The Price of Grace (Black Ops Confidential 2)

The man’s eyes strayed to the spot. “You’ve got it, boss.”

He walked away. Gracie watched him go. She exhaled a breath full of tension. Reason told her he was just what he seemed, but reason took a backseat to precaution after being shot at the other night.

Someone was watching her. Someone who had known about Sunday night dinners with her family.

John knew.

She needed to update her security. Especially the back door and parking area. The front door to the club had a walk-through metal detector, facial recognition software—hooked up to the League’s servers and huge database of bad guys. And at night that door was manned by trained bouncers with military experience.

A few weeks ago, heck, a few nights ago, all of that had seemed overkill. Now, it didn’t seem enough.

A loud bam resounded through the club, and Gracie shot to her feet. Her hand snaked under her shirt to her side holster.

Her heart pounding, she spun to face the noise. The worker who’d dropped the metal Statue of Liberty sculpture waved at her and apologized. She must’ve looked pissed off, because his boss started to berate him.

Pulling her hand from her gun, Gracie waved away her contractor’s concern, then jumped out of her skin when her cell rang.

Yikes. Tense much? She unhooked her phone from the belt looped through her jeans, looked at the screen, and thumbed Accept. “Hey, Victor.”

“How’s my favorite red-headed vigilante?”

A nervous, paranoid, worried wreck. “Thanks for returning my call. I need a favor.”

“Uh-oh, that sounds serious. Like you’re going to ask me to put on a G-string and dance in public. You know I’ll only do that if it’s private. Me and you.”

Victor flirted as much with women as he did with men. Normally she didn’t mind the harmless flirting. Not today. “I sent you an email through our secure site. Can you check it out?”

After Mexico, they’d kept in contact. More than kept in contact. They’d become friends. And because they’d each had something to offer the other—he contacts, she cyber skills—they’d set up a secure communication site.

“Give me a sec.”

She waited while she heard keys being tapped. He murmured noises as he worked and then, “Got it.” A few more moments and then, “Fuck. Someone took a shot at you?”

No kidding. “Keep reading.”

He did, here and there saying a word aloud. He stopped abruptly. “So John texted you, threatened you, right before someone shot at you?”

“Yeah.” It could be coincidence. It could be. “It gets worse.”

She was glad he already knew about John and Tyler. Since returning from Mexico, they’d gotten drunk together and shared some mind-blowing secrets. Victor’s life had not been predictable. And this coming from her, who’d been raised by a super-wealthy woman to be a vigilante.

The shrill whine of a drill cut through the club and Gracie’s last nerve. She had to bite her lip to keep from yelling at the guy. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as Victor started talking. “First, I’m in. Whatever you need. No one messes with you. Second, you’re not telling your crazy-ass family?”

Here we go. “Don’t call them crazy.”

“Twenty-eight adopted kids from all over the globe. All with some horror story. Oh—and they all happen to be secret vigilantes. Yeah, I’m sticking with the crazy part.”

Well, couldn’t argue with that. Maybe they should’ve erased his memory. “Did you read the whole thing? I can’t tell them.”

“I read it. FBI guy in town. Do you think it’s that email you sent?”

Another confession her drunken self had given him. “Yeah. I do.”

“Fuck, Red. That’s not good. The International Peace Team is tied to your family now.”

She couldn’t see him, but she heard him moving, probably pacing with that slight limp he still had from the injury he’d suffered in Mexico.

He had reason to pace. Victor had started a global charity, the International Peace Team, with her sister’s now-husband Sandesh, and it was heavily dependent on Parish philanthropy. If the FBI discovered the illegal things her family did, the good work his charity did would suffer.

And if Momma discovered Gracie had sent the letter, she’d suffer. Rightfully so. But, among other things, Momma would begin to monitor her. That would ruin her attempt to be part of Tyler’s life. She couldn’t have that. “I know. I wish I could go back in time and not send the letter, but I can’t.”

After a moment’s consideration, Victor said, “Only five people?”

Her email included a list of five people she thought might want her dead. John and his wife, a hacktivist she’d unveiled as a corporate shill, a teacher and sexual predator she’d chemically castrated in her wilder days, and a macho pilot she’d dated for two-and-a-half seconds. Was that all? Could she be missing someone? “Yeah. Five. Just them.”

Someone came through the front door of the club. Her heart jumped. What the heck? Why wasn’t that door locked? All the equipment had come in the back way. She hadn’t unlocked it. Had a worker?

That was the problem with having the alarm off during the day. And with being recently shot at.

Anxiety restrained her mood like a heavy coat, or a straitjacket. Though as she recognized the man walking toward her, she knew she had no reason to worry about him. Well, she did, just not that he would hurt her. Not physically, anyway.

Dusty skirted tables, the gold chaise lounges, workers, and ladders. That was one good looking man. It felt as if his easy gait had connected paddles to her chest and unleashed current. Her heart ba-boom, ba-boomed in time to his long-legged stride.

“Red?”

Yikes. Victor. She needed to get control. “He’s here,” she whispered, though Dusty was too far away to hear her. “FBI.”

“Careful, girl. I might’ve been out of it after being shot, but I remember the hot chemistry between you two.”

He didn’t know the half of it. The kiss that had immolated her soul and all previous records for sexual heat, burnt to unrecognizable ash. So not what she needed right now.

“Red? You there? Or did you melt into a puddle?”

“Uhm, can you handle the first two people on the list?” John and Ellen. “I don’t have the objectivity.”

“Yeah.” He made a sound like regret or worry. “And there might be more people to add to that list.”

That sounded ominous. “Who? How would you—”

“Take care of FBI. Handle your side of the list. We’ll talk.”

He hung up. With a shake of her head, she hooked her phone to her belt, and scowled. Dusty was carrying. Fudge.

She’d have to start leaving her metal detectors on during the day.

Though to be honest, that man was hot enough to set off alarms without the gun. Casual jeans, a short-sleeved gray button-down over a gray T-shirt stretched over his wide chest attested to this fact. As did the sun-brushed skin covering biceps large enough to make her wonder how many pushups he could do.

Probably a lot.

She swallowed, wiped sweaty palms on her jeans.

Agent Leif “Dusty” McAllister stopped feet from her. His seductive honey-colored eyes rolled over her. Despite being dressed like a schlub, he made her feel like she wore a negligee.

“Hey, Gracie. Came to see how you’re holding up after that robbery attempt.”

Oh, that Southern accent. Even sarcasm sounded good. And as for holding up, she wasn’t. “Didn’t know you cared.”

His gaze locked on her so intently she could not look away. “Is that eagerness or wariness in your voice?”

Eagerness? She couldn’t deny it. After eighteen months without sex, a mummy could light her spark, and someone as hot as him… Best not to think about that. Way too much on her plate right now. She

needed to be cold as ice. “Suspicion. What are you up to?”

He released a full breath, like she’d punched the casual right out of him. “Honestly, I was worried about you. Not just about the other night, but how you’ve been since Mexico.”

The sincere concern in his eyes took her by surprise, reached out and acknowledged the pain that she’d hidden from the rest of the world. Except for the family, the party line was that Tony had run away. Anything else simply wasn’t talked about in public.

To have Dusty recognize her grief, along with all the tension and worry of the past few days, was almost too much. Sorrow rose up and filled her throat. She swallowed. “I’m managing. Thanks for asking.”