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Authors: Elle Wylder

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BOOK: Saving Grace
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And, I glance at the wall-mounted clock in the outer office,
I better get moving or risk being late. Inside my office, I push the door shut
behind me and get to work. Grabbing a priority mail box from the top of my file
cabinet, I set it on the desk and push my chair back out of the way. Grimacing
as I lower myself to the floor, absentmindedly rubbing my sore leg, I lean
forward to pry open a loose tile under the desk. After retrieving a stack of
files from the hidden hole, I return the square and press it back into place
before standing.

I pull the chair closer and sit, grabbing a pen and
scrawling out Walker’s familiar address in Alabama, in care of myself. I’m not
sending it to my sister’s for the same reason I won’t be staying with her. If
trouble follows me home Walker can take care of himself. Honor can’t. Dropping
the files into the box--my recently received mail plus the other case files I
was working on at the time of the shooting--I quickly seal it. Grabbing my bag,
I lock the office behind me and head down the hall.

I walk into the insurance company’s office to see Jennifer
chatting with one of the junior salesmen and slide the box onto the high ledged
shelf next to their outgoing mail. I’m probably letting paranoia get to me, but
it seems safer to mail the files to where I’m going and to do it from someone
else’s office. It isn’t unusual for me to leave my outgoing mail in one of the
other offices on the floor since the mail runs around lunchtime and I’m usually
out of my office at the time. No one will think it remarkable.

Jennifer finally shoos away the salesman and comes around
the desk, hurrying out into the hall.

“Let’s get out of here before someone discovers something
else that just has to be done right now.”

I laugh and punch the elevator button. More like an
office-guru Girl Friday hybrid than a receptionist, Jennifer has an uncanny
ability for fixing things--reports, equipment, cranky clients--you name it, she
is good at it. Her fix-it skills went a long way in helping her negotiate her
last pay raise, but often makes escaping the office for lunch damn near
impossible. The ancient elevator finally dings, the doors slowly sliding open,
and we get in the full car. The building is emptying for lunch and we make
small talk with the car’s occupants. Outside we walk the couple blocks to our
favorite deli and stand in line to order. Jennifer fills me in on all the new
building gossip while I try to soak in the familiar relaxed atmosphere. I
realize it isn’t working when we sit down and she turns shrewd eyes on me.

“Alright. Spill.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Spill?”

“You’re jumpy as hell, girlfriend. Enquiring minds want to
know
why
.”

Sighing, I push a French fry around a pool of ketchup on my
plate. I can’t tell Jennifer everything. For one, it is my policy not to
discuss ongoing cases. But also, I don’t want to inadvertently put anyone else
in danger. So why am I going to Walker’s? Can I trust him? Not with my heart.
But physically he is just as dangerous as whoever is stalking me. He’ll keep me
safe while I figure this out. There are other reasons for going, but I refuse
to examine them, refuse to acknowledge them.

I stick with simple, shrugging as I answer. “You’d be
nervous too if you got shot.”

She smiles wanly. “Touché.”

I shift in my chair, a concession to my skittish nerves, and
go on to the real reason for this lunch.

“I’m going out of town for a few days. Need a little more
recuperation time I think.”

Jennifer grins. “With the sexy
Bama
guy I hope.”

Despite my nervousness at disclosing my destination, I relax
enough at Jennifer’s eagerness to grin back. Jennifer met Walker a couple of
months ago getting off the elevator, when he’d come by to pick me up for a
surprise dinner date. She was waiting by the elevator for me while I locked up
my office. We were planning on grabbing a bite to eat and then going to listen
to a local band at our favorite bar. The elevator dinged while I fumbled with
my keys, and I heard Jennifer’s flirtatious voice at the end of the hall.

“Well, hello.”

I hadn’t bothered to fight my smile wondering who the new
conquest would be. But it slipped with a surprising streak of jealousy when I
heard Walker’s amused reply.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Can I help you find someone?”

The implication was clear she meant herself. My eyes had
narrowed on the door, an unaccustomed insecurity freezing my feet in place and
closing up my throat. I’m normally a confidant woman, but I’ve never been lucky
with men.

“I’m looking for Grace Monroe,” he answered and the feeling
returned to my numb fingers with a rush. I turned the key in the lock, heard
the tumbler fall into place, and started down the hall in time to meet
Jennifer’s curious gaze right before Walker pulled me close for a long,
possessive kiss…

“Hello? Earth to Grace?”

I shake off the memory and smile.

“Zoned out. Sorry. Anyway, I think I’m going to head out in
a couple of hours. Pack a few things and then take a few days off. If anyone
comes around looking for me, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t know what happened
to me.”

Jennifer frowns, no doubt remembering what a workaholic I
am.

“Is anything wrong? It’s not like you to take any time off,
especially after being gone a couple of weeks.”

I don’t want Jennifer asking questions I
can’t--won’t--answer and rush to reassure her.

“No, no, everything’s fine. I just need a break. And maybe
I’m reevaluating a little bit.”

It isn’t a lie. I’m taking a new look at the case, but I can
see by the way Jennifer’s eyes light up that the other woman thinks I’m talking
about my love life, something she is always riding my ass about.

“So things with Walker are going to the next level?” she
asks.

I shrug and stand to leave. I want to say no, but there is a
secret less cynical part of me crying out
yes
. The only thing I know
definitively about that relationship is he’s turned me into a confused twisted
mess.

“We’ll see,” I answer instead of trying to explain why I’ll
never be able to take things farther with Walker, but I know I’m only lying to
myself. I am going home. I am telling Walker everything and then...Well, we’ll
see. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

I hurry back to my condo to grab my things, lost in thought.
I don’t have many friends. The few I keep in touch with from the Army know
about my ugly past and my ex-husband. Jennifer doesn’t and I don’t want to
dredge it up. Walker knows nothing of my ex-husband either and I know I owe him
an explanation, know he has a right to know why I find it so difficult to trust
him. But I dread it. My marriage embarrasses me. I’d been a kick-ass, smart MP
and I’ve never been able to pinpoint where my husband turned from loving to
abusive. I figure I was lucky to get out in one piece. I’ve made a life for
myself that doesn’t include trust, in myself or anyone else. I’m honest enough
to admit that. Doesn’t mean I have any intention of changing it. Don’t know if
it was possible.

I could call up one of my old friends now and go hang out
with them a few a days while I try to figure out this mess. It irritates me
that I don’t. That would be the smart thing to do. The logical,
protect–myself-emotionally thing to do. But instinct is driving me home, right
into Walker’s arms and that scares me almost as much as someone trying to kill
me. There is an undercurrent of violence in Walker that reminds me of Nick. It
both repels and appeals to me. I know he’d never hurt me, but the potential is
there. Maybe it is his restraint I find so appealing.

On the other hand...I shiver as I pull the door open to my
building. My office--and the place we had lunch--is only a couple of blocks
from home so I walked. The entire time I felt eyes watching me and the walk,
limping along with the hated cane, seems to take forever. I sigh with relief
when once inside the feeling fades.

I packed a duffel bag last night and only stay in my condo
long enough to double-check its contents. Lap top--check. Clothes--check.
Compact .40-caliber pistols--check. I make a quick phone call and pause long
enough at my living room window to peek through the blinds, wondering who is
following me and hoping he is still out on the street in front of the building,
before leaving again.

I make my way carefully down the stairwell and go out the
building’s back service entrance. The heavy bag slung over one shoulder, I
cross the street and enter a bar. Waving at the bartender, who happens to be a
friendly neighbor in my building, I duck into the kitchen and out the back
door, then walk to the end of the alley where the cab is already waiting.
Paranoid much? I grumble to myself before telling the driver to go to the
airport where I rent a car and start the long drive home to Alabama and Walker.

Chapter
Six

Brady

 

I disconnect the line with a slam and a curse. My day has
gone from shitty to completely fucked up. I’m beginning to feel everything, my
life and my future, spiral out of control and out of my grasp. I’m up for my
biggest promotion yet--Deputy Chief--but I heard just this morning from a
confidential source inside the Chief’s office that Internal Affairs is holding
it up. I quietly set about asking questions and I’m not surprised to learn the
problem is Steven Manning.

Manning and I have always hated each other. He uses his
power in the IA’s office to investigate me at every opportunity, but he hasn’t
been able to prove anything or prevent my promotion to captain over the
detectives division. He sure as fuck hasn’t given up, though.

Reaching for my keys, I stand and leave the room, making my
way through the building and out to my car. Desperation makes my gut clench and
I make an instant decision, as instant as the one that left me pumping a full
magazine into that bastard Hugo Beaumont all those years ago. Back then, what
had started out as a profitable little sideline had quickly got out of hand.
Hugo made more and more demands, threatening to turn me in during that last
little powwow. He’d had to go. They’d never even looked at me during that
investigation, though certainly some people are suspicious of me. Manning has
been a thorn in my side ever since.

I drive to a less than respectable side of town. I have to
laugh. Yeah right. More like a slum. Pulling into a bar parking lot, I turn the
car off and tap my thumb against the steering wheel for a minute. How much is
this going to cost me? I open the center console, lift out the bottom and reach
into the small compartment hidden there. Lifting the cash out, I fan it. Fifty
thousand. Much more than necessary for a simple B-and-E. Ten should do it. I
count five thousand out, put the stack in the inside pocket of my jacket,
return the rest to its hidden location, lock up the car, and go inside.

The bar is dark and smoky, and I walk to a corner booth in
the back nodding slightly at the men I want to speak to on my way. The two men,
formerly Walker’s muscle, now freelancers, pick up their beers and join me.

“What’s up cop?” one asks as if announcing to the bar what I
am. I barely restrain the urge to roll my eyes. It isn’t like anyone in the bar
doesn’t know who I am.

I quickly and quietly explain what I want done, emphasizing
the need to leave no trace evidence. It is a perfect scheme. They’ll tear the
house apart, leaving plenty of physical evidence behind them even if they try
not to, and I’ll go in later to take care of the owner. The mess they leave
should cover my presence. Not that I tell them about the second part of the
plan. Much easier to pin it on someone else this way. The murder of a cop is
not going to come back and bite me in the ass. But using Walker’s men to set it
all in motion? Genius. There are still officers on the force who’d love to fry
his ass. I don’t feel even a twinge of guilt for setting a man up to take the
fall for a murder I commit.

“What do you want us to do with the haul?” one of them
asked.

“Get it in the incinerator tonight. Don’t keep any of it for
yourselves. Don’t try to sell it.” If they were curious about the odd job,
neither asked. I’m sure they won’t follow my instructions either. They’ll keep
something for themselves. That works for my purposes. Just more evidence to
make them look guilty, and in the end, when the investigation begins to unfold,
there won’t be anyone alive to connect me to these two men or Manning’s murder.

They nod and I pull out the cash, sliding it across the
table.

“Five now. The rest when I hear it’s done.”

They agree and I leave, feeling my first sense of relief.
I’m almost free and clear. A flicker of unease reminds me it might not be over.

The woman has disappeared. She knows how to shake a trail
and cover her tracks. I expect I’ll get word any minute now she is back in
Birmingham and snooping around. I can’t believe her close call wasn’t enough to
make her back off. It defies reason.

I’d really like to get my hands on whoever shot her. What a
stupid fucking move. I could have kept snowballing her without that. Eventually
she would have given up. But getting shot? That makes it personal. I understand
that even if it complicates the shit out of things for me.

Unfortunately it makes it personal for her
and
Walker
Graham. I have had to decide what to do with her and drawing Walker Graham out
is the perfect way. I have the perfect plan for that too. I am willing to let
Walker go his own way as long as he stays out of my business, but that isn’t
likely to happen now. The man is the only real threat to my future. He is a
threat that has to be eliminated, and his woman with him.

I smile as I leave the building. In a few days every thorn
in my side--Manning, Walker, and Grace Monroe--will be gone.

         

 
BOOK: Saving Grace
13.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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