaine's chair. Jed noticed how she tensed when Booth placed his hand on her shoulder. "Our Charmaine is still a beauty, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is." Jed glanced behind Booth to where Ronnie stood in the background, his stance rigid, as if he were struggling to keep himself in check. If Ronnie-Jim Kelly-cared about Charmaine, it must have killed him seeing the results of Booth's handiwork on her body.

"Guess you never figured when you left us that Charmaine would wind up being mine." Booth caressed her throat, his fingers circling her windpipe as his thumb stroked the side of her neck. "Yeah, our girl moved right to the top. She went from being the heir apparent's woman to become the king's wife."

"And what did Jaron become, other than your brother-in-law? Was he the new heir apparent?" Jed asked.

Charmaine gasped.

Booth frowned. "Jaron was my right-hand man, always at my side to do my bidding. But he was never in line to inherit my throne." Booth released his hold on his wife, then motioned with a sweeping hand gesture toward the house. "Come into my study for a drink and you can tell me why you're really here."

Jed nodded, got up, walked over to Charmaine and said, "I really am very sorry about Jaron." With his uncle watching closely, he leaned over and kissed Charmaine's cheek.

"Thank you." She swallowed her tears.

Jed followed Booth into the house, down the hall and straight into his study. Booth closed the doors behind them, then went to the liquor cabinet. "Whiskey for me. What will you have?"

"The same," Jed replied.

"Neat or on the rocks?"

"Neat."

Booth served as bartender, something Jed couldn't remember his uncle doing in the past. He held a glass in each hand as he approached Jed. Booth held one out to him, which he took.

"Sit."

Jed sat in an overstuffed chair to the right of Booth's desk. Booth braced his hips on the edge of his desk, lifted his glass to his lips and downed a hefty swig.

"Why are you here?" Booth asked. "And don't tell me it's simply to tell us how sorry you are about Jaron." Booth grinned. "By the way, how did you hear about Jaron's death?"

Jed took a sip of whiskey, then eyed his uncle over the rim of the glass. "I guess you already know Jaron's body was dumped at the front gates of Belle Foret, Grace Beaumont's home."

"So I was told."

"I'm Ms. Beaumont's bodyguard. She hired the agency I work for to investigate an allegation she received in a mysterious letter." When Booth didn't respond, simply sat there sipping his liquor, Jed continued. "Why don't I cut to the chase and just ask you out right-did you put out a hit on Dean Beaumont and Byram Sheffield four years ago?"

Booth finished his drink, set the glass down on his desk and looked right at Jed. "Now why would I have done something like that?"

"Because Dean Beaumont was gathering evidence against Lew Miller… evidence that would have proved you controlled the governor."

Booth laughed. "Hell, boy, I've been friends with every governor for the past thirty years and my daddy before that. But I don't control Lew Miller and there's no way Dean Beaumont could have come up with any evidence proving I do."

"Then you're saying you didn't order a hit on-"

"You go back to Ms. Beaumont and tell her that Booth Fortier gives her his word that he had nothing-absolutely nothing-to do with her husband's and father's deaths."

Jed stood, set his glass beside Booth's on the desk, then stared into his uncle's cold, black eyes. "I'll tell her, but you should know she probably won't believe you. I'm sure she'll expect us to continue the investigation. She's determined to prove the allegations to be either true or false."

"Let me give you some advice." Booth grinned, his expression pure evil. "Do what you can to persuade Ms. Beaumont that it's in her best interest to let the matter drop. It's not healthy for a young widow to dwell on her husband's death. Who knows, an obsession like that could kill her."