Saving Grace

by Patricia Rosemoor

  But Raphael was acquainted with the world of adult material and how easily it was distributed. Grace pushed her plate away, but finished her beer in one long gulp.

  “So Laroche…or Raphael…”

  “Maybe. But let’s not jump to conclusions. Let me check out the other people on that list you gave me.”

  “Of course.” Grace didn’t want it to be Raphael. She didn’t want everything positive in her life to end.

  “So how did you spend your day?”

  “Visiting relatives. This morning was our monthly brunch together—Mama and Corbett and me.”

  “Get anything new talking to them?”

  Grace shook her head.

  “That leaves you the rest of the day. You weren’t doing anything dangerous, were you?”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Trying out your ability on suspects?”

  “No…not yet.” Grace sighed. “I tried a couple of times with people I ran into on the street.” She shook her head. “Nothing. But I’ve been thinking about it. Assuming I could control the ability, I might get something of value. And then again, I might not…and disrupting my life would be for nothing.”

  “Not to mention you could put your life in danger. Which brings me back to my question about what we do when we identify the blackmailer.”

  She’d been thinking about that, too, so she didn’t even hesitate. “We steal the photographs—or the files—back.”

  Declan locked gazes with her as if he were trying to read her. “You’re serious.”

  “Absolutely.” Not that she’d ever stolen anything before. Or committed any kind of crime. She was trying to stop a crime from being committed against her family. “Why not?”

  “Again, that would be dangerous. You could be caught.”

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take!”

  “I think you should just leave things to me.”

  Grace clenched her jaw. Declan suddenly reminded her of others who thought she should do as they said. “Don’t try to control me.”

  “I’m trying to help,” he said reasonably. “That’s why I’m going to ask you to be extra careful.”

  His expression was reasonable, but something about the glint in his eyes put Grace on edge. She didn’t have to be psychic to realize he was holding something back.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  He raised an eyebrow and for a moment she thought he was going to pretend like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  To her shock, he said, “Someone was watching us last night.”

  “When? At the party? Why didn’t you say anything? Point out the person.”

  “Not at the party, at your place, when we were…together.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “You mean when we—”

  “Exactly. I didn’t know anyone was out there until I left to go home. Which I never did, by the way, until you went to the Garden District this morning.”

  “Wait! You followed me?”

  “For your protection in case the guy came back. That’s part of my job to see that you’re safe.”

  He ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek and almost caused a vision. But the horror Grace felt at someone watching them precluded anything psychic. And had the person only been watching?

  “What if the bastard had another camera?” she asked.

  “If he did, I couldn’t tell. At that distance, he’d need a telephoto lens to get anything up close and personal. Can’t hide something bulky so easily, so no, I don’t think so.”

  “This person watching us…” She could hardly talk about the newest twist in her life. “What did he look like?”

  “I wish I could tell you. He was wearing baggy, dark clothing and a cap that hid his face. I chased him into the Quarter and he lost me on Bourbon Street.”

  That sounded like the guy who’d followed her the night before. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Back up a minute. How did you know he was watching us in the first place?”

  “I sensed it. I could feel the anger he was generating. When you came out on the balcony, his emotions only got stronger. More negative.”

  “Whoa!” she said. “What am I missing here? You sensed it?”

  He locked gazes with her for a moment before finally saying, “You’re not the only one who inherited a gift. The McKennas in my family all have some psychic ability.”

  “So you can read my mind?” she choked out, embarrassment searing her. Did that mean he knew the exact nature of her visions?

  “I’m an empath,” Declan said. “I couldn’t tell you what someone was thinking, but I could tell you what that person was feeling. Trust me, that guy’s feelings were all bad and generated at you.”

  Trust him? Was that even possible now?

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your having this ability before?”

  “You weren’t exactly open to being psychic yourself. I figured if I told you…”

  “I might not trust you.”

  He’d been between a rock and a hard place. Right? Why didn’t the realization make her feel better? She’d always had trust issues with men, probably the reason one never took with her. The reason she’d never allowed herself to fall in love.

  As she’d told Minny, she wanted to trust Declan, but she just didn’t know if she could.

  And until she made up her mind about Declan McKenna—until she could trust him fully—she couldn’t do as Minny suggested and use him to recharge her psychic power.

  ARRIVING AT HIS OFFICE to start running security checks on the people on Grace’s list, Declan parked in front of the place. He was still thinking about how Grace had withdrawn once he’d admitted he was psychic.

  Which made him wonder why she was so damn negative about the issue.

  Most of the McKennas in his family accepted their abilities, but some didn’t use them or talk about them or tell anyone about them. They wanted to be like everyone else.

  Only, no matter that she said that’s what she wanted, Grace Broussard didn’t want to be like everyone else.

  He sensed she took pride in being her own person, so why the prejudice against something that would make her stand out more? Even if she was thinking of using her gift to test the suspects, he sensed how badly she didn’t want to.

  How conflicted she was.

  What kind of humiliation had she suffered?

  The moment he unlocked the outside door, he realized he wasn’t alone. A light came from his cousin’s office.

  “Ian?” he called out as he entered.

  “In here.”

  Declan stopped in the doorway. “What are you doing here on a Sunday night?”

  “I had nothing better to do, so I thought I would stop by and do some paperwork. You?”

  “Grace gave me a list of people who work in the Orleans Exchange building. I figured I might as well start running the security checks.”

  “If you want help with that…”

  “Sure. I’ll make a copy of the list and we can divide it. Maybe I’ll get to bed at a decent hour tonight.”

  Making a copy only took a minute. He drew a line, dividing the top half for him, the bottom half for his cousin. As he handed the copy to Ian, Declan brought him up to speed on all that had happened since they’d spoken the day before.

  “Whew!” Ian said, glancing at the names on the list. “Your case is escalating fast.”

  “And we have a little more than forty-eight hours to resolve it or Grace’s reputation will have a permanent stain.” And her heart would be broken—Declan couldn’t stand the thought of that happening. It would change Grace, he knew it. “Not to mention the careers of her mother and brother may very well be ruined.”

  “When you figure out who’s doing this…what then?”

  “Grace wants to retrieve the photographs.”

  Ian started. “Serious?”

  “So she claims.”

  “Might work.”

  “If the bastard hasn’t distribu
ted copies everywhere.” A very likely possibility.

  “How do you feel about doing something not exactly legal?”

  “I’m just working the case the best I can for the client,” he muttered.

  Declan knew Ian was referring to his background as a lawman. He’d known guys on the job who’d done things that hadn’t been strictly legal to make a case. He’d never done so himself, but he’d looked the other way a few times.

  There was no looking away with Grace and her family at stake. She was trying to save them all without telling anyone but him. He and Ian were the only ones who knew what she was going through. And he was the only one who knew how torn up she was inside about the situation.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her down.

  With the list next to him, Ian started tapping away at his keyboard. “The client won’t budge on going to the authorities?”

  “Not an inch. And I’m afraid Grace is going to put herself in danger by doing something she shouldn’t. She’s determined that we find the guilty party and…she has the gift,” Declan admitted.

  “Aha.” Ian murmured, looking up from his computer screen. “Now isn’t that a coincidence, the both of you having the gift.”

  Noting the vibrant tone in his cousin’s voice, Declan asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “The prophecy.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “If you’re both psychic—perhaps together you can overcome the danger.”

  “Wait a minute, Ian. I thought you didn’t believe in the prophecy.”

  “I don’t. But you do.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. Grace is a client.”

  “One who concerns you. Personally.”

  “Because she’s gotten a raw deal and I want to help her.”

  “And that’s all?”

  That’s all Declan would admit to.

  Chapter Ten

  Not wanting anyone to be able to get into her apartment, Grace made sure all her windows and French doors were securely locked. After racing upstairs, she’d gone out on the balcony and had watched Declan as he’d searched the area around her building. Apparently no one or nothing alerted him, because he’d quickly left.

  Still, that didn’t mean her blackmailer couldn’t come back for her. What would he have done the night before if Declan hadn’t chased him off? Would he have tried to break in? Or did he just like watching?

  Shivering at the thought, she pulled all her curtains and blinds as if that could keep her safe. At least it would give her some privacy.

  About to undress, she reached into her pants pocket to remove her wallet. Not there. Frowning, she checked her usual dumping place—a table by the door—but it wasn’t there, either. Wondering if she could have forgotten removing it when she came in, she checked all the nearby flat surfaces—tables, shelves, counter.

  No wallet.

  It had to be at the café.

  Thinking about it, Grace remembered taking out her wallet to pay for the meal, but Declan had preempted her, as if they were on a date rather than having a business meeting. Sitting down at the time, her mind racing over everything he’d told her, she probably hadn’t paid enough attention to what she was doing. Apparently she hadn’t shoved the wallet back into her pocket securely.

  Finding the delivery menu on her kitchen cork board, she called the bar. “This is Grace Broussard—”

  “Hey, chér.”

  Recognizing the bartender’s voice, she said, “I was just down there with a friend, Jake. I think I might have dropped my wallet—”

  “I’ll go look.”

  Grace held her breath as she waited. She’d had her wallet lifted once and reporting her credit cards stolen and replacing everything inside had been a royal pain. If it wasn’t at the café, then she’d more than likely dropped it on the street somewhere. What a nightmare that would be!

  “C’mon, c’mon, be there,” she whispered.

  A moment later, Jake’s “Found it under the table” allowed her to breathe easier.

  “I’ll be right there to get it.”

  Grabbing her keys, she raced out of the apartment, double-locking the door behind her. Considering the things that had been happening to her, she didn’t like going out alone this late. But Declan had swept the place for trouble mere minutes ago and hadn’t found anything to raise his hackles. All she had to do was run to the café, get her wallet and run back. That shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.

  Even so, racing back to Frenchmen Street, she kept her guard up and her head turning and was relieved to make it there without incident.

  When she entered the café, the bartender spotted her immediately and pulled her wallet from behind the counter. “Here you go, chér.”

  “Let me give you something for your trouble.” Grace opened her wallet, still intact with money and credit cards and driver’s license, thankfully.

  “No need.” Jake waved her off. “We want good customers to be happy. You can give a big tip to whoever waits on you next time you come in.”

  “Thanks, then.”

  She stuffed the wallet securely in her pocket and took off. Walking fast, she slowed when she came to the corner and got a quick flash of a shadow melding into a doorway she would have to pass to get home.

  Her pulse charging, Grace was glued to the spot. Had she really seen something or was her imagination simply engaged after what Declan had told her?

  Instinct told her not to pass that doorway….

  Keeping her head cocked slightly so she could see from the corner of her eye, she crossed the street. Before her foot hit the curb, movement from the doorway had her on the run, away from danger.

  Away from home.

  Away from people.

  Except for him.

  The slap-slap of his shoes behind her drove her forward faster. One block. Two. She threw a fast glance over her shoulder. The dark-clothed stalker was still behind her, his hands stuck in his pockets, his shoulders hunched as he power-walked after her. Wearing a cap that hid his face, he fit Declan’s description of the man who’d been outside her apartment the night before.

  Small apartment buildings and shotgun houses gave way to storage buildings and half-empty parking lots that serviced the French Market. She darted into the closest lot looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide. Someone, anyone to help her as had the couple two nights before.

  But tonight she was alone. On her own. No buildings or bushes or anything but a few cars and more trucks.

  Flashing a look over her shoulder, she confirmed her stalker was just outside the fencing. He would see her in a minute. Her mind raced for a way out of this.

  Then her mouth went dry and her stomach knotted as instinct took over and she dived under a truck to save herself. Rolling to her back, she flattened her body and inched under the middle of the vehicle.

  Don’t let him find me…don’t let him find me…

  The words choked her mind even as she heard footsteps nearby.

  The person stopped, as if looking around for something…for her…and then came directly toward her.

  Terror gripped Grace, tightened her chest. What to do? If he found her and ducked down under the truck to get to her, she would roll away and run again. Run where?

  Think…think!

  Back to Frenchmen Street. It wasn’t that far. She could make it…she didn’t have a choice.

  Again, the feet stopped. Closer this time. She could see them now. Dark shoes, dark pants. He was close enough to hear her so she nearly stopped breathing. She silently sucked in a small amount of air, then slowly let it ease back out again.

  The man moved off in another direction and Grace thought she could cry in relief. She would wait a minute, make sure he was still going off away from her, then slip out from the truck and hightail it to Frenchmen Street.

  Just then her cell phone pierced the quiet!

  Grace thought surely her heart would explode with her panic. Pulling the cel
l from her pocket, she fumbled with suddenly stiff fingers to shut it off.

  “Who’s there?” came a male voice.

  Making Grace scramble in the opposite direction. By the time she popped up out from under the truck, he was there, mere feet away, flashing a bright light in her face.

  “Security!” the man ground out. “What the hell are you up to?”

  Certain this wasn’t the same man who’d been stalking her—he was middle-aged and stocky and he wasn’t wearing anything on his balding head, Grace looked around wildly.

  “Someone was following me. I was trying to hide so he couldn’t get to me.”

  The man swung his flashlight around the parking lot. “Don’t see anyone now.”

  “I swear he’s out there.”

  “I can call the cops.”

  “No! Please, I just want to go home. A taxi. I need a taxi.”

  “How far you going?”

  “I’m in the Marigny.”

  “C’mon. I’ll take you. My vehicle’s over there.” He flashed his light on an SUV with a security emblem on the side.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “Hey, I got two daughters of my own. I’d hope someone would help them if they got themselves in trouble.”

  From his tone, Grace realized he didn’t exactly believe her story. He probably thought she’d done something to bring trouble to herself. That was okay. Whatever worked for him. She’d get home safely without having to call the police.

  Or Declan.

  As they headed for his vehicle, he flashed his light around the lot. “Whoever was following you musta skedaddled.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  She’d been looking, too, and hadn’t seen anyone.

  What if no one really had been following her and, fueled by Declan’s telling her about chasing some guy into the French Quarter, her imagination had simply gone ballistic?

  They arrived at the SUV. The security guard opened the passenger door for her, then got behind the wheel. Grace gave him her address and they were off.

  “You sure you don’t want to call someone?” the security guard asked as he started the vehicle and drove it off the lot. “If not the police, a brother maybe? Or a boyfriend?”