Beverly Barton: Grace Under Fire

Jed Tyree took the private elevator directly up to the suite of offices on the sixth floor and arrived at the Dundee Agency at nine-fifteen. Sawyer McNamara had phoned him at home and asked that they meet tonight about an assignment Sawyer had handpicked Jed to oversee. On a gut level Jed felt something was off about this job. He'd heard an odd tone in his boss's voice. For some reason, Sawyer had been reluctant to discuss even the most minor details about the assignment over the phone.

As Jed neared Sawyer's office, he noticed the door stood wide open so he saw plainly that Sawyer wasn't alone. With his hip resting against the side of his desk, Sawyer was deep in conversation with Sam Dundee, who presided over the room in the chair behind the massive desk. Across from the desk, in a large wing chair, another man, in a black suit, sat with his legs crossed. The stranger possessed a swarthy complexion, sleekly styled dark hair and an air of comfortable authority.

When Jed approached the open door, Sawyer glanced at him, then eased off the desk and came forward to meet him. "Come on in," Sawyer said. "We've been waiting for you."

A hard knot of apprehension tightened in his belly. What the hell was going on here? Jed wondered. Why was Sam Dundee sitting in on this meeting? And who was their visitor?

Sawyer escorted Jed into the room. The man in the wing chair stood and offered his hand. Jed eyed the neatly manicured fingers on the guy's right hand and noted an onyx and diamond ring; then he looked right into the stranger's face. The guy's yellow-brown eyes narrowed as he studied Jed, who shared a quick handshake with him while Sawyer made the introductions.

"Dante Moran, this is Jed Tyree."

Moran stared at Jed so intensely that he wondered if perhaps they'd met before and Moran was trying to figure out where.

"Jed, this is Special Agent Dante Moran," Sawyer said.

Now Jed knew something fishy was going on. "You're a Fed."

As if to say: that's that, Sawyer slapped and then rubbed his hands together, the quick, loud sound breaking the tension radiating around the room. "Why don't you have a seat, Jed, and we'll get right to it."

Jed nodded, then took the matching wing chair across from the one into which Moran eased his long lean body.

"I received a call tonight from Grace Beaumont," Sawyer said as he backed up against the edge of his desk, making sure he didn't block Sam Dundee's view. "Mrs. Beaumont is the widow of Dean Beaumont, who was the attorney general of Louisiana four years ago."

At the mention of Louisiana, Jed's mind sent up a red warning flag. He'd left the state behind him-everything and everyone-seventeen years ago. He'd never returned, not even for a brief visit. Hell, he hadn't even made a phone call home.

Jed didn't respond in any way; he simply waited for Sawyer to continue, which he did.

"Dean Beaumont and his father-in-law, Byram Sheffield, died in what was believed to have been a hit-and-run accident almost four years ago. Mrs. Beaumont survived the crash. And the driver of the other car disappeared without a trace. The crime is still unsolved."

The more Jed heard, the less he liked where this scenario was leading. Before his uncle's name was even mentioned, Jed knew that somehow, some way, Booth Fortier was involved.

"Today Mrs. Beaumont received an anonymous letter telling her that the deaths of her husband and father were actually murders, not the result of an accident," Sam Dundee said. "She wants to hire Dundee 's to investigate this allegation. We've chosen you to head up the operation."

"And if I don't want to accept the assignment?" Jed asked, then looked pointedly at Dante Moran.

"You know where this is leading," Moran told him. "You know why you're the perfect candidate for this job."

"Let me guess-Booth Fortier is involved." Jed's jaw clenched. He had spent a lifetime trying to put more than distance between himself and his mother's brother. Only in the darkest, loneliest moments of introspection did he allow himself to remember the past.

"This anonymous author claims that Dean Beaumont was on the verge of providing proof that Fortier has his hooks into Governor Lew Miller." Moran's expression didn't change one iota. "The Bureau has reason to believe these claims are true."

"And if that's the case, then Booth Fortier was behind the murders of Beaumont and his father-in-law," Sawyer said.

"So you want to send me to Louisiana to do what?" Jed's lips curved into a mocking smile. "You think because there's a biological connection between Fortier and me that I'll be able to unearth the truth… quicker… easier… than another Dundee 's Agent?" Jed scanned the room, his gaze taking aim at Sawyer and Sam for a split second, before he returned his sharp glare to Moran. "If the Bureau has an interest in this situation, why not send one of your own down there?"

"We're taking a risk here, trusting you," Moran said. "But as you well know, before you were hired by Dundee 's, they did a thorough investigation into your past. You're clean as a whistle. Not one black mark against you. And you've had no contact with your uncle since you left home when you were eighteen."

"Get to the point." Jed didn't like the way the conversation was going. No matter what the Bureau wanted or why, it had to be bad news for him.

"Seventeen years ago, you contacted the Bureau about your uncle." Moran continued. "You claimed Fortier had murdered your father and you wanted him brought to justice."

"Yeah, and I was patted on the head and sent on my way." Jed recalled the arrogant son-of-a-bitch who had pointed out that Jed had no proof, that the accusation was worthless, that it would be Jed's word against his uncle's.

"The agent in charge at the time made a mistake," Moran said. "He made a decision without consulting his superiors." Moran cleared his throat. "Special Agent Clark overstepped his authority by automatically refusing to use you to infiltrate Fortier's close-knit family. It seems Clark had his own reasons for not taking advantage of your ties to Fortier. "

"Mind telling me what those reasons were?"

"The guy didn't trust you. He was skeptical when it came to mob informants. Actually, he had a major chip on his shoulder when it came to anyone associated with the mob," Moran explained. "He figured you'd either get scared off or you'd wind up dead before the case would ever go to trial. He made a bad judgment call, one we didn't know about for years. Not until after his death eighteen months ago."

"So what's the deal?" Jed asked. "Lay it on the line for me, will you? You can't possibly want me to infiltrate my uncle's organization at this late date. He'd never buy my coming home and doing the prodigal son bit."

"We want you to go to St. Camille, work for Mrs. Beaumont as an investigator and while there, pay your uncle a visit. We're not expecting a reconciliation, but it's a known fact that Fortier still has a soft spot where you're concerned. He'll see you. You know he will." Moran waited for a response; he didn't get one. "Be up-front. Tell him you're working for Grace Beaumont. Act skeptical, tell him you don't trust him, ask him if the allegations against him are true. But give the guy a hint that you might not hate him, that you've had second thoughts about blaming him for your father's death. Make him think you want to believe he didn't have Ms. Beaumont's father and husband murdered."

"And putting on this little act will get us what?"

"Seventeen years ago you desperately wanted to help us bring Booth Fortier down. Here's your chance to help us do that and also protect Grace Beaumont's life in the process. Once Dundee 's starts digging, it's only a matter of time before her life is threatened. We both know that."