"Okay." Rafe put away his gun, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope that held five hundred dollars in crisp, straight-from-the-bank, hundred-dollar bills. This wasn't the first time he'd used his own money to help out a kid in trouble. "Consider this severance pay. And don't show up at the warehouse ever again."
"And that's it? You'll leave my sister alone? And you won't come after me?"
"That's it. Keep your nose clean, kid." Rafe saluted Troy, then left him standing there with his mouth gaping open and a stunned look on his face.
Rafe's con wouldn't have worked with a tougher, meaner kid. Making a boy decide immediately whether he was willing to kill, willing to become a murderer, separated the redeemable from the hopeless. Once a boy had no qualms about murder, he was usually lost forever. Rafe was glad that Troy still had a conscience, not only for Troy 's sake, but for Elsa Leone's sake.
Getting anything accomplished at the office this afternoon had been impossible. Every time Grace had heard a phone ring, she'd tensed. Why hadn't he called back? She knew what Jed thought-that the man had been found out and silenced. After all, if he was still alive, why hadn't he shown up at the designated time and place? After hours of waiting, trying desperately to hold on to the least bit of hope that the opportunity to get her hands on documented proof against Booth Fortier wasn't lost to her forever, she'd finally given up and let Jed drive her home.
They had eaten a late supper of tossed salads and cold cuts, but she hadn't had much appetite. The adrenaline rush she'd experienced at Terrebonne Park had depleted her energy and left her stomach tied in knots. After nibbling at her food, and assuring Laverna that everything was delicious, all she'd wanted to do was take a long soak in her bathtub and go to sleep.
Jed had hovered over her, as if he thought she was so fragile that the day's disappointment might shatter her. He had offered her his strength, but she'd turned him away. She didn't dare chance a repeat of last night's intimacy. Not that the idea of making love with Jed didn't appeal to her-it did. But she'd never been a woman for casual affairs, for going-nowhere relationships. Until Jed, she'd never had sex without being in love, and something told her that, given half a chance, she'd fall head over heels for her big, rugged bodyguard.
Jed Tyree wasn't her type, of course. He was a little too rough around the edges. Marty Austin had been a sweet man, gentle and easygoing. Although not worldly-wise, he'd been schooled in good manners and was, to his very core, a gentleman. Dean had possessed many of her father's personality traits-strong, dependable, sophisticated, aggressive. No rough edges. And her father had adored him almost as much as she had.
What would Daddy think of Jed? she wondered. Oddly enough Grace believed her father would have liked Jed because Jed wouldn't have been the least bit intimidated by Byram Sheffield.
Jed… Jed… Why is it that if you're Mr. Wrong, being in your arms feels so right?
Grace sat at her dressing table in her large, luxurious bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Just thinking about Jed affected her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. Her nipples stood at attention. And a sexual ache pulsed between her thighs. Her body would never forget being loved so thoroughly. But not as thoroughly as she and Jed had wanted.
Stop thinking about him! She snatched up the hair dryer, turned it on, tossed her long hair over her head and let the hot air style her natural waves. The only thing she should have on her mind was getting justice for Dean and her father. Her first priority-her only priority-should be proving the connection between Fortier and Miller. She couldn't allow her attraction to Jed to sidetrack her.
Once she finished with her hair, she went into her massive walk-in closet and chose a pair of pink silk pajamas, with shorts instead of pants. She slid her feet into matching slippers and tossed the matching robe over her arm. When she neared her four-poster bed, she halted and stared at the turned-down covers. Her mind revisited last night's events and the early hours of this morning… and all she could see was a mass of tangled sheets and Jed Tyree's big naked body. The sound of his voice, deep and sultry, echoed in her ears. The erotic phrases he'd whispered to her. The satisfied groans and moans that had excited her beyond all reason.
If she wanted him, all she had to do was walk across the hall and knock on his door. If she wanted him? Mercy!
Stop this right now, she told herself. Go to bed, go to sleep and tomorrow you'll return to square one with the investigation and back to a friendly business relationship with Jed.
Grace crawled into bed, turned off the light and closed her eyes. Images of Jed flickered through her mind. Her eyelids popped open. Damn! She punched her pillows, flopped over and peered through the windowpanes at the slice of moon high in the dark sky.
She kept telling herself to go to sleep, to think about work or about going with Joy on her next shopping spree to New Orleans. Her body relaxed. She inhaled and exhaled several times. See, that was easy, wasn't it? she told herself.
An hour later, Grace was not only still awake, but she had tossed and turned so much, she'd worn herself out. She had checked the digital lighted clock on her bedside table every five minutes. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about Jed Tyree.
Maybe a brandy or some sherry… or even warm milk-yuck-might soothe her into sleep. She'd try anything. Well, not anything, she amended. Just as she got out of bed and reached for her robe lying on the nearby armchair, the telephone rang. She stared at the antique-style, crystal contraption as if she'd never seen it before. Who was calling at nearly midnight? she asked herself. Please, let it be the man who has the Fortier/Miller documents. Let him explain why he didn't show up at Terrebonne Park today and make arrangements for another meeting.
On the fourth ring, Grace reached out and picked up the receiver. By the time she had it to her ear, her bedroom door swung open and Jed stormed in, the portable phone in his hand. Their gazes met for one brief moment.
Gripping the phone, Grace said, "Hello."
"How are you, Mrs. Beaumont?" The voice was disguised, so she wasn't sure who he was. Was it the man who had missed their appointment today? Or was it someone else? Maybe it was the same person who'd called to tell her about the gift waiting outside the gate last night.
"Who is this?"
"I'm the gift-giver."
Grace's jaw clenched; her gaze darted to Jed. He walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
"What do you want?" Grace asked.
"I have another present for you."
If the next present was anything like the first one, she didn't want to see it. "I don't like your kind of gifts."
A rumbling chuckle vibrated through the telephone line. "Like it or not, I've delivered another little gift and you can find it in the same spot where your other gift was left."
"You can take your gift and-" The dial tone trilled in her ear.
Grace slammed down the receiver and turned to Jed. "Whatever it is, I don't want to see it."
"Good girl." He kissed her on the tip of her nose, then when she leaned toward him, he slipped his arms around her and held her. "I'll call in a couple of Dundee agents to pick up the package. There's no need for you to even go downstairs."
She lifted her head. "I don't want to see whatever it is, but I need to know what he's left this time. You can just tell me what it is. Okay?"
He grasped her shoulders. "I'll go in my room to make the necessary calls. I want you to stay here in your room."