Chapter 6
"That was the best Crawfish Etoufe I've eaten in years," Jed said as he held open the door at Beula's Crab Shack and waited for Grace to exit.
"Didn't I tell you? The place really is a shack, but the food is to die for."
Grace smiled. Sweet and genuine. Instinct told him that she had no idea how sexy her warm smile was, how alluring, especially since she possessed such a cool, aloof sophistication. His gut tightened. He wanted to touch her; run the back of his hand over her cheek, down her neck, and dip his fingers into the vee of her silk blouse.
"Walk or ride?" she asked. "It's really sticky outside today because of the high humidity, so you might prefer the air-conditioned car."
It took him a second to dislodge his lustful thoughts and realize she was talking about the tour of St. Camille he'd requested before lunch.
Since there was little chance, this early on, that Booth Fortier knew anything about Grace having been contacted by a traitor in Fortier's ranks, any danger to Grace was probably nonexistent at this point. However, all that would change once the investigation into the allegations went into full swing. An investigation of this type, especially with the FBI involved, wasn't something that could be rushed. By tomorrow at this time, the wheels would be fully set in motion and after that everything would switch from slow gear into high. But before that happened, Jed wanted a chance to get to know the woman whose life was in his hands. Not only would a casual, relaxed tour of St. Camille give him the opportunity to acquaint himself with Grace Beaumont, it would also allow him to get the lay of the land. Whenever he began a new assignment, he always tried to make time to check out his surroundings, and that included the town or city. The more he knew about his employer and his or her environment, the better he could do his job. At least that was the way Jed worked.
"Which do you suggest?"
"Despite the heat and humidity, I recommend the walk. It's really the best way to see the town. And unless we dawdle along the way, the tour won't take long. Downtown St. Camille isn't all that big, only a few blocks."
"Then why don't we shed our coats, dump them in the car and tour the town on foot?"
"Let's go."
She headed for the parking lot shared by three restaurants side-by-side along the street and a voodoo/magic shop on the corner of Avenall. After opening the back door of her Mercedes, she removed her lavender jacket to reveal a sleeveless, V-neck silk blouse that clung to her high, round breasts. After folding her jacket and placing it on the back seat, she turned to Jed. He'd already removed his jacket-one of only two sport coats he owned-and was in the process of folding it when he heard her gasp. He glanced at her face, then followed her line of vision to the hip holster he wore.
"Where did… when did…?"
He patted the weapon. "I'm licensed to carry the gun. Dundee 's handles all the legalities that affect us whenever we cross state lines or work in foreign countries."
"I don't like the idea of your…" She frowned. "At present you're working as an investigator, not a bodyguard, so why is the gun necessary?"
"It's not." Jed removed the holster and placed it beneath his jacket on the seat. "Is that better?" There was no reason to tell Grace he carried another gun strapped to his ankle. A seasoned professional usually had a backup weapon.
"Yes, thank you. If someone had seen you wearing a gun, they might have reported it to the police."
"I thought you and Chief Winters were personal friends. All you'd have to do is explain to him that I'm working for you, as a bodyguard. Your being who you are, he'd buy that."
"How did you know Charles Winters and I are friends?" Her eyes widened with realization. "That Dundee report on me really was very thorough, wasn't it?"
Jed grinned. "Thorough enough, as far as preliminary reports go."
"Then the second report you're expecting will no doubt list my shoe size, my bra size, how many fillings I have in my teeth and whether I sleep in pajamas or a gown."
He tossed his unfolded coat into the back seat of the Mercedes, atop her neatly folded jacket, then surveyed her from head to toe. "I don't need a report to give me that type of info. My guess is you wear a size seven and a half shoe, a thirty-four C-cup bra…" His gaze lingered over her breasts, then moved up to her face. "I'd say no more than three or four fillings in your teeth and as far as what you sleep in…" He paused, imagining her in silk pajamas, then in a sheer see-through gown. "A woman with a body like yours should sleep in the raw… and you probably did when your husband was alive. But now, I peg you for the silk pajamas type."
Grace stared at him with a mixture of wonder and disbelief in her eyes. "Shoe size correct. Bra size correct. I have six fillings in my teeth. As a kid I loved sweets." She took a deep breath. "And I sleep in silk pajamas."
Jed noticed a tinge of color in her cheeks. Anger? Embarrassment? A bit of both, he figured.
"Should I apologize?" he asked.
"For what? For being too forward, for getting a bit too personal?"
She studied him, the intensity of her gaze informing him that his brash comments hadn't rattled her in the least. But he knew better. Deep down inside, Grace Beaumont was just a little unsure of him… and of the effect he had on her.
When he remained silent, she said, "I assume it's your nature to act the way you do. Just keep in mind that whatever effect your boldness has on other women, it's wasted on me."
"I think you just accused me of something… not having good manners probably." She wouldn't be the first to tell him that he was often tactless. "And just what effect do you think I usually have on women?"
Grace slammed the car door, looked up at him and offered him a cold smile. "I think you're used to women falling all over you. Now, shall we take our walk? I can give you a tour of the town in an hour."
She had adeptly ended the personal aspects of their conversation and changed the subject. Guess she put you in your place, he told himself.
"Lead the way," he said.
Jed fell into step alongside Grace as they left the parking lot and began their trek by following Avenall over to the next block. She pointed out several buildings, explaining that this particular section of town was, for the most part, close to two hundred years old. They passed two blocks of renovated structures dating back to the early nineteenth century.
"My father did a great deal to help restore many of the old buildings downtown," she said as they crossed the street onto Raleigh, which ran north to south. "Of course St. Camille isn't the tourist spot that New Orleans is since we're a small town, but we get our share of the Louisiana tourist trade. And we have a 'Tour of Homes' every spring, in late April, and again in the fall, in early October."
As they continued their walk around town, numerous people spoke to Grace and gave Jed curious stares, but she didn't introduce him to anyone, nor did she linger in conversation. By the friendly yet deferential way the citizens of St. Camille treated Grace, he concluded that they liked her, but didn't really know her on a personal basis; that everyone respected her, but many understood they weren't her social equals.
Jed had been to St. Camille in the past, but he remembered very little about the small, centuries-old town. As a teenager, he'd had no interest in history or culture, but seeing the town through Grace's appreciative eyes gave him a different perspective today. She pointed out four banks, two other restaurants, and several lawyers' offices, including the house where the man she referred to as Uncle Willis had his practice.
"That house is on the historical register," Grace said. "Uncle Willis had it restored as closely to the original as possible."
Jed nodded. "Mmm-hmm."
"Not your thing?" When he eyed her quizzically, she elaborated. "You're not interested in your heritage or the historical significance of Louisiana architecture or history of any kind or-"