Saving Grace (6 page)

“I need to get my bag out of the car, Walker. I’d
feel...safer with the gun in here with me.”

While I try to process that--something really has her
spooked her--she steps around me and reaches for the doorknob. No fucking way.
Not until I know what the fuck is going on. My palm lands flat against the
door, holding it closed as she tries to yank it open.

“What the hell, Walker?” she asks, exasperation in her
voice.

“It can wait until you tell me what the fuck is wrong.” But
there is something else I have to hear first. No more secrets. No more hidden
pasts for either of us. “Start with the ex-husband.”

I tower over her and barely restrain the urge to use my size
to bully her to speak. Instead, I take her hand and lead her to sofa. We sit
next to each other, but she doesn’t look at me. She twines her fingers together
in her lap and clenches her jaw. I’ve never seen her nervous like this and have
no idea what to make of it. I wait her out.

“His name is Nick. I met him in the Army and divorced him
before I got out of the Army.” She looks up and meets my gaze. “It was a long
time ago, Walker.”

This time when I reach up to trail my fingers along her jaw,
she doesn’t flinch.

“He hurt you.”

It is a simple statement of fact. No point in asking--we
both know it’s true. Someone hurting her infuriates me. I want to put my fist
through the wall. She lowers her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she looks
up, I see the wariness in her gaze.

“You’re a lot like him.”

I grind my teeth before answering. This time my anger isn’t
directed solely at some faceless bastard. Hasn’t she learned anything about me
in the last six months?

“I am
nothing
like that Grace. I’ve never hurt a
woman in my life. I’m not about to start now.”

She laughs softly. “The whole caveman, alpha male thing. And
you’re capable of violence. I see it in you. You can’t deny it.”

I don’t even try to deny it. I’m sure Lynn has told her
about the underground fights I participate in. I don’t know how much Lynn knows
about everything else though or if she’s told Grace. Sometimes Hunter needs my
help collecting debts and that can get ugly fast. Mostly I’m the guy that
strips cars though. Ryder, Lake, and Trace handle the other stuff. There is a
lot I will never share with her, but some of ugliness is going to come out
sooner or later. I can’t walk away from my life, I owe Hunter too much, but I
don’t want it to touch Grace.

“If the wrong person pushes my buttons, maybe.” With sudden
clarity, I know why she is here. “That’s why you came.”

Not because she needs me, but because she recognizes
something in me that won’t allow her to be harmed. I feel used, hurt, for half
a second then decide I can use it to my advantage. Please God, let it work for
me in the end.

“What’s got you so scared, Grace?”

She starts to catalogue the things that have happened in the
last few days. The slashed tires and break-ins alarm me, but it is the mention
of Carlos Beaumont that really gets my attention. A feeling of dread overwhelms
me, one I haven’t felt since my brother’s arrest all those years ago. I stand
to lose a lot more this time around.

She thinks I’m capable of violence. And isn’t that an
understatement? She is investigating Hugo Beaumont’s murder, and she has to
have discovered my connection to the man. But does she remember finding that
connection? Is it coincidence she is involved, or something else? When should I
fill her in on my past? That conversation is going to suck major balls.

I’m having a hell of time getting her to trust me and here
she is looking into a murder I am a suspect in. The more I think about it, the
more convinced I am this is no coincidence. Does Carlos Beaumont think I killed
his father? Is that why he hired her and if so, how does he know we are
involved? Carlos would have to have been keeping track of me. And who
had
killed Hugo? I didn’t care much at the time. It sure as hell wasn’t me. But
with Grace involved, knowing is suddenly very important. Whoever the killer is
means business about not being discovered.

Grace is eyeing the door again, arms crossed defensively
over her chest. I feel the old Walker rise, young and hot headed and suspicious
and cold-blooded and angry. If she thinks I did it, she’d be pretty fucking
stupid to seek me out. I ignore the way it hurts and concentrate on the anger.
She would know me better if she wasn’t so obsessed with keeping our
relationship casual.

“How much do you remember from your trip to Birmingham?”

She smiles grimly. “Nothing. But don’t worry, I didn’t come
here thinking you shot me.”

“Why not? I could have--it’s only a four hour drive from
here to Birmingham.”

I say it a little sarcastically, but I’m honestly curious
why she doesn’t blame me. Maybe she trusts me after all?

She shrugs. “How could you? They called you right after I
went into surgery because your business card was in my pocket and my car was
gone by the time the EMT’s got to me. No ID.” She smiles grimly. “So they
called the garage. And yeah, that could have been forwarded to your cell so I
checked. You were here.”

Or maybe trust isn’t part of it after all.

“So why are you here then, Grace?”

She shrugs again and stands, walking to look out the window
again. “I have no idea,” she whispers.

Turning her back to the glass, she faces me, hands back in
her back pockets. Angry as I am with her, my body responds and I try to ignore
it. It is more than her body or the memory of her skin sliding against mine. I
feel an instinctive bone-deep need to protect her, to stand in front of her and
fight off the world. I am more dangerous now than I’ve ever been and I know it.
Maybe she is right to avoid getting more deeply involved with me, but I will be
damned before I let her walk away.

“I guess I thought I’d be safe enough here to try to figure
out what’s going.” She laughs bitterly. “Kind of funny, isn’t it? I mean,
you’re the most dangerous man I know. You’re obviously not safe. What exactly
did you do for Hugo anyway? I’m going on the assumption you didn’t kill him,
because I know you didn’t shoot me. And why do you have one long-ass arrest
record and no convictions? Nothing ever went to trial.”

She tilts her chin up, the action tossing her long blond
hair back, waiting for my answer and I drag a hand over my face. Simple things
first.

“No, I didn’t kill him.”

I know I have to tell her something about Hugo, I need a
drink before I start and walk to the sideboard on the wall behind the couch.
Reaching down to open the bottom cabinet door, I pull out a bottle of whiskey
and two glasses and poured us both a shot. She joins me and picks up a glass,
arching one eyebrow as I drink mine in one quick swallow.

“That bad?”

“Hugo didn’t like to get his hands dirty. In any way. He
collected the money, but other people moved the drugs.” I pour another shot and
throw it back. “And different people handled the problems.”

She reaches for the bottle and pours.

“So you were the knee breaker?”

“Something like that.”

“How else would you describe it?” she asks, irritation
edging her tone.

“Okay, it was exactly like that.”

I sit the glass down with a thud and turn to face her,
leaning one hip against the cabinet. Reaching up with one hand, I trace a line from
her cheek to her jaw and down to her chin. I’m surprised she doesn’t pull away.
She is taking it surprisingly well. Of course, I’m not telling her anything she
doesn’t already know.

“And now? What are you doing now?”

I scowl down at her, wanting to shake her. Doesn’t she
realize the man I am now is due to her? I can’t go as straight as she’d like,
but she’s been the ideal I strive to, to be worthy of a woman like her. Worthy
of her. I almost lie to her.

“You know I fight. You know I work for Hunter Wallace. Don’t
ask for more than that, baby. There isn’t anything I can tell you, but I’ve
stayed under the radar.”

Grace

I know I’m crazy for being here. Certifiable. Worse, he
stares down at me with such haunted eyes, and I’m stunned he didn’t try to deny
it. My investigation backs up his claim. In the last few years, since he came
home from Birmingham to River City, he looks clean. He hasn’t been arrested
once. But there is always the possibility I missed something. The hell of it is
I’m not sure I care. Get a grip, I tell myself, of course I care.

I’ve had plenty of time to think it over on the drive down,
plenty of time to make a decision in the last twenty-four hours, truth be told.
Have I done that? Hell, no. Every instinct tells me I’m safe here. Physically
at least. Once he recovers from the shock of what is going on, he’ll start
pushing the relationship angle again. I don’t have a clue how I’m going to
continue to combat that. Part of me doesn’t want to try. God, I’m sick and
tired of feeling pulled so many different ways with him.

I know he isn’t on the right side of the law but I’m not
sure how I feel about that. I can’t change it. I think he’s staying as clean as
he can and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know if he isn’t. If he gets
arrested and sent away, it will kill me. But this is who he is. Can I live with
that? I don’t think he is a murderer, but I can’t be sure. He looks good for it
and Beaumont was sure as hell no prince. I could be wrong in my confidence
though and that would kill me. Or was it just my trust issues toying with me?
Providing a logical excuse to keep him at an emotional distance?

It was so much easier before. I’d been able to keep it a
casual sexual relationship. But when I was shot and laid up in the hospital, I
saw the vulnerability in him. I watched him soldier through his fear for me and
his determination to protect me grow. That caring is hard to resist, and I’m
honest enough to admit that the real war is within myself. I’m tempted to just
give in. Oh, I can take care of myself well enough, but damn, it would be nice
to have someone to lean on once in a while.

I’ve had my share of relationships since my divorce six
years ago, but I’ve kept them casual. I like sex. Who doesn’t? But at the first
sign of things getting complicated, I move on. Somehow Walker maneuvered around
my defenses. He got under my skin and in my heart before I could stop him.

And now...now I have a much more serious problem. Problems.
Plural. First there is the matter of Walker’s violent past. I’m not quite sure
how I feel about that. I’d sensed it, suspected it and had that confirmed in my
nice, not so tidy office in Atlanta. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, it’s
something I can deal with. But here, facing him I am a little scared at a
completely primitive level. I don’t think I’m in any danger from him, but I
can’t help that little kernel of fear. The fear makes me angry with myself.
Haven’t I come farther than this?

What really pisses me off though, is being kept in the dark
about this secret past of his. He had the perfect opportunity to come clean
during our last argument—he didn’t. It’s stupid to feel hurt over that. I’m the
one always insisting on keeping things impersonal, on not exchanging past
information and secrets. I refuse to acknowledge the change has anything to do
with how I feel about him and insist to myself it is all about the current
situation. This is information I need for my own safety not to mention solving
the murder.

My anger includes my cousin, too. I’ve talked to Honor and
Lynn, managed to talk them into staying here rather than visiting me in
Birmingham or Atlanta. I’ll let them know I’m here tomorrow. I have so many
unanswered questions.

Lynn never discusses Walker’s past, and she has to know
more. They are both mentioned in the police file—Lynn as the first officer on
the scene, Walker as a suspect in Hugo’s murder. Of course, Lynn doesn’t have a
clue that I was hired to investigate the murder, but as family, she could have
given me some kind of warning about what kind of man I’m sleeping with. I know
about the fights. I suspect a lot more. But a murder suspect? I’m certain Lynn
would tell me if she thought Walker is a danger to me, but still a heads up
would have been nice.

And then there is the case. What should be an objective, dry
investigation into an old murder is anything but. My cousin was the responding
officer, my lover was a suspect and now someone is trying to kill me or at
least scare me off.

“Hey, you still with me here?”

Walker’s deep, mellow voice shakes me out of my thoughts,
his arms slide around my waist and he pulls me close. Overcome with
emotions--fear, anger, confusion, love--I lay my head against his chest and
listen to the rapid pounding of his heart while trying to get a grip on mine.
At least he isn’t as unaffected as he appears. I push my hands into his back
pockets and take a deep breath, enjoying the comforting feel of him. I swing so
wildly from one extreme to the other with Walker--lust to irritation to fear to
comfort. My own slice of insanity. I take a deep breath. There are more serious
things to worry about right now.

“I need to find out who killed Hugo,” I say said softly,
turning my face into Walker’s chest and rubbing my nose against the scratchy
material of his shirt.

“Later,” he murmurs.

As usual when in such close proximity, no matter how angry I
am, my body rushes to respond to him. My nipples tighten, my pussy creams and
clenches, and I shift closer, pushing my pelvis against him. He sucks in a
ragged breath when I brush against his cock, already engorged and hard. He
moves one arm to circle my shoulders while he grips the back of my neck with
his other hand. Tilting my head back, he meets my gaze.

His eyes are hot and needy and I feel a feminine thrill wind
through me. I know that look. He wants to fuck me, long and hard and half the
night. That works for me. I need the release. I need the contact, need to feel
connected to another person. No, not just any person. Walker. I need Walker.
Shit. I’m in trouble, but with my breasts aching for his touch and my cunt
practically begging to be possessed, I can’t dredge up much concern for my
heart. You can’t help who you love right? It’s not like the universe gives you
a choice.