A reminder that her cell had gone off.
Declan?
Grace said, “No, really, I’ll be fine. I promise once I get inside, I’ll double lock my door and won’t open it again until daylight.”
Starting to feel foolish, she took a peek at her cell. She had a voice mail. Probably Declan. She’d listen to it once she was inside. In the meantime, she swung her gaze in every direction as they zigzagged the several blocks home. She didn’t stop searching the shadows until the SUV stopped in front of her building.
“I’ll sit here until you get inside.”
“Thanks again.”
Grace looked around as she raced to the entry door. Unlocked again. Her pulse raced as she set the latch and then went up the stairs slower than she normally would, her cell in hand in case she had to call the police.
Though she was grateful when she safely arrived at her apartment door, Grace cautiously unlocked it and then listened hard. Nothing to alarm her. The lights were still on and everything looked exactly as it had when she’d left to fetch her wallet.
Relieved, she stepped inside and deadbolted the door. After which she threw her wallet and keys on the little table meant for that purpose.
Staring at the cell phone, she wanted to throw it down, too. She thought to leave Declan’s message until morning—no doubt he wanted her to call him back, right now, which probably she should.
How she longed for some downtime, a few hours in which she didn’t have to think about anything disturbing.
If she didn’t get back to Declan, though, she knew he would start worrying that something had happened to her. It was a kind of caring that went beyond their business deal, no doubt due to the fact that they’d slept together. Even if that had been a mistake, it had changed the way she looked at him, thought of him. No doubt it affected him, too. They were bound together by more than a contract.
The reason she’d jumped on him when she’d learned he hadn’t told her about being psychic.
She connected to her voice mail.
The voice on the recorded message was not Declan’s, nor any she recognized.
The whisper was low and sexless.
And threatening.
“That was a sample of what your life will be like if you don’t get the money…”
“YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES,” Declan told Grace after listening to the message she’d saved for him to hear. She’d called to tell him what happened after he left. Luckily no traffic cop had been around looking to hand out speeding tickets—he’d gotten back to her place in record time. “Either we go to the authorities, or you move in with me until this is over.”
“I’m not going to the authorities.”
“All right. How soon can you get your things together?”
“I’m not going to let this pervert drive me out of my home, either!”
Declan clenched his jaw tight. Grace was too stubborn for her own good. If that creep had caught up to her and something had happened to her…
“All right,” he conceded. “Then I’ll move in with you.”
“You’re my employee!”
Indeed, he was. Declan had to keep reminding himself of that. Hard to do when he’d slept with the woman who’d hired him. Not only did he want to hold her in his arms again, he wanted above all things to keep her safe.
No matter what he’d told his cousin—what he would tell her—that feeling went beyond the job.
“A good employee,” he emphasized. “That’s what I’m trying to be. You need protection, so think of me as your personal bodyguard.”
“That’s not what I hired you to do. Besides, if I have a bodyguard following me around, that’ll flash a big warning. People will know—”
“Not if you don’t tell them. Let them think I’m your…significant other. I’ll still be working the case—either together or on my own while you’re at work.”
A delicate color flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t seem able to object.
Declan thought about what it would be like to be Grace’s significant other. She was everything he went for in a woman—attractive, smart, strong. Well, mostly strong. She still hadn’t dealt with whatever was stopping her from using her gift. And that was okay with him for now—considering the situation, it would probably get her into even more trouble.
He didn’t want to think about what Ian had implied, didn’t want to think he was falling for the woman.
His heart was elsewhere, right?
He tried to conjure Lila’s image and for the first time since leaving New Mexico, but couldn’t quite manage it. Instead, he kept seeing Grace—entering his office, at the fund-raiser, in his arms, naked as the day she was born.
She was staring at him now, wide-eyed, as if she could read his mind. Which probably she could if she touched him.
No more touching, he thought.
What if he fell for Grace?
…should they act on their feelings, they will put their loved ones in mortal danger…
The curse…he’d already acted….
It wasn’t too late, Declan assured himself. While he was attracted to Grace, liked her, cared about what happened to her, he didn’t love her.
So all he had to do was keep himself from falling for her and she would come out of this all right.
At least she would be alive.
Chapter Eleven
First thing Monday morning, Grace headed for Voodoo accompanied by her new roommate. In the end, she’d let Declan stay the night. On the sofa. She still hadn’t wrapped her mind around the whole bodyguard thing, but she did feel safe in his company. At least physically. Emotionally was another story. If only he’d told her about being psychic from the start.
“So let me know when you’re ready to leave,” Declan said, maintaining a slight distance from her as he’d been doing all morning. “I can be here in five minutes.”
She checked her watch—she was running a few minutes behind. Having added some last-minute designs to his new collection, Raphael was anxious to see how they fit her so the seamstress could alter the garments the way he wanted them changed. Considering the kind of mood he’d been in lately, Grace didn’t want to keep him waiting.
“I have to run,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be tied up all day. If you don’t hear from me otherwise, pick me up at five.”
Declan nodded. “Will do. Hopefully, I’ll have something useful by the end of the day.”
With that, she hurried into the Orleans Exchange Building, walking blindly past the security station before she was stopped by a singsong “Morning, Miss Grace.”
“Eula. Hey.”
“You okay?”
Grace realized the security guard was staring at her with a concerned expression. “Just in a hurry.”
“I thought maybe something was troubling you.”
She gave Eula a forced smile and headed straight up the stairs to the Voodoo offices. Raphael was talking to the receptionist. When she entered, he whirled around and a smile lit his face.
“Ah, Grace, there you are! Good news. The New Orleans Rising Sun is going to do a color spread on Voodoo in next Sunday’s edition.”
“Terrific.”
“The editor set up separate interviews for us,” Raphael said.
“Us?”
“Yes, of course. He’s assigned a reporter to interview you at home. This evening, at six-thirty. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
As much as she would like to get out of it, Grace knew she needed to do this for the sake of the business. “No, of course not.”
“Good. Because I already gave the editor your address.”
Someone was coming to her home? That put Grace on edge. “Why at my apartment rather than here?”
“I imagine the reporter wants to see how Voodoo Woman lives,” Raphael said.
That’s what concerned her. Grace didn’t like it, not considering what was going on her life, but she didn’t see how she could object. “Fine. I’ll be home,
then.”
“The new designs are already waiting for you.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Grace headed for the fitting room.
Now uncomfortable after finding the studio dressing room rigged with a camera, she closely inspected her surroundings for any place one could be hidden. And when she didn’t find one, she modestly slipped out of what she was wearing and into the first garment.
Beaded and sequin-trimmed, the calf-length aqua gown seemed spun of gossamer. She stepped out into the fitting area, but Raphael and Magda were nowhere in sight. Though it was designed with its own stretchy fitted slip that clung to her curves like glue, Grace imagined she simply looked nude beneath the delicate material.
She was frowning at herself in the full-length mirror when Raphael came up behind her and frowned, as well.
“You do not like Raphael’s design?”
She whipped around to find the designer behind her. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just feel so…well, naked.”
The designer smiled. “Exactly.”
Though Grace smiled, too, she couldn’t pull off sincerity. “I’m not sure it’s…well, appropriate.”
Good heavens—had she really become her mother?
Raphael’s smile died. “Not appropriate? Have the aliens replaced my fearless Grace with a clone?”
Realizing she was reacting to the blackmail, that she never would have been bothered by the garment if her sexuality hadn’t been put on notice, Grace said, “I guess I’m not really myself today.”
Raphael sighed. “It happens.” He spread his hands and pouted, mocking her. “Are we done with our hissy fit?”
Grace stared at Raphael and saw not the man who’d given her a chance to bloom, but someone who was trying to control her rather than treat her as he normally did—like a partner helping to grow his business.
What in the world had happened to him?
Or had he been like this all along and she hadn’t seen it?
“Yes, we are done.” Grace whirled on her heel and headed for the changing area.
“But the fitting…” Raphael called after her. “We are not through here!”
“For this morning we are through!”
At the moment, Grace couldn’t think about the consequences. Of course she would care if she lost the job she loved so much, but she couldn’t help it. Her nerves were on edge and if she wasn’t careful, she might shatter. She had to get out of there. Had to go in search of her self-confidence. Two days ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated wearing the gown. But now she was doubting herself and didn’t know how she was ever going to get back what the blackmailer had stolen from her.
As she changed into her street clothes, she thought about calling her brother and asking him for a loan. She didn’t have to tell him what it was for, right? Sure. He would give her half a mil, no questions asked. Forget that. Besides, Declan had made a good point that the blackmailer could come back for more. That or copies of the photos would undoubtedly still be in someone else’s hands.
The only thing for it, then, was to discover the blackmailer’s identity and work from there—do whatever it took to get her hands on all copies of the photos.
To her chagrin, she could think of only one way.
Grace changed quickly and headed toward the reception area, expecting Raphael to stop her at any moment. Already regretting her burst of uncharacteristic pique, she still felt she’d been justified.
She stopped at the receptionist’s desk. “Laurie, tell Raphael I’ll be back to finish the fitting after lunch.”
“Will do. Maybe the news will blow off the storm clouds that accompanied him out the door after your fight.”
“He told you?”
“I heard. Everyone did. We all gave you a little cheer. He’s been impossible lately, hasn’t he?”
“I thought it was just me. Any idea why?”
She shrugged. “The word is that his other ventures are suffering. I’m sure his mood is nothing personal. He’s just stressed over money.”
He wasn’t the only one.
That didn’t mean he was the blackmailer, Grace told herself. And considering Laurie had known him longer than most of the employees, Grace felt a bit better at the receptionist’s evaluation of the situation.
“I’m just going out to get some air. And food. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Freeing herself of the building lightened her spirit. The endorphins from exercise had always made her feel better. It occurred to her that Declan would expect her to call him, to let him know she was leaving the building. But she needed some time alone, and it was daylight. Hordes of people wandered through the French Quarter, so she would be safe. She power-walked along Decatur, for once not stopping to take in the sights or smells.
Determined to read someone by touch, her pulse quickened. She didn’t want to have to depend on using Declan to reinstate her ability, no matter what Minny said.
Her inability to control what she owned rankled. She’d put her gift to sleep and she needed to awaken it, even if meant trying with dozens—or hundreds—of people. And where better to do it than at the French Market. Specifically, the open-air Community Flea Market.
The place was already overcrowded. People bought fruits and vegetables, freshly ground coffee and spices. They sorted through tables of clothing, pored over souvenir tables of Mardi Gras masks and inspected glass perfume bottles. At a table laid out with locally made jewelry, several women huddled together and pawed through display boxes of earrings and necklaces and bracelets.
Grace huddled, too, pressing her shoulder up against the teenager next to her for a moment, as she picked up a bracelet and thoroughly inspected it. Though she concentrated on the girl, tried to see her in a situation away from the market, Grace didn’t get a thing off her.
A little way down the aisle, she came to a book stall and reached for the same book as did an older man. Their hands connected. Briefly. Nothing there, either.
Making her way to a fruit stand, she bought a plum and a peach for lunch. She made sure to brush hands with the woman who gave her change…but no glimpse into the future.
Now what? Perhaps the touches were too short-lived. She needed longer to get her focus.
A particularly crowded aisle that afforded no room to get through perfectly suited her purpose.
Touching a man’s arm, she murmured, “Excuse me” so low he didn’t hear. Which meant she got to touch him longer. She concentrated hard. Harder. A quick blip showed her a reading room, a personal library, but just as she tried to latch on to the vision, it slipped away from her. It was a full minute before he realized she was there.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, moving aside.
“No problem,” Grace lied, trying not to be discouraged.
She’d had enough time, but couldn’t focus enough to latch onto the vision.
Refusing to give up so quickly, she continued her search for someone she could read. It didn’t seem to matter who she tried—male or female, young or old—and it didn’t seem to matter how long she tried; she barely connected before the connection was severed.
She was simply wasting her time.
HALFWAY THROUGH THE AFTERNOON, Declan entered the Orleans Exchange building in search of Grace. He started up the stairs only to hear raised voices at the top.
“I don’t want to see him around here again, do you understand me?”
“But, Mr. Raphael—”
“I’m serious, Eula. If you let your brother in here again, that’s it. You’re out. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” the security guard muttered.
Eula wasn’t looking too happy by the time she came into Declan’s view. Neither was Raphael.
“Why you ever thought it was all right to give him free rein around here…”
The designer was red-faced as he whipped by Declan with barely a nod, making Declan wonder what Eula’
s brother had done to be banned from the building.
“Afternoon, Eula. I’m looking for Grace.”
“Miss Grace is in the offices.” Eula gave a dark look to where Raphael had disappeared. “You go right on in.”
“Thanks.”
Considering the security guard tended to give him a suspicious glare and a hard time, Declan was surprised. Then, perhaps Eula was so angry at Raphael that she was giving him a break for once. He took it before she could change her mind and entered the designer’s offices.
The name plate at the end of the front desk identified the receptionist as Laurie Hanson. “May I help you?”
“I’m here for Grace.”
“Grace? She’s still in the fitting room. Apparently one of the dresses didn’t hang right, so Raphael and Magda are working on it.”
“No problem. I wasn’t supposed to meet her for another hour.” He pulled his forehead into a purposeful frown.
“What is it? Maybe I can help.”
“I’m waiting for an important e-mail and I managed to forget my iPhone. I thought maybe…”
“I can let you use my computer for a minute.”
Declan smiled at her cooperation. “It may take more than a minute. Is there another computer…maybe one that’s free?”
“Oh, sure. There must be. Just about everyone here has one.”
Great. Just what he didn’t want to hear. Lots of computers meant lots of possible terminals the blackmailer could have used. Then again, logic was they were networked and information coming from this location could be accessed by any one of the computers. He hoped.
Declan followed the receptionist, sweeping his gaze around what looked like a showroom—no computer here—and then a workroom with long tables filled with bolts of brilliantly colored cloth and boxes of sparkly trims. A couple of seamstresses worked at sewing machines at the windows.
“It’s late in the day so most of the office staff is already gone,” Laurie confided.
Indeed, three offices sat to one side of the workroom—all with computers, but all seemingly locked.
Saving Grace Page 10
