Saving Grace Read online

She’d wondered where he was from—his accent betrayed him—but she couldn’t focus on the fact. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “Afraid you’ll turn into a pumpkin?”

  “I did that years ago. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  Not totally, anyway. She’d survived scandal and innuendo more than once. Only before, it had never been bad enough to reflect on Mama and Corbett. She couldn’t stop thinking about them, about her possibly destroying everything they’d worked for without even trying.

  “So let’s go into my office.”

  Grace followed Declan into a black-and-white reflection of the living area. She couldn’t help wondering if his bedroom was equally colorless. The computer was running. Declan hit the space bar and the monitor sprang to life.

  “Go ahead and bring up your e-mail program.” He slid the chair out from under the desk for her.

  Grace nodded and sat. She brought up her e-mail program and gave it a quick check.

  “Nothing yet. There’s still a few minutes until midnight.” She rose and fiddled with the mouse. “Distract me.” She didn’t want to keep rehashing negative thoughts in her mind.

  “Your wish,” Declan murmured, stepping closer. His expression read neutral, but she recognized his intention.

  Her breath catching and a thrill racing through her, Grace nevertheless put out a staying hand. Her palm burned against his chest.

  He falls back onto the black satin bedspread and brings her with him. He grows hard against her stomach as he kisses her and cups her breasts.…

  Pulling herself out of the fantasy, Grace snapped back her hand. “I meant talk to me.”

  He grinned. “About?”

  That smile made her go all soft inside, but she was good at hiding what she didn’t want others to know. “Tell me about your family,” she said. “You know all about mine. I know nothing about yours.”

  “A father, three younger brothers and one sister, several aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins. All-in-all, a big, messy family.”

  “Are they still in New Mexico?”

  He nodded. “My parents, sister and one of my brothers.”

  “So why did you leave?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  Which meant a woman, Grace thought. But before she could tactfully ask about it, he went on.

  “My cousin Ian has been a private investigator for several years. He worked for a big firm, mostly on court cases, and he was itching to start his own business. So we fell into it together.”

  “You were a private investigator in New Mexico?”

  “Police detective. But enough about me. What about you? How did you become Voodoo Woman?”

  So why was he avoiding telling her about New Mexico? Grace wondered. There had to be a woman in the story he wasn’t telling. And if he couldn’t talk about it, he wasn’t over it yet.

  She said, “I took a long, circuitous route. I never got a degree and I didn’t have a career, so when the opportunity came along, I jumped on it. I was impressed by Raphael’s clothing and introduced him to some of his current clients and the next thing I knew he asked me to work for him.”

  “You didn’t like school?”

  She shrugged. “It was…unsatisfying. I wanted to find myself. I keep thinking I should go back…finish…but I don’t know any universities that give degrees in what I do.”

  “But maybe you could get a degree in something related that would appeal to you. Fashion. Or marketing.”

  There it was—dissatisfaction with who she was. No big surprise. Grace turned away and moved to the windows with their view of the Mississippi River.

  “A degree isn’t the most important thing in life.”

  “No, not if you’re productively employed and happy.”

  Not appreciating the direction of the conversation, she suddenly felt the walls closing in on her. “I was just thinking…maybe I should go back to my place while I still have time.”

  “Why would you want to leave?”

  Straight-faced, she asked, “What if the blackmailer demands I meet him near my building?”

  “We’re less than ten minutes away by car.” Declan used reason to convince her to stay. “I can’t see him asking to meet you face-to-face. And even if he did, I wouldn’t let you, not alone.”

  “Wouldn’t let me?” she echoed, liking the way the conversation was headed less and less.

  “Isn’t that what you hired me to do—protect you?”

  Grace didn’t want to argue, and truth be told, she desperately needed backup. If only he hadn’t started to sound like her brother. Or worse, her mother.

  Resigning herself to staying, she couldn’t help but pace the room until a ding from the computer alerted her to the arrival of e-mail. Her heart thumped and her mouth went dry and she stood frozen for a moment.

  THE SUBJECT LINE SIMPLY READ Photographs like it was a normal message from a friend. What had they expected? Declan wondered. That the bastard who sent it would identify the e-mail as Blackmail?

  Grace sat and clicked on the blackmailer’s e-mail.

  Declan held his breath and read along with her:

  I HOPE YOU LIKE THE PHOTOGRAPH I SENT YOU. I HAVE DOZENS OF OTHER SHOTS, ALL EQUALLY HOT. YOU CAN EITHER BUY THEM FROM ME OR I CAN SELL THEM TO THE TABLOIDS AND RUIN YOUR FAMILY. YOU HAVE 72 HOURS TO COME UP WITH FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS IN CASH. WATCH FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS VIA E-MAIL MIDNIGHT TOMORROW.

  Grace gasped. “Five hundred thousand dollars? He’s out of his mind!”

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she replied:

  I don’t have that kind of money.

  Declan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He could feel Grace’s turmoil churning through her, but she didn’t say anything. They waited together silently, tensely. A moment later, a ding accompanied the blackmailer’s reply. She clicked on the e-mail. The response was simple:

  GET IT!

  Which reminded Declan of Gotcha! Declan wondered if Max Babin might have several businesses like this going on the side.

  “Get it how?” Though Grace whispered, she sounded panicky.

  “You’re not really thinking of trying to pay off a blackmailer?”

  “What else am I supposed to do?” Quickly she typed:

  You’re crazy if you think I would give you a cent even if I had it to give. Which I don’t!

  Though she froze in front of the screen waiting for a response, none came.

  When Grace turned to him, her expression was stricken. She pushed herself away from the desk and stumbled to her feet. Declan caught her and held her comfortingly, his hand smoothing the tension from her spine. For a moment, she melted against him.

  Then, as if she rethought what they were doing, Grace pushed against his chest until he let go of her. She had that odd expression again, the one he kept seeing when they connected.

  “Sorry,” he said, allowing worry to enter both his voice and his expression. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s just…when you touch me, I get these flashes…”

  “What kind of flashes?”

  “Of us…together.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. It’s some kind of psychic malfunction.”

  “So you are psychic.” He’d wondered how long it would take her to admit it.

  “Not actively psychic though. Not for years. Not until I walked into your office.”

  “You’re saying I’m responsible.”

  “No. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I guess I relaxed my guard or something.”

  “Maybe that’s good.”

  “No, not good. Bad. Very bad. I thought I was done with that stuff.”

  “So you’ve been repressing your gift.” Just as did some of the McKennas, Declan thought. Not that he ever had reason to do so. But she must. “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to be publicly humiliated again,” Grace admitted. “And it’s not a gift.” She turned away f
rom him, mumbling, “It’s a damn curse!”

  He doubted she knew about curses, not the way he did. He doubted she’d ever left a man she’d cared about to protect him. Realizing she wasn’t going to tell him more unless he prodded, he asked, “A family ability?”

  “Sort of. Not Mama or Corbett. They would never allow themselves to go off in some fanciful direction. My grandmama Madelaine had it. And Cousin Minny.”

  Grace was pacing, working herself up into a tight ball of stress, but Declan knew she had to get some of her frustration out. And the more he knew, the more likely he could help her. “Cousin Minny?”

  “My eccentric cousin who runs a little shop off Jackson Square. She reads palms and auras and tarot. The tourists love her.”

  “Sounds like she loves what she does for a living.”

  Grace nodded. “She’s very colorful and theatrical. I’m nothing like her.”

  Declan couldn’t suppress a smile. “Uh-huh.”

  “Let’s get back to the problem at hand. Ferreting out the rat who’s trying to ruin my family.”

  “If his goal was to ruin your mother’s or brother’s political career, he could already have sold the photographs to the tabloids.”

  “But he wouldn’t get half a million.”

  “He could be some sleazy lowlife just trying to make easy money.”

  “Or not.” She made a sound that expressed her frustration. “It’s not like Mama’s running for mayor or governor. Not Corbett, either. I make pretty good money—I don’t even have to buy my own clothes—but I don’t make enough to save that much. This blackmailer has no idea…”

  “Or assumes you have family money.”

  “My trust fund doesn’t kick in for another year.”

  They had to nail the blackmailer and any accomplices. And then he had to convince her to take it to the authorities.

  “Maybe the blackmailer knows about the trust fund but not that you don’t have access. Maybe he thinks five hundred thousand is reasonable, small enough that you wouldn’t take the chance of going to the police.”

  “But we don’t know that he isn’t hand-in-hand with Laroche or Emerson.”

  “No, we don’t know that. What if this guy is working for one of them but has decided to make a little extra on the side? You get the disk or whatever media the guy stored the photos on—and then find out he was a shill for someone else who has copies he’s planning to distribute to the media anyway?”

  Grace groaned. “What am I going to do?” She stared at him for a moment unblinking, as if her head was whirling with possibilities. “I still don’t want to deal with anything psychic.”

  “It sounds like you’re already doing it. With me.”

  “Against my will.”

  Declan stepped closer and was hard pressed not to take her in his arms and make more of those psychic visions right now. “You’ve done things with me against your will?”

  Grace flushed with attractive color. “Only in my head.”

  He let go a low whistle. “I’d sure like to take a look in there.”

  “It’s not funny!”

  Realizing he was upsetting rather than relaxing her with a little humor, Declan immediately sobered. “Sorry. You need to think about going to the authorities, though. We only have seventy-two hours to figure out who is involved and why, and get our hands on those photo files.”

  “I told you I don’t want to bring in the police.”

  Stubborn woman. Not that Declan could blame her. She was used to having control over her life. Once she brought in the authorities, her life wouldn’t be her own.

  “Okay,” he said, “it’s your decision. Only…how does our knowing who the blackmailer is resolve the situation?”

  “I’ll threaten to go to the police.”

  “And you think someone who has stalked and blackmailed you will believe that considering you didn’t do that from the start?”

  “Then I’ll think of something else. I’ll reason with him, convince him I don’t have the money. Give him what I have.”

  Declan didn’t want to argue with her. He’d planted the thought in her head. For the moment, that would have to suffice. Eventually she would get that she was in a no-win situation. There was really nothing she could do other than to get her hands on half a million dollars and hope handing it over would stop the blackmailer from spreading her photographs. Or against her will, she could bring in the authorities who would arrest him and bring him to trial.

  Changing the subject, he said, “Tomorrow I’ll need that list of workers in your building.”

  “Fine. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do about tracking the blackmailer down through his e-mail. If we do find him…well, it’s something to sleep on.”

  “Sleep.” Grace sighed. “I could use some of that.”

  “The bed’s right in the next room.”

  “Alone.”

  Though Declan could be persuaded to sleep with the woman—easily, in fact—that’s not what he’d been suggesting. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I know you’re probably used to doing everything on your own, but this is one time when you could use someone watching your back.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t argue.

  Declan didn’t usually use his car in this part of the city, but it was too late to walk or take public transportation, and he knew getting a taxi in the middle of the night might take some doing. So he broke out the SUV from the garage and drove. Grace remained quiet all the way to Faubourg-Marigny—her adrenaline seemed to have run out.

  As it was, she seemed to be half-asleep already. Her head rested against the seat back and was turned his way. Waiting at a red light at Jackson Square, he glanced over at her. Her eyes were closed and he could hear her breathing.

  Even at this hour, an old guy was playing his sax for tips outside of Café du Monde. The sound made Declan yearn for something he couldn’t quite name. The music swelled and it took him a moment to realize his chest had pulled tight and he was white-knuckling the steering wheel.

  Sexual tension, he told himself, that was all this was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman. Sometime before Lila. Nearly a year. While he’d fallen for Lila and she’d told him she wanted him, he hadn’t been willing to put her in danger. To subject her to the family curse.

  But a man had needs….

  He looked away from Grace and the very second the light turned green, he took off as if he could run away from something too scary to consider.

  A few minutes later, he was pulling up to her building. He parked and said, “Hey, sleepyhead, we’re here.”

  Grace started awake and for a moment seemed confused. Then her forehead smoothed out and she sighed. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  “You don’t need to see me up.”

  “My mother taught me better.”

  Nodding, she let him open the downstairs door for her. He stayed behind her, glued to the sway of her hips as he followed her up the stairs. By the time they reached the door, he was aching for her. When she fumbled for the keys, he took them from her and unlocked the door.

  “I should come in, make sure you’re safe.”

  An excuse, of course. He didn’t want to leave her yet. He recognized that he was making a mistake wanting her. She was a client. He had to keep the case uppermost in his mind.

  Preceding her into the apartment, Declan turned on the lights and looked around. Her living area was colorful and messy. Mango walls with some wild if unrelated art pieces and an assortment of furnishings including a gold-trimmed peacock-blue chest and leopard-print chaise all made him feel Grace bought each piece on impulse. Considering what she did for a living, she must know decorators who could pull the apartment together perfectly. And yet what he saw fit the woman. He liked it and he liked her.

  Thinking he should leav
e, he stopped when he noted her expression.

  “I don’t want to do it,” she suddenly announced, her face frozen in an expression of panic. “But I don’t see any other way.”

  “Don’t want to do what?”

  “Read people, to learn their intentions. Raphael and Max. Larry Laroche and Helen Emerson.”

  “You’re talking about using that psychic ability you’ve kept at bay for years?” When she gave him a disbelieving look, he added, “Using your ability could get you into trouble…perhaps put you in a dangerous situation.”

  “I know,” she said.

  He realized she was thinking about her reason for suppressing her ability, whatever that might be. Knowing having a gift wasn’t always easy made him feel for her.

  Her expression tight, Grace choked out, “But what if using my psychic ability is the only way to get to the truth?”

  Declan’s gut twisted. “Or it may be the way to get in deep trouble. I don’t think you should involve yourself that way, Grace,” he said, stepping closer. He shouldn’t feel so personally involved with a client, but he couldn’t help himself. He liked Grace Broussard and didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. “Put yourself out as bait and you could get hurt.”

  “What if it’s the only way?” she asked again.

  “We’ll think of something,” he assured her. “Get the money—disk trade on our terms and then nail the bastard—”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work. I’ve spent a lifetime denying my ability so I would be like everyone else. Maybe I should make an exception in this case.”

  Declan smiled. “Do you really think you’re like anyone else? You’ve had the courage to do what many people wouldn’t. You’ve explored life—schools, majors, jobs—until you found something that made you happy. Most people do what they think they should and live narrow, unhappy lives.”

  Her emotions surrounded him like a tight glove. He sensed fear and despair and determination, plus something else he couldn’t quite name. The sensation suddenly amped up and he was caught by the tension gripping Grace. A tension that was only for him.

  He could feel it…her wanting him.