He'd grown up in this house, the privileged nephew of a powerful man. His childhood had been less than perfect, but he'd learned at a young age to be tough and resilient. A boy without a mother, with only a ruthless dictator as an adult role model, Jed had been a cocky, smart-ass kid. And Booth had allowed him unlimited freedom, more than any teenager should have had. He had both feared and admired his uncle, and in an odd way he'd loved Booth. But all that had changed when his mother had told him the truth-Booth had ordered his father's murder.
After parking the car and getting out, he was met by Aric, who had changed very little in seventeen years. His uncle's chauffeur and private bodyguard stood on the veranda, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his black eyes narrowed to a warning glare.
"Morning," Jed said as he slammed the car door. "Uncle Booth around?"
Aric uncrossed his arms and dropped them to either side of his body. The sunlight reflected off the gun riding inside his shoulder holster. "He's not up yet. But you're welcome to go on inside and wait for him."
"What about Charmaine, is she up?"
"Mrs. Fortier is having breakfast by the pool this morning."
"Then maybe I can see her first, pay my respects and give her my condolences."
Aric stepped aside as Jed walked up the steps and onto the veranda. "You know the way, Mr. Tyree."
"Sure do."
Aric hadn't even flinched at the mention of giving Charmaine condolences. Jed had thought maybe the big black man would respond by saying what a tough break it was that Jaron had been killed. But he said nothing more. Jed moved past Aric, who stood ramrod straight; then he opened the unlocked front door and went into the foyer. As he looked around, he realized the place had been redecorated. He glanced up the staircase and wondered what Booth had done to his old bedroom-a teenage boy's bedroom. Burned the furniture and had the room fumigated? Inwardly Jed laughed, but it was a bittersweet emotion.
A big, rugged guy with dark hair and a pensive glare came down the hallway and met Jed. "Mr. Tyree?"
"Yeah." Jed nodded. "And you're…?"
"I'll have to ask you for your weapon. Mr. Fortier doesn't allow anyone who doesn't work for him to carry a weapon on the property."
Jed shoved back his jacket, undid the holster and removed his Beretta. He had to admit that he felt naked without it. Whenever he was at work, he carried a gun. And during his life, he'd spent more time working-for Booth, for the U.S. Army and for Dundee 's-than doing anything else. Jed was surprised this guy hadn't frisked him. If he had, he would have discovered Jed's backup weapon strapped just above his ankle.
"I understand Booth isn't up yet." Jed studied the guy who still hadn't told him his name. From the description Moran had given him of Jim Kelly, Jed figured this man was the undercover agent.
"He sleeps late most mornings."
"Then I'd like to see Mrs. Fortier and give her my condolences…"
"She's in pretty rough shape. Mrs. Fortier cared a great deal about her brother and his death has hit her pretty hard."
Jed knew genuine concern when he heard it. This guy cared that Charmaine was grieving. What Jed didn't know was whether it was simply sympathy for another human being or a sentimental attachment. Had Jim Kelly fallen for Charmaine? If so, heaven help him, because if the FBI agent was in love with Booth Fortier's wife, then he was in a worse situation than Jed was with Grace.
Jed patted his coat pocket. "Damn, I forgot my cigarettes. You don't happen to smoke do you? I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself."
The guy held out his hand as he studied Jed. "I'm Ronnie Martine, Mrs. Fortier's private bodyguard." Jed and he shared a firm handshake. "Sorry, but I don't smoke anymore. But I still carry around my old cigarette lighter." Ronnie pulled a red-and-silver lighter from his pocket, flipped open the lid and flicked the striker. An orange-red flame shot half an inch high.
"I should give up smoking," Jed said. "It's a nasty habit."
Ronnie closed the lighter and returned it to his pants pocket. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Fortier."
Jed followed Ronnie down the hall, but refrained from saying more than the code phrase he'd used-I'm a Lucky Strikes man myself. In this house, the walls often did have ears. He'd wait for Ronnie to make the next move. At least now, they knew each other. The contact had been made.
When they entered the patio, Ronnie stopped abruptly before alerting Charmaine of their presence. "Everything is set here," Ronnie said low and soft.
"That's good."
"I need to know when it's coming down. There are preparations I have to make."
"All I know is soon. Things have escalated since Grace Beaumont became involved."
Charmaine, who reclined on a chaise longue halfway across the patio, lifted the wide-brimmed straw hat from her head, removed her sunglasses and stared at Jed and Ronnie.
"Mrs. Fortier," Ronnie called to her. "Your husband's nephew, Jed Tyree, is here to see you and your husband. He's come to pay his condolences."
Charmaine shot up off the chaise, tossed aside her hat and glasses and came running toward Jed. Her long, wild red hair bounced on her naked shoulders. Jed watched her as she came to him, still gorgeous at thirty-five, her figure displayed to perfection in the slim-skirted, strapless sun-dress. When she reached Jed, she threw her arms around him and hugged him, then pulled back, grabbed his hands and smiled. He noticed the bruises on her face and the slightly swollen lip. A pain of regret and remorse shot through him. He knew without asking that Booth had done this to her. Even when he'd hero-worshiped his uncle, he'd known the man had a mean streak, had even seen several demonstrations.
"Lord help me, it's good to see you, Jed." Tears misted her eyes. "You've heard about Jaron." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He would have loved to see you. He missed you when you went away. We both did."
Jed brushed his hand across Charmaine's discolored cheek. She drew back, suddenly embarrassed, and her gaze connected with Ronnie's. Jed recognized the look that passed between them, a silent explanation of why it was all right for another man to touch her so gently, with tender concern. Heaven help them both, Jed thought, Charmaine and Jim Kelly were lovers. Apparently Booth didn't know; otherwise, they'd both be as dead as Jaron.
"I'm really sorry about Jaron," Jed told her.
Charmaine motioned to the umbrella-shaded table several feet away. "Come on over and sit down. Talk to me. Tell me all about yourself. Are you married? Do you have kids? Where do you live? What do you do for a living?"
Jed sensed her nervousness, noted the way she kept staring back at the house. She was playing a game. But why?
"Not married. No kids." Jed followed her to the other side of the patio and sat with her at the table. "Booth's up, isn't he?" Jed whispered.
"I guess you know I married your uncle Booth," Charmaine said, then mouthed the word yes.
"I live in Atlanta," Jed told her, then asked softly, "is he watching us?"
" Atlanta, huh? What brings you back to Louisiana?" Charmaine busied herself pouring them both a glass of orange juice. She handed Jed his glass, then whispered, "He knows you're working for Ms. Beaumont."
"Thanks." Jed accepted the juice, then said in a normal voice, "I work for the Dundee Agency. I'm here on business, working for Grace Beaumont. She's hired our agency for some investigative work and to act as her bodyguards."
She pointed to Ronnie. "Booth sees that I'm well protected at all times. He rotates my personal guard once a year."