Patricia Rosemoor: Saving Grace

Saving Grace

Patricia Rosemoor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page Saving Grace Patricia Rosemoor www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author PATRICIA ROSEMOOR has always had a fascination with dangerous love. She loves bringing a mix of thrills and chills and romance to Intrigue readers. She’s won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and Reviewers’ Choice and Career Achievement Awards from RT Book Reviews. She teaches courses on writing popular fiction and suspense thriller writing in the fiction writing department of Columbia College Chicago. Check out her website, www.PatriciaRosemoor. com. You can contact Patricia via e-mail at Patricia@ PatriciaRosemoor.com.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Copyright

Thanks as always to the members of my critique

group—Sherrill Bodine, Rosemary Paulas, Cheryl

Jefferson, Jude Mandell and Laurie DeMarino—who

brainstormed with me through the tough spots.

June 22, 1919

Donal McKenna,

Ye might have found happiness with another woman, but your progeny will pay for ths betrayal of me. I call on my faerie blood and my powers as a witch to give yers only sorrow in love, for should they act on their feelings, they will put their loved ones in mortal danger.

So be it,

Sheelin O’Keefe

PATRICIA ROSEMOORhas always had a fascination with dangerous love. She loves bringing a mix of thrills and chills and romance to Intrigue readers. She’s won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and Reviewers’ Choice and Career Achievement Awards from RT Book Reviews. She teaches courses on writing popular fiction and suspense thriller writing in the fiction writing department of Columbia College Chicago. Check out her website, www.PatriciaRosemoor. com. You can contact Patricia via e-mail at Patricia@ PatriciaRosemoor.com.

She was the most stunning creature he’d ever seen.

The raven-haired woman entered through a door that should have been locked. It was well after ten. Behind her, the street was muted with fog that curled over the pavement and up the streetlights. Declan McKenna stood frozen at the front desk of Vieux Carré Investigations and let the stapler he’d just picked up tumble from his fingers back to the desktop.

“I need you,” she said, her low, throaty voice sizzling down his spine.

“Then have me. I’m yours.”

A perfectly arched brow revealed her annoyance with his attempt at humor. “I need your services,” she amended. “Your professional services. You are a private investigator?”

“Forgive me. You took me by surprise.” He straightened. “Declan McKenna, one of the owners of Vieux Carre Investigations.” His cousin and partner, Ian, was out of town, the reason Declan had spent all night wrestling with paperwork. They didn’t have any other employees, not while they were working to get the business in the black, so they had to do everything from footwork to accounting.

“I’m Grace Broussard.”

Declan moved to his office door and held out an arm to invite her in. “Please.”

Closing the outside door, she stepped forward.

What an eyeful she was in a sleek black dress, both sides slitted to reveal glimpses of long, long legs. Her raven hair dusted her shoulders and came to a peak at her waist. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her before. Mesmerized by the length of Grace’s spine as she moved into the office before him, Declan removed his jacket.

She was making him sweat.

Grace took a seat, and Declan rounded his desk, one of the many antiques adorning the office. Not Declan’s taste. Not Ian’s, either. They’d bought the business, lock, stock and furniture, from the previous owner. The decor was appropriate for a business situated in the French Quarter, so they hadn’t changed anything, not even the dark green paint on the walls.

Declan hung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat. “What can I do for you, Ms. Broussard?”

“Grace, please. I need you to find out who’s been following me.”

“What makes you think you’re being followed?”

Not that he disbelieved her. Most likely more than one man had followed her at some time or other.

“Let’s say my senses are sharp, in tune with my surroundings. I’ve been aware of someone following me several times in the past two weeks.”

“Did you see who?”

“No, but I’m not imagining it. I thought perhaps it was a fan. But then there are these.” She opened her purse and pulled out several folded sheets of cream-colored paper. “The first came in the mail at work.”

Unfolding one of the missives, she placed it on the desk and slid it toward him. He stared at the words printed in caps.

I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU

She placed the second sheet on top of the first. There was a little hitch in her voice when she said, “The second message was delivered to me at a social gathering. A charity dinner. I found it under my plate.”

I SEE EVERYTHING YOU DO

“And now there’s this, pushed under my apartment door sometime during the night. Or maybe that’s what woke me up so early this morning.”

Her hand was shaking now as she smoothed out the final note. Declan stared at the four words printed neatly in the middle of the third missive.

I CAN EXPOSE YOU

“Do you know what the threat means?” he asked. “It must have something to do with my work.” “Which is …?”

“I represent a new line of designer clothing called Voodoo.”

Declan snapped to and felt a flush creep up his neck as he placed her—that ad in the New Orleans Times-Picayune. Her lying across a red satin-covered bed, back arched, arm lazily thrown over her head, the words under the photo: Voodoo … Put A Spell On Him Tonight….

He’d wanted the woman in that ad to put a spell on him!

Clearing his throat, he said, “Sounds like this could be a stalker. Have you been to the police?”

“No police,” she said. “Not unless absolutely necessary.”

“Tell me why.”

Grace took a big breath. “Bad publicity could be devastating to my mother’s career. She’s an assistant district attorney and slated to fill a judicial vacancy. And then there’s my brother, a city council member up for re-election. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I somehow ruined the lives of the people I love.”

As a man who believed in family loyalty, Declan was impressed. Grace’s emotions were raw, right on the surface. A person didn’t have to be an empath to read her. But as a McKenna, he could do so more quickly and more deeply than the average person. All the members of his family had some native ability—his being able to read anyone’s emotions.

“So, I gather you’d like us to provide you with a bodyguard.”

“No!” Her depthless gray eyes widened. “I can’t have someone following me around every moment. I want you to figure out who this pervert is and help me find a way to dissuade him from doing anything I would regret.”