Rebecca York - Guarding Grace

“Sometimes. And parties. Some of them on the Hill. Some at people’s houses. Anywhere from basement apartments in Columbia Heights to Georgetown mansions.”

“You from DC originally?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “Chicago.”

They were standing close together. He could reach out and hold her the way he’d done in the car. To comfort her, he asked himself, or because he wanted to feel her body against his? He wondered if that was the real reason he’d initially decided not to bring her here. Staying in a public place meant he couldn’t start anything with her.

He stopped that line of thought. Getting intimate with this woman was the last thing that should be on his mind.

He wondered what she saw in his face when she suddenly said, “You don’t have to be tough all the time. It’s all right for you to feel … sad about your brother.”

“I don’t need advice, thanks,” he answered quickly, all too aware of the last time he’d let himself give in to grief. But that had been very different. Losing Carol and Lisa had been a body blow. He was still coming to terms with John’s passing, but it didn’t feel the same. He’d loved his wife and daughter. Fiercely. When he’d learned of John’s death, he’d been shocked, but not plunged immediately into a black hole of devastation. He’d miss his brother, but his death wouldn’t leave a gaping wound in his life.

“We’re not going to talk about me,” he added, making his voice firm.

“Why not?”

“It’s not relevant.”

“You get to make the rules?”

“Yeah. Because I’m the one who drove you away from certain captivity.”

“Well, that was very noble of you, but it doesn’t mean I can’t walk away from you now.”

Tension crackled between them. From the look in her eyes, he was sure she would dump him if that suited her plans. He felt a pang he couldn’t explain. He wanted to keep her with him, and he didn’t even know if it was for the right reasons. For that matter, he didn’t know what the right reasons were. He’d started out thinking she was sleeping with his brother.

Now he thought she was telling the truth about how she fit into the picture. But the whole truth?

He’d damn well better find out and damn well better keep his head on straight while he did it.

“Where would you go?” he asked.

He was glad to see she looked uncertain. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Where were you going when I caught up with you in the alley?”

“Away.”

“No specific destination in mind?” Before she could answer, a knock sounded at the front door.

They both stiffened, and he looked at the clock again. It was just after two. No time for a social visit. Or any kind of visit.

“Maybe you should ask who it is,” she whispered. Yeah, that was the logical first step. He walked toward the door and called out, “Who’s there?” “Ridgeway Security.”

He’d smugly assumed that Grace was safe in his apartment. And Grace had been acting as if she didn’t need his protection. But when she turned frightened eyes to him, he knew they’d both made major miscalculations.

He kept his voice steady. “Go into the bedroom. It’s at the end of the hall.”

As she hurried to the back of the apartment, a second knock sounded.

“Just a minute,” he called out, rubbing his hand through his hair to muss it up. He walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Through the distorted lens, he saw two tough-looking men standing in the hall. Although it was hard to be sure, he thought he’d never seen either one of them before.

“Open up.”

“I’m getting dressed,” he answered, undoing the top two buttons of his wrinkled dress shirt.

When he opened the door, the men pushed their way past him and into the apartment.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask for permission to enter?” he asked.

“Didn’t you just give it to us?” “No. I want your names.”

The one who had been speaking said, “I’m Mosley.” “Kessler,” the other one offered. “Can I see your credentials?”

They both reached inside their suit jackets and brought out small leather cases with their cards and Ridgeway IDs. Unless the creds were fake, both of them worked for his brother’s consortium.

“What’s this about?” Brady asked as they put the credentials away.

“Your car was spotted in the vicinity of Grace Cunningham’s apartment earlier this evening. Is she here?”

He gave the speaker a quizzical look. “I think you’re mistaken. Who is Grace Cunningham?”

“She had an appointment with your brother tonight.”

“And?”

“Given the untimely demise of Mr. Ridgeway, we want to ask her some questions.” “She’s not here.”

“Do you mind if we look around?” “Yes, I mind.”

Despite that, Mosley walked past him into the living room. After opening the closet and looking behind the furniture, he searched the kitchen, then started down the hall. Kessler stayed with Brady by the front door, probably so he couldn’t escape or make a phone call, Brady guessed.

Brady stared after the man heading for the bedroom. He’d spent a lot of time with his brother, which meant he’d spent a lot of time around his security detail. They always followed procedure, and these guys were acting out of character.

His mind switched from the men to Grace. Had she found a hiding place where the intruder wouldn’t discover her?

Unlikely. Unless she’d climbed out the window again. Only, as she’d pointed out, they were too high up for her to find an escape route, unless she also worked as a circus performer or a cat burglar.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to give the impression of fatigue rather than tension.

If they found her here, what the hell was he going to say about it?

He barely knew Grace Cunningham. Yet if she was telling the truth about what had happened this evening at the consortium, he understood why she wanted to avoid falling into the clutches of these men. They’d said they wanted to ask her some questions. She’d said they were in the middle of a cover-up.

“I appreciate your going all out for my brother,” Brady said, angling for an opening to … He wasn’t sure what. “You seem pretty loyal. How long have you worked for him?”

“How is that relevant?” the man snapped.

“I haven’t seen you at the consortium.”

“I haven’t seen you, either.”

Down the hall, Mosley made a grunting sound.

He’d found her. Damn!

Kessler reached into his jacket and pulled out an automatic pistol, then dashed toward the back of the apartment, intent on aiding his partner.

Without making a conscious decision, Brady stuck out his foot and sent the man sprawling. He landed on the wood floor, halfway down the hall.

While the guy was catching his breath, Brady lunged for the desk, grabbed a glass paperweight and brought it down on the back of Kessler’s head. He went still.

As he watched blood seep from the man’s hair, Brady knew he’d just stepped over an invisible line from harassed citizen protesting a home invasion to criminal. Scrambling over the limp body, he sprinted toward the bedroom.

Mosley was also on the floor—at the side of the bed. He was on top of Grace, trying to wrest his gun from her grasp.

Brady grabbed the man’s coat collar and yanked him backward, just as the gun discharged, the sound reverberating in the confined space.

Mosley went rigid. Brady yanked him off of Grace, tucked the gun into the waistband of his own slacks and rolled the man to his back. A bullet hole marred the upper arm of his gray sports jacket. When Brady pulled aside the guy’s coat, he saw that a bloodstain had spread across the fabric of his dress shirt. But it was seeping, not pumping from an artery.