Grace Under Fire

by Beverly Barton

  "Stop the car," Charmaine ordered Ronnie. "I want to go inside and see what it looks like, see if anything is the way I remember."

  Without responding verbally, Ronnie turned off into the driveway and killed the BMW's motor. He sat beside her, stiff as a poker, not speaking, not even glancing her way. She knew he was scared—scared of her. He realized she intended to try again today to seduce him, and he wasn't sure whether he could resist her again.

  She sat there for a couple of minutes, basking in the fiery Louisiana sunshine. Maybe she was as crazy as Jaron said she was for even contemplating an affair with Ronnie. Hell, with any man. She understood all too well the penalty they'd both pay if Booth ever found out. But after all these years of enduring Booth's cruelty, death might be a blessing. One thing she knew for sure—she couldn't go on the way she had. Without love and tenderness. Without mutual passion. She hadn't cared for a man the way she did Ronnie since she'd been in love with Jed. Seventeen years ago. She wanted that again—that sweet, glorious feeling; she needed it as desperately as she needed air to breathe. If loving Ronnie cost her her life, she didn't care.

  But what about him? an inner voice asked. Does he want YOU enough to risk his life to be with you?

  "I'm going inside," she said as she flung open the car door. "You can stay here and wait on me … if that's what you want. Or you can come inside with me. Your choice."

  She waited a minute, hoping he would respond, praying that he'd get out with her and follow her inside. But he sat there, looking straight ahead, silent and unmoving.

  So be it, she thought, and jumped out of her BMW and raced across the knee-high grass and weed-infested yard. She maneuvered the rickety front steps and carefully made her way across the sagging wooden porch to the front door, which stood partially open. Instead of touching the rusty doorknob, she punched the center of the old wooden door. The hinges creaked as the door opened fully to reveal the shadowy interior of the living room. Charmaine stepped inside carefully, uncertain if the floor beneath her feet was sturdy, and wondering if any animals were using the place as a home.

  When she glanced around, her heart sank. Things looked even worse than she'd imagined they would. The room was bare of furniture, which had probably been stolen years ago. Dirty, tattered wallpaper covered the walls, but the once colorful pattern was now indistinguishable. She remembered the day she and Jaron had put up the wallpaper—a print of stripes and flowers in sunny yellows and vivid greens, with a white background. She'd been fourteen. And life had still been filled with possibilities. At that age she'd still possessed the ability to dream.

  With each cautious step she took as she explored her old home, more and more memories of the past assailed her. Flashes of sights and sounds, powerful emotions ranging from girlish happiness to abject misery. But God in heaven, what she would give to go back to those days, to know the freedom of choice, to live a life without fear. Why was hindsight always twenty-twenty? she wondered. If only…

  She entered her old bedroom, the one she'd shared with her mother before she died. Often as not, Ma would pass out drunk and sleep for hours, snoring like a freight train. Luckily Ma hadn't been a mean drunk, just a sad, pathetic one. And on the nights when she'd brought home a man, Ma had sent her scurrying into Jaron's room. Time and again, he'd given her his bed and made himself a pallet on the floor. Even as a kid, he'd been reliable and responsible, always trying his best to look out for her.

  After Ma died, she and Jaron had spruced up this room with money he was earning working for Booth Fortier, back when they both thought Booth had hung the moon.

  They'd painted the walls a pale pink and put up frilly white curtains, making it look all girly and sweet. At the time, they hadn't been able to afford a new bedroom suite, so they'd painted the old iron bedstead and the cheap nineteen-fifties dresser and chest. And Jaron had bought her a tape player/radio combo. She'd spent hours listening to her favorite pop music. The walls in her bedroom were now faded and dirty and the only piece of furniture remaining was the iron bed, devoid of mattress or box springs.

  Charmaine closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her. Hearing inside her head the steady rhythm of the music that had once filled this room, she began to dance as if she were in a partner's arms. Her body swayed. She hummed an old familiar tune. If only she could go back in time. If only she could erase the years with Booth.

  Suddenly strong arms encompassed her and turned her slowly into a tender embrace. She didn't open her eyes at first, almost afraid that she was dreaming, that the arms she felt around her were a figment of her imagination. As she continued humming, he danced her slowly around the room, holding her close, his cheek against hers.

  Finally, garnering her courage, she lifted her eyelids and looked up into the face of the man she loved. Ronnie Martine smiled down at her. She sighed contentedly and returned his smile.

  "I've been trying to seduce you," she told him. "I've used all my feminine wiles on you."

  "I know." He pressed his cheek to hers and glided her around the room.

  The temperature inside the old house had to be in the nineties and the humidity made it feel like a hundred. But the external heat was nothing to compare to the fire burning inside Charmaine. Hot, raging hunger boiled through her veins, peaking her nipples and moistening her femininity. She wanted … needed … craved … some good loving from a good man.

  "I'm in love with you," she said.

  His smile widened. "Yeah, I know." His large hand splayed across the center of her lower back and urged her closer—close enough so that she felt his arousal. "I love you, too," he whispered in her ear.

  The world outside Ronnie's arms ceased to exist, magically shrinking to encompass only the two of them. Happiness exploded in the very depths of her soul. Whatever price she had to pay for this moment in time, she would gladly pay. But did she have the right to ask Ronnie to risk everything—his very life—to love her?

  She gazed up at him through half-closed eyes and said, "You realize that if Booth ever finds out, he'll kill us both."

  Ronnie halted the dance, but didn't release her. "I'll make sure he doesn't find out. I promise. I'll keep you safe."

  "Booth is dangerous … very dangerous. Are you sure you're willing to risk—?"

  Ronnie kissed her. Tenderly. Possessively. And it was all she'd ever dreamed it would be. There was no way to describe how he made her feel—all hot and cold at the same time. She had loved Jed Tyree with the raging hormones passion of a teenager; but that love had burned itself out long ago. What she felt for Ronnie was a woman's passion, a love that could last a lifetime.

  When he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her open mouth to taste and probe, she sampled his mouth in the same fashion. They kissed; they touched. She whimpered; he groaned. Sweat trickled between her breasts, over her belly and into the triangle of red curls between her legs. Ronnie cupped her hips and lifted her up and against him, pressing her mound against his erection.

  "I want to make love to you," he told her.

  "Yes, yes," she sighed the words against his neck, then licked the perspiration from his throat.

  He glanced over her shoulder, exploring their surroundings. "You should have silk sheets and sweet music and candlelight."

  "I've had all those things and they mean nothing." She clung to him, wanting to never let go. "All that matters is being with you. Anywhere. Anytime."

  "Charmaine, honey, you've been driving me crazy. But you know that, don't you?"

  "Come with me." She took his hand and guided him through the house. He followed as she led him onto the back porch, which was, surprisingly, still intact, although the roof sagged. "It's cooler out here."

  She released his hand and backed away from him. When he reached for her, she grinned, then pulled her sleeveless tank top over her head. He watched her intently as she undid the hooks of her bra, slipped the straps down her shoulders and tossed the red silk onto the dirty floor. During her little str
iptease, she kicked off her expensive leather sandals, yanked off her designer slacks and twirled around in her bikini panties.

  She had stripped for Booth on numerous occasions, but not by choice, not because she'd wanted to, but because he'd made her. And whenever he touched her, she cringed because she knew the things he would do to her.

  Lifting first one leg and then the other, she took off her panties, added them to the pile of clothes on the gray wood plank floor and stood before him in all her naked glory. He held out his hand to her; she went to him. He kissed her again … and again … and again. She tore at his shirt, but he grabbed her hands to still her frenzied attack. He pushed her at arm's length, then undid the buttons on his shirt, removed it and tossed it atop her discarded clothing. He jerked her to him. She rubbed her breasts against his smooth, muscular chest. A deep rumble erupted from his throat. He lowered his head and took one tight nipple into his mouth. He sucked, nibbled, licked. She reached for his belt, undid it, and then unzipped his pants. Within minutes, he was as naked as she. Their hands went wild, touching each other all over. Their mouths mated, then their tongues explored. They couldn't get close enough. If she could have, Charmaine would have crawled into Ronnie's skin and shared it with him.

  When she didn't think she could bear not having him inside her, he lifted her up, hoisting her by the hips, then settled her over and down onto his sex. He filled her completely, spreading her wide. Her legs circled his hips as he pumped her up and down, gliding his sex in and out, putting friction on all the right places. While they mated in a frenzy, he maneuvered her around until her butt was shoved against the outer wall. When she felt her climax approaching, she claimed it fully, and cried out as the incredible sensations flooded through her. Within seconds Ronnie came. Shuddering. Moaning. Jackhammering into her.

  "I love you … love you … love you…" She buried her face against his shoulder and knew that if she died this very second, she would die gloriously happy.

  * * *

  Jaron Vaden's hands perspired so much that he had to stop the car to wipe his hands dry with his handkerchief. While pulled off on the side of the road, he rehearsed his upcoming telephone speech, the details of the exchange—the documents he would take from Booth's safe tomorrow and swap for the five million dollars. Everything depended on Grace Beaumont. Jaron rubbed the smooth leather seat on each side of his hips in an effort to calm his trembling hands. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been so afraid. If one thing went wrong, it could screw up all his plans. He couldn't allow a bad case of nerves to stop him. He had to get Charmaine away from Booth. It was something he should have done years ago.

  A highway patrol car came whizzing by, its lights flashing in warning. Jaron's heart stopped for a millisecond. Get hold of yourself. You can't fall apart. Not now when you're so close to accomplishing your goal.

  He was half an hour away from the phone booth he'd used before, but he wasn't sure if he should use one in such an isolated, out-of-the-way place. Maybe he should drive all the way into New Iberia and find a phone booth in a heavily populated area; that way, if the call was traced, he could simply disappear into the crowd. After all, he had no way of knowing if he could trust Grace Beaumont. She could have already called in the police.

  * * *

  When Elsa announced the arrival of the Dundee agents, Jed rose from his seat across the conference table from Grace, where they were sharing a takeout lunch. He'd almost finished eating a super-size meal and cola. Grace was still picking at a Caesar salad. Hudson, who had been included in their lunchtime plans and had finished his BLT, rose from his chair and took a speculative stance directly behind Grace.

  Right when Grace had suggested to Jed that they eat in today, her cousin Joy stopped by, as had Willis Sullivan, both eager to meet Jed; so Grace had asked Elsa to order for them, too. Joy had declined, stating she was dieting and wanted only a glass of iced tea, but Willis had requested a steak sandwich. After half an hour with the threesome, Jed decided he liked Joy, despite the fact she talked incessantly about nothing and didn't seem to have a serious thought in her pretty head. And perhaps because she seemed to dislike Hudson Prentice even more than Jed did. He knew he had nothing more than gut instincts on which to base his unfriendly attitude toward Prentice. And maybe it was nothing more than the fact he'd picked up instantly on the guy's romantic interest in Grace. Not that Grace's love life was any of Jed's business, but he'd sure hate to see her settle for a guy like Hudson Prentice.

  Then there was Uncle Willis. Jed's personal verdict on him was still out—to be determined on better acquaintance. He didn't actually like or dislike the man, although Uncle Willis's superior attitude—similar to, but much more annoying than Grace's—grated on Jed's nerves.

  As Domingo and Kate entered the conference room, Jed met them just inside the door. "Did you have a good flight?" Jed asked, making idle chitchat, alerting the agents that the group assembled might not be a hundred percent trustworthy. Jed had no real reason to distrust any of them, including Elsa, who stood on the other side of the open door. Grace had already shared much too much with these people. Yeah, but they're people she trusts, no matter what you think of them, Jed reminded himself.

  "Yes, the flight was fine," Kate replied as she glanced past Jed and studied the group congregated around the table.

  Jed didn't know Kate all that well; they'd never shared an assignment. She was damn good-looking. Blond, brown-eyed, with a nice body and a pair of great boobs. He'd thought about asking her out, but had never gotten around to it. When she'd first come to work at Dundee's, he'd been seeing someone on a fairly regular basis and since his breakup with his last lady friend, he'd been playing the field. Something told him that Kate Malone was the serious type, who definitely didn't put out on a first date.

  "Have y'all checked into the hotel yet?" Jed asked.

  "We went by there first and left our luggage," Dom said. "Are you tied up here—" Dom glanced around the room "—or are you free for a few minutes?"

  "Grace … everybody…" Jed plastered his best good-old-boy smile on his face. "This is Domingo Shea and Kate Malone, two of Dundee's finest. They're here to help me with the investigation." No need to mention to anyone that Rafe Devlin and J.J. Blair were already working undercover. Even Grace didn't need to know that particular fact. At least not yet.

  Willis eyed Dom seriously, as if studying a specimen under a microscope. And Joy scrutinized him just as thoroughly, but with a romantic twinkle in her eyes. He'd seen women look at Dom that way plenty of times. The guy possessed the kind of Latin lover looks that appealed to most women.

  "Grace, if you'll excuse us, we'll head for my office so we can go over a few things," Jed said. "Y'all enjoy the rest of your lunch."

  Before he made it outside the door, Grace called to him, "Don't you think I should take part in any discussions you have with your fellow agents?"

  Jed halted. "Sure thing." Just as long as you don't invite the masses to join in, he added silently. Grace was too trusting. And despite the exterior sophistication and her business acumen, he suspected that, at heart, she was a still a naive girl.

  Willis Sullivan cleared his throat loudly. "I'm Grace's attorney. Perhaps I should—"

  "That won't be necessary, Uncle Willis," Grace said.

  Hudson gripped the back of Grace's chair with white-knuckled tension. "If you'd like, I can—"

  "No." Grace rose from her seat, patted Hudson's clutched fists curled around the chair and bestowed her most charming smile on her devotees. "I love each of you for being concerned, but from here on out, I don't want any of you involved. Things could get very dangerous and I couldn't bear it if any one of you was harmed because of me."

  "Grace, sweetie, I wish you wouldn't…" Joy let her sentence trail off into oblivion when Grace gave her a disapproving stare.

  "I have Jed to depend on now," Grace told them. "Y'all stay out of this, stay uninvolved, and let Jed do his job. He'll protect me …
if it comes to that."

  When Jed put his arm protectively around Grace's shoulders, she allowed him to escort her from the conference room, down the hall and into his office. Dom and Kate followed them, came inside and closed the door behind them.

  "Just how many people are aware of what's going on?" Kate asked, her gaze moving from Jed to Grace.

  "Too many," Jed said.

  "Four people." Grace frowned. "Four people I trust implicitly. My cousin, who has been my best friend since we were children. My father's friend and attorney, who is like an uncle to me. The senior vice-president of Sheffield Media, Inc., a man who … well, who's probably in love with me. And my assistant of three years, who is loyal and trustworthy."

  "Kate didn't mean to upset you, Ms. Beaumont." Dom flashed her his irresistible smile. "But the more people who know, the better the chances that something will leak out and—"

  "Are you implying that Joy or Hudson or Uncle Willis or Elsa would betray me?" Grace asked indignantly.

  "Not willingly betray you, but perhaps unintentionally." Kate unzipped her briefcase, removed a computer CD and handed it to Jed. "Here's the information you asked for." She glanced at Grace. "You might want to look at it later."

  Jed laid the CD beside his laptop. "Thanks, I'll do that."

  "What information?" Grace eyed the CD. "I hired Dundee's. I'm paying your salaries. But I get the feeling you're keeping me in the dark about something. Just what's going on?"

  "Nothing's going on," Jed assured her, hating himself for lying to her. But he couldn't tell Grace about the FBI's involvement. It wasn't that he didn't trust her—he simply didn't know her. Not really. They'd met thirty-six hours ago, certainly not long enough to trust her completely. Besides, the Feds wouldn't look kindly on him sharing confidences with anyone outside the circle of Dundee agents involved in the case.

  Jed clamped his hand onto Grace's slender shoulder. "Let us do our job. And that job is to find the information you need and to keep you safe."