Defending Serenty (16 page)

“You must be Trace,” she says with a firm
handshake. “I’m Grace Monroe.”

Abruptly remembering an awkward little girl
in pigtails, I blink.

“I see you remember me.” She grins. “I hear
you were at the warehouse when my second cousin was arrested
yesterday. The slime ball. Couldn’t have happened to a better
guy.”

Serenity coughs from the doorway. I look up
to catch her smile just before she rushes in and she and her cousin
grip each other in a long hug. Stepping back, they look each other
up and down and break into simultaneous laugher.

“I’m glad you came,” Serenity says.

Grace smiles and winks at Walker. “Wouldn’t
have missed it. So much eye candy.”

My brother actually blushes and I turn to
hide my grin. Isn’t that interesting? Maybe he’s wrong about that
being a lost cause.

Serenity walks into my arms and I rest my
chin on top of her head. I’m almost starting to trust the sense of
belonging settling over me.

The cooking is finished in a loud din of
gossip and laughter and I keep trying to clear my head, unsure if
this day is real or a dream. Has it only been a week since I was
released from prison?

Serenity and Grace set the table and transfer
the food onto platters. Joanne hands me a knife and I carve the
ham. Dinner is a blur and before I know it, we are cleaning up the
mess we’ve made and pushing Joanne into the living room to relax
with a glass of wine. Finally everything is cleaned up and packed
away, and the presents are all transferred to the living room.
Paper flies as they get unwrapped, one by one. When nothing else is
left, I pull the box from my pocket and without a word pass it to
Serenity. Taking a deep breath, she pulls the paper off and opens
the box.

“Is that Lily’s wedding ring?” Joanne asks in
a surprised tone. “Why, I haven’t seen that in years.”

Serenity looks up and meets my gaze and I
can’t read her expression. Maybe this is a mistake. After last
night’s talk I’d thought maybe she’d be onboard, but hell I could
be wrong.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” she asks
quietly. “Because if you are, I’m saying yes.”

My throat freezes. Surely it can’t be so
easy.

“If you can handle being married to me, that
is,” she continues, a challenge in her words.

Unable to find my voice, I reach for the ring
and slide it onto her left hand.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she whispers,
lifting her hand so the ring catches the light. It’s perfect on her
hand.

“Yes, you did,” I answer. I smile down at her
before catching her lips in a soul-sucking kiss. The room erupts in
applause and I break away, grinning.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I know.” She squeals and jumps back when I
swat her ass.

“Wrong answer,” I growl, yanking her
back.

She looks up at me.

“How could I not love the man who came to my
rescue not once, but twice? Even if I didn’t need any help the
second time.” She smiles. “I love you too, Trace Graham.”

Epilogue

Serenity

Two days after Christmas I find myself at the
last impromptu BBQ I’d ever imagined attending. Trace, Walker, and
their friends are here. And so are mine. Honor and Grace and Faye.
They’ve come to celebrate my engagement and let’s be honest, my
resignation. I don’t like what Trace does but I love him. It’s real
and strong and true.

“Are you sure about this?” Grace asks.

We’re sitting around the fire pit in Walker’s
backyard while the guys grill. It’s not too chilly tonight so it’s
comfortable.

“I am,” I tell her. Tell all of them. It’s
just the four of us right now. “I know it’s batshit crazy but it
feels so right. I waited years for him to come home. I love
him.”

They don’t look convinced and I get it. This
is such a big departure from the life I’ve led. I’ve decided to
embrace the crazy though. I’m totally into this man and I’m going
to enjoy every minute I have. Like he knows I’m thinking about him,
he appears at my side. His face lowers to mine. His lips claim
mine. And I don’t have one doubt left.

I’m his.

And he’s mine.

About the
Author

Elle Wylder lives and writes in the balmy
South. When she isn’t gardening, cooking, or herding kids she
dreams of the good life on the beach. Little drink umbrellas and
hot cabana boys required. You can find her at her website,
http://www.ellewylder.com , find her on Facebook at
https://www.facebook.com/ellewylderauthor , or join her mailing
list,

Read an excerpt of Saving Grace, Bad Boys of
River City Two

Chapter One

Grace

I’m being hunted and it really chaps my ass.
At first I think I’m just paranoid. Investigating the particularly
brutal murder of a crime boss can do that to a girl, even if the
event is almost eight years old. But I learned to go with my gut in
the Army, and that itchy feeling on the back of my neck is not
going away.

Someone is following me.

Letting the straps of my bag slide off my
shoulder to the ground, I quickly drop to my knee on the sidewalk
to tie a shoe that doesn’t need it, and scan the street. Nothing. A
few things fall out of my purse during the ruse and I shove them
back in, the straps once again going over my shoulder as I
straighten.

A small white rectangle flutters to the
sidewalk and I reach to retrieve it, the three rows of black block
lettering making me grimace as my fingers lift it up.
Graham’s
Garage. Walker Graham. Owner/operator.
I came here looking for
someone else’s secrets and I found his. I know he’s not clean but
it’s a shock to finally have some of the holes in his past filled
in. He’s scrawled
call me, babe
and his phone numbers across
the back. Someone else to add to my growing list of problems--and
oh my God--suspects.

The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I
can’t remember the last time I’ve been so spooked. I hastily push
the card into my back pocket and cautiously start down the street.
It was light out when I arrived at the police station in downtown
Birmingham to speak to one of their homicide detectives, but
traffic forced me to find a parking spot a couple of blocks away on
a more secluded side street. A few streets over I can see the
hustle and bustle of early evening on the busier main drag, but all
of that is too far away to protect me from whatever hunts me here
on this deserted road. The feeling of unease increases and I pick
up my step, hurrying around the last corner that will take me to my
car.

I’ve been hired to investigate cold murder
cases before. It’s not like this is the first time. It is the first
time I know people involved in the case, however. My cousin Lynn
was one of the responding officers, and the Birmingham police
detective I just talked to hinted Walker was their number one
suspect. I was so disbelieving he showed me Walker’s record. To
call it extensive is an understatement. And disturbing. I stopped
trusting men after just a few months with to my ex-husband. The
marriage was over years ago but the distrust will never go away
though I’ve come close to something like it with Walker. I want him
to be innocent of this murder, but even if he is he is sure as hell
guilty of everything else.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my
black SUV waiting exactly where I left it. I can’t wait to get back
to Atlanta. Digging through my bag for the keys, I curse myself for
not having them out and ready. I know better. I resist the
irrational urge to cheer when my fingers close over the cold metal
and yank them free.

Closing the final feet to the driver’s door,
I experience a sudden spike of fear. Adrenalin pumps through my
veins and crawls across my skin, and I whirl in anticipation of an
attack. Pulse racing, I search the dark corners of the street.
Nothing. The area is clear. But the feeling of being pursued, being
stalked doesn’t subside. Keeping my eyes sharply focused on the
area I came from, I fumble the key into the door lock. It takes
valuable seconds too long, but finally clicks open. Pulling the
handle up, I back away a little and edge around the door, tossing
my bag inside.

I hear the loud pop before the pain registers
a split second later. My leg crumples under me, forcing me to the
ground. I shift position to try to get a look down the street and
fire arcs through my thigh. My hand brushes against the pain and
comes away wet and red. I stare at it, mind racing and
adrenalin-pumped blood surging. Someone shot me. And son of a bitch
it hurts.

I can’t see anything crouched down next to
the car and reach for the seat to leverage myself up. I have to get
out of here. Get to my gun. Call the police. Blood pools under my
feet as I move. Find a freaking hospital.

I get the foot of my good leg under me and
push up. As my upper body clears the side of the truck’s seat,
several shots fire over my head and I drop back to the ground. I
set my back to the open door and search the shadows in front of me,
the direction the shooting came from. The last group of shots were
over my head but I’m still wide open. Anger surges through me. The
shooter is toying with me. He could finish me off now, but doesn’t.
Why not?

My thigh pulses in pain and I press both
palms over it, watching blood seep through my fingers. I try to
bring my thundering heart under control, know each wild beat pumps
more of my blood out of my body. I have to get out of here, have to
get to a hospital before I bleed to death. An ambulance’s siren
screams in the distance and I fight back a scream, knowing I’m just
a few short blocks from one of the best hospitals in the country
while my life bleeds out on a deserted city street. The irony of
the situation is impossible to ignore.

I curse myself again for taking this damned
job, still unsure exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. The
investigation sounded like an interesting challenge. But that isn’t
the real reason. It is the money that did it. That and the boredom.
Bitterly, I acknowledge the truth of the thought. Yeah. Money. The
root of all evil. I snort. I’m getting maudlin in my near death
experience and not being objective about my reasons, my goals. I
want to move home to River City and open up shop there. I’ll be
starting from nothing. And unfortunately, I’m caught in the same
real estate crunch as everyone else. I can buy out the lease on my
office space, no problem. But my condo? I’m so underwater it’s
criminal. So yeah I need the payday solving this case promises to
be. Nothing wrong with that, right? Except the small matter of
finding myself under fire on this dingy street. It’s like being
back in Iraq. Without the superior firepower. Or backup.

The hell with this shit. Turning my head, I
study the interior of my vehicle. My gun is in the glove box on the
far side. No way I can reach it. But my cell phone is clipped to
the side of my purse, sitting on the center console. I assume
putting a phone to my ear will get me shot at again, but if I can
just reach it, I can use it on speakerphone and hide it on the
floorboard next to me.

Stretching my arm across the seat, eyes
scanning the street, I grip one of the straps and slowly ease it
towards me. It gets tangled in the emergency brake, and the phone
is inches from my fingers. Out of reach. Taunting me. Gritting my
teeth, I raise my body a fraction, get a few more inches out of the
stretch and my hand closes over the small black box. Or maybe it is
the spots that suddenly swim in my vision that are black. I squeeze
my eyes shut, letting my arm fall to the floor and my butt sink
back to the ground. The phone
and
the spots are black. Shit.
I’m going into shock. I’m going to pass out soon. Unconsciousness
tugs at my limbs.

I lean against the side of the car, one hand
pressing against my leg and the other sliding the bar to unlock the
phone. I struggle to find the phone icon, punch in the numbers, and
turn on the speakerphone, nearly panicking and blinking rapidly
when the spots return.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

The feminine voice is immediate and sweet,
the best I’ve ever heard. I rattle off my name, location, and that
I’ve been shot, then the world fades to black.

Grace

I wake slowly, my mind foggy and body leaden,
my leg a dull distant throb of tenderness. It’s an effort to crack
my eyes open and peer around. My murky brain catalogues the space.
A small white room, wires running in and out of my body, a bed. I’m
in a hospital. Struggling to remember why, I shift, trying to sit
up and gasp at the sharp twinge of pain as I jostle my leg. The
door slides open and a young woman in surgical scrubs comes in. I
squint at her nametag, but can’t make it out. The woman smiles.

“Good. You’re awake.”

“What happened?” I manage to croak in reply
and am suddenly aware of how dry my throat was.

The other woman picks up my wrist, fingers
press to my pulse point and she silently watches her watch. When
she releases it, she smiles gently.

“You just came out of surgery. The doctor
removed the bullet and everything looks fine.”

I drop my head back against the pillow and
close my eyes. I got shot?

“Mr. Graham is on his way. We should have you
moved out of recovery and into ICU before he arrives.” The nurse
winks. “Tell me, is he as sexy in person as he is on the
phone?”

Shit. Walker is coming? I’m not sure I can
take him right now. Or maybe the nurse means his brother,
Trace?

“Walker?” I whisper. “Or Trace?”

The woman cocks an eyebrow. “There’s two of
‘em?”

I can’t help but grin in response. Yes, God
help us all. There are two of them. It’s too many words to force
through my parched throat so I just nod.