by JoAnn Ross
Not a single person challenged his self-centered behavior. Grace decided the others had come to the same conclusion she had—that he wasn’t worth the effort.
“Georgie,” Geraldine said, briskly changing the subject, “give Dalai some of your prime rib. The poor baby’s hungry.”
Lucas and Grace exchanged a brief look and tried not to smile as George dutifully did as instructed.
Surprisingly, although Grace could sense Lucas’s heightened awareness, the rest of the meal passed in relative peace. Geraldine was surprisingly entertaining, spinning humorous tales about her days marketing disposable diapers to the Asian markets, and even George managed to make a joke or two about the family owing its fortune to wet baby bottoms.
“I suppose this is quite a change for you,” Lucas suggested to Geraldine as the dinner plates were taken away and dessert served. “Moving from diapers to books.”
“Actually, it’s not,” she said. “Romance novels are merely another market commodity—not that different from diapers, or soap, or even soup.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Grace murmured. “Perhaps if I ever run into writer’s block, I can just start mixing up chowder in my kitchen instead.”
“You can scoff all you want, Grace,” Geraldine chided in that brisk British accent that always reminded Grace of how the Queen should talk, but didn’t. “But you creative types always have your head in the clouds, which makes you unable to understand the intricacies of the business world.”
“How fortunate we have you to handle that for us,” Grace murmured.
Her dry tone flew right over the publisher’s head. “Isn’t it?” Geraldine replied cheerfully. “But, of course, I could never write a book, either, so together we make a very good team.”
Grace decided not to point out that the last time she’d been part of a writing team, her editor had stolen her husband.
“Just because we sell diapers doesn’t mean that we don’t appreciate good books,” George said, entering into the conversation. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Grace, that your hero in Desperado was the most heartbreakingly wonderful example of a wounded alpha male I’ve ever read.”
“Why, thank you, George,” Grace said, surprised by the idea that George Dwyer had actually read one of her books. When she’d learned that he’d been appointed editorial director, she’d believed, mistakenly, it seemed, that he’d only gotten the title due to nepotism. “I enjoyed writing him.”
“I could tell. It came through on every page.” He gave her a smile. “Actually, now that I think about it, there’s quite a resemblance between Cole Remington and Lucas.”
“How interesting you’d think that,” Grace said pleasantly. Knowing the sexy, self-satisfied glint she’d see in Lucas’s eyes, she refused to look at him.
The lights dimmed. The stage lights came on, signaling the beginning of the awards. Although winning a ROMI might mean less to her than it had three days ago, as she waited through the RNN president’s closing remarks, and the announcement of the winner of the long series contemporary, and next, of the short series contemporary category—which Grace was thrilled turned out to be Jamie—her nerves began to tangle.
She was not alone. “I just wish they’d get to it,” Robert grumbled as he reached over and took the chocolate mousse she’d been too nervous to eat. “I hate this waiting.”
Grace, who hated to think there was anything she and the Rat might have in common, didn’t answer.
And then it was her turn. She watched, cringing a little as a larger-than-life-size photograph flashed onto the huge screen along with a blowup of last year’s Roberta Grace cover, featuring Kevin lounging seductively amid tangled sheets, a black Stetson on the bedpost, six-guns at his side.
“Oh, lord, he is gorgeous,” Geraldine murmured. She leaned over to Grace. “Are you certain you want to change cover treatments?”
“Absolutely,” Grace said firmly.
“It’s such a waste,” the publisher complained as the presenter began reading excerpts from each of the finalists’ novels.
When the readings were finished, Lucas leaned toward Grace from her other side. “You’re a shoo-in,” he assured her.
Her mouth had gone as dry as dust, preventing her from answering the encouraging vote of confidence. She could only squeeze his hand tighter.
“And the ROMI in the single-title historical category is awarded to…” The presenter paused, drawing out the moment.
Grace wasn’t certain what happened next. One minute she was sitting on the edge of her chair, her fingernails digging into the back of Lucas’s hand. The next minute, everything was pandemonium.
She was only vaguely aware of the woman on stage calling out Roberta Grace’s name. At the same time, Robert suddenly turned a sickly purple hue, began choking and fell face first into what remained of the chocolate mousse he’d swiped from her.
Before Grace could fully absorb what had happened, Lucas was on his feet, his Beretta drawn. “Let’s go.” Giving her no chance to argue, he dragged her out a side exit as the detectives just as quickly headed toward the table.
They took the service elevator. Grace’s head was still spinning as they entered the suite. Her heart was pounding like a tom-tom; her legs were so rubbery she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stand were it not for Lucas’s arm around her waist.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think. Thanks to you.”
“The job isn’t over yet. I’ve got to get back down there, in case whoever poisoned your dessert tries to get away.” His eyes were as hard as obsidian, his jaw was firm, a muscle jerked in his cheek. “I want to make certain we end this right here. Tonight.”
He ran a palm over her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe. Then went over to the bar and poured a generous splash of brandy into a balloon glass. “Here, sweetheart.” He pressed the glass into her trembling hands. “Given my history, I’m usually not one to recommend drinking, but I think in this case it’s excusable.”
With her eyes on his, Grace took a tentative sip and felt the liquor warming the chill that seemed to have seeped into every molecule of her body.
“I want you to stay here,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t open the door for anyone except me. Okay?”
Because she was afraid her voice would come out all shaky, Grace simply nodded.
“Good girl” He bent down, gave her a swift, hard kiss. And then he was gone, leaving Grace to wonder, not for the first time, how this could possibly be happening to her.
She was sitting there, nerves still tangled as she waited for Lucas to return and tell her that everything was all right, that she was going to have her normal, boring life back again, when there was a knock on the door. She froze.
Another knock. Grace debated going over to look out the door’s peephole, but was unreasonably afraid of being seen by whoever was on the other side.
“Grace,” the familiar voice called to her. “It’s me. Jamie. Are you all right?”
Grace jumped to her feet and looked out, confirming that it was, indeed, her best friend. Lucas’s warning about not opening the door to anyone flashed through her mind, but this was Jamie. The one person besides Lucas she could trust. Despite whatever financial problems the Winstons might be experiencing.
“Just a minute,” she called out as she hurried to unfasten the chain. She’d no sooner opened the door than Jamie literally fell across the threshold, pushed into the room by Geraldine.
“I’m sorry, Grace.” Tears flooded from Jamie’s distressed eyes. “I didn’t want to do it, but she’s got my Susie.”
“Susie?” Grace didn’t know which she found more shocking—the sight of her new publisher holding that horrid chrome pistol or the idea of Geraldine snatching Grace’s seven-year-old goddaughter. “How? Where?”
“Back home. I talked to her on the phone just a minute ago. Although we’ve told her time and time again not to talk to strangers, she thought she was trying to
help the nice man find his lost cocker spaniel puppy.”
“Oh, Jamie, no!”
“They threatened to do horrible things to her if I didn’t cooperate,” Jamie sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Grace trusted Lucas to save her. The key, she determined, was to get Geraldine talking. “How could you do such an evil thing?”
“I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep this just between the two of us,” the publisher revealed. There was a wild look in her eyes that Grace could only view as madness. “But then you ruined things by hiring yourself a bodyguard. So, naturally, I realized I needed a backup plan. Just in case.”
Her smile was cold, rather like the way a rattler would look if a snake could smile. “I knew that other than the hunk, there was only one person in the world you’d trust. But that led to another problem, because there was also no way your best friend would betray you.
“But then I saw her showing off snapshots of her family to friends and I realized right away what I had to do.”
“Kidnapping and threatening a child is abhorrent,” Grace said.
“Oh, we haven’t threatened her. Actually, she’s being treated very well, with videos and all the candy and ice cream she can eat. So long as her mother cooperates,” she added evilly.
“I still don’t understand,” Grace complained. “I’ve never done anything to hurt you. Why would you want to kill me?”
Before Geraldine could answer, the door opened again and George Dwyer walked into the suite. He was still carrying Dalai, but Grace noticed that for the first time since she’d seen the dog, it wasn’t wearing a costume. Although to her mind, it still looked more like a mop than a real dog.
“I think I can answer that,” he said.
“How did you get a key?” Geraldine demanded.
“I simply asked a maid. I told her I’d lost mine. Apparently she thought I looked as if I belonged in the presidential suite. Unlike some other people I could mention,” he said, his voice edged with sarcasm, his words meant for Penbrook’s new publisher.
“Geraldine was having an affair with my father,” he told Grace. “When she began demanding that he leave my mother, he realized she’d become obsessive. So, since he’d just bought Penbrook—at my suggestion, by the way—” he revealed, “he named her publisher to get her out of the Dwyer’s Diapers building. But I was assured full editorial control.”
“That’s what the checks were for,” Grace said, as comprehension dawned.
“What checks?” Jamie asked. Although tears were still streaming down her cheeks, she seemed interested in the story.
“Checks from George Senior that Geraldine deposited in her personal account,” Grace said. “You were blackmailing him, weren’t you?” The grandfather clock chimed the hour. Keep the crazy woman talking, Grace told herself. Lucas would arrive in time; she could not allow herself to think otherwise.
“Blackmail’s such an ugly word,” Geraldine said. “I prefer to think of it as payment for services rendered. Very personal services,” she added, with an insinuating smile George’s way.
“Father never would have left mother for you,” George said. “Not with my mother owning fifty-one percent of Dwyer’s Diapers’ stock. He might have fallen prey to whatever seduction tactics you used to worm your way into the executive offices, but he would never have given up control of that voting block. Besides, my parents’ relationship might not exactly be Ozzie and Harriet, but it works quite well for them.”
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me,” Grace complained. “Or why you were manipulating my royalties.”
“Ah, you and your hunk have been busy, haven’t you?” Geraldine gave Grace another of those cold, eerie smiles. “You’re Penbrook’s cash cow, darling. I thought if I skimmed a little from your account, cooked the numbers a bit, you’d get disillusioned with Penbrook’s plummeting royalties and leave. But then, when it looked as if you were actually thinking of staying, and it became obvious you were going to win that silly lawsuit Robert instigated, well, naturally, I had to employ more drastic measures.”
The door between the suite and the adjoining room opened. “Like killing the writer who penned the golden romances,” Lucas drawled, seeming unfazed by the sight of Geraldine holding the others at gunpoint.
“Dammit! This is getting like Grand Central Station!” Geraldine shouted. She grabbed Grace’s arm with one hand. With the other she pressed the pistol against her temple. “If you so much as move a muscle, I’ll kill her,” she warned Lucas.
“Hey.” He lifted his hands in the air. “It’s your call. Just let’s try to calm down and—”
“I don’t need to calm down!” she shrieked. Grace flinched, then shut her eyes, expecting to die at that moment. “I just need something to go right for a change.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Lucas said.
“Now there’s where you’re wrong. Unfortunately, I had the misfortune to hire the world’s most inept hit man.” She shook her head. “First he misses when he shoots at her. Then the idiot throws the wrong woman overboard…. But tonight’s plan was supposed to be foolproof. And it would have worked, if Robert hadn’t been such a damn greedy pig.”
Grace’s blood chilled as she realized her dessert truly had been poisoned. But so long as Geraldine was talking, she wasn’t shooting. Which was definitely in Grace’s favor.
“You’ll never get away with this,” Lucas said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. Although he was more terrified than he’d been that fateful night on the beach, when he’d believed he was about to die, he forced himself, for Grace’s sake, to remain coolheaded.
“You’ve got too many witnesses. And even if you’re willing to risk killing us all, that will eliminate most of the other suspects, which will lead the cops straight to you. And then there’s the little fact that you’ve left a paper trail even Barney Fife could follow.”
“I moved that money through three off-shore banks,” Geraldine retorted. “There shouldn’t have been any way to track it.” She glared at him. “Obviously, I made a mistake in underestimating you. But what kind of bodyguard can anyone expect to find in the classifieds, anyway?” she asked in a scathing tone.
“The very best,” Grace said, experiencing another flash of her newly discovered temper. “You might as well face it, Geraldine, Lucas is smarter than you’ll ever be. And he’s not going to let you get away with this.”
“Grace…” Lucas murmured.
“I’m sorry, Lucas. I might be going to die, but I refuse to allow this horrible person to insult you like that.”
“Isn’t that sweet,” Geraldine drawled scathingly. “No wonder you write the kind of stories you do. You’re a romantic.” She heaped an extra helping of derision on the term.
Her hand had begun to shake. Lucas judged the distance between them and decided he didn’t dare risk making a move. Yet.
“That’s true,” Grace agreed. “And I’m proud of it. Face it, Geraldine, you’re just jealous because no one could ever love such an evil, self-absorbed woman. You treated sex with George Senior like a business deal, and you ended up emotionally bankrupt. And, for the record, you may have been great at pushing diapers, but you don’t understand anything about publishing.”
“And you think Georgie here could do better?” Geraldine asked with a contemptuous laugh. “He’s a sentimental bleeding heart who mistakenly believes that the business is still about telling stories.”
“It isn’t?” Lucas asked mildly.
“Of course not. It’s a jungle. It’s survival of the fittest and only the strongest survive.”
“You’re wrong,” George said, surprising Grace by standing up to his tormentor yet again.
“Oh, shut up, Georgie.” Geraldine cut him off. “No one cares what you have to say.”
“Shut up yourself, you old witch!” he shouted at her. “You climbed the corporate ladder on your back, lady, and I’m sick of having to listen to y
our idiot marketing schemes that have nothing to do with what books are about. And I’m sick of lighting your damn cigarettes, and you know what I’m also sick of?” His voice kept going higher and higher, like an operatic tenor practicing scales. “I’m sick to death of the way you’ve turned this innocent dog into this ill-behaved, ridiculous, gas-filled bag of mangy fur!” That said, he flung Dalai at her.
Geraldine’s hand instinctively came up, whether to protect herself from the flying Lhasa apso or, in an uncharacteristic gesture of protection, to catch it to prevent it from hitting the floor. Whichever, Lucas took advantage of the opportunity and made his move.
As publisher, dog and bodyguard went tumbling to the floor, Grace immediately grabbed a sterling candlestick from the coffee table and threw herself into the melee, hitting the other woman wherever she could land a blow, determined to protect Lucas from Geraldine’s deadly gun.
“Grace, it’s okay.” Jamie was pulling her off the pile. “Everything’s under control. It’s all over.”
At the same time, Lucas pushed himself to his feet, pulling Geraldine with him.
“You’re wrong,” Grace corrected softly as she looked straight into the eyes of the man she’d fallen in love with. “It’s just beginning.”
* * *
SUNDAY DAWNED BRIGHT and clear, the waters of the bay and the Pacific beyond gleaming like newly mined sapphires. Grace stood beside Lucas as they sailed the Rebel’s Reward beneath the Golden Gate, headed toward blue water.
“So, what did your mother say about attending the wedding in Anchorage?” he asked.
“She said she was looking forward to the adventure.” Grace had been surprised and pleased by her mother’s instant acceptance.
“That’s pretty much what my folks said, too. Oh, and it turns out Fancy has read all your books—she called them keepers, by the way—and I’m supposed to tell you she’s bringing them with her to be autographed.”
“That’s sweet.” Grace smiled.
“So, I think everything’s set…damn.”
