Saving Grace (8 page)

The door opens, but I ignore it. I grind my hips against
Grace and hold her head still in my hands, taking control of the kiss and
fanning the flames higher between us.

“Y’all need to get a room,” Trace drawls and I finally break
the kiss, dropping my forehead to rest against Grace’s.

“I have a room,” I grumble. “I have a whole damned house.
Don’t you knock?”

Grace twists her neck under my arm so she can see.

“Hey
cuz
.”

“Hey.” I can hear the grin in Lynn’s voice. “I’d ask how
you’re doing, but I can see for myself.”

Grace snickers and squirms under me, trying to get free. I
hold back a gasp at the motion. Barely. I’m so hard it is a miracle my dick
doesn’t pop the zipper off my jeans. I look up and catch Trace’s hastily hidden
grin. The fucker knows exactly how uncomfortable I am. Wincing, I lever myself
off the couch and help Grace up. Might as well get it over with. The sooner I
feed them, the sooner I can get them the hell out. I jerk my head towards the
door and speak to my brother before heading for the kitchen.

“Grab the bags, Trace.”

“Sure thing, little brother,” he drawls.

I grit my teeth. Normally I don’t mind the ribbing that goes
on between us. But normally I’m not so wound up with no relief in sight. I’m
distracted as I stalk down the hall and the sight that meets me when I step
into the kitchen freezes me in the doorway.

“Oh shit. Sorry. I was working and decided to take a break.
Forgot to clean up,” Grace says peaking under my arm.

Her words get me moving and I approach the table where she
left crime scene photos spread out. Not that I need to see them. I saw it up
close and in person. Lynn steps up next to me and Grace walks around the other
side of the table. She leans over, one arm outstretched when Lynn speaks.

“You’re working the Beaumont murder?”

Lynn sounds shocked and Trace steps up behind her, putting
his hands on her shoulders and squeezing. Grace pauses, her head cocked to one
side. I can see her thinking, imagine the wheels turning in her head. She
slowly pulls her arm back to her side.

“Yeah. I was hoping you could answer some questions
actually.”

Lynn huffs, then circles the table examining the photos.

“I doubt it.” She glances up and smiles at Grace’s arched
eyebrow. “I was the first officer on scene, but I was working out my notice. I
went to work for the state police, remember? I was in Montgomery at their
headquarters a couple days after this happened.”

Lynn stops in front of a picture of a shell casing, hands on
her hips, then looks up and meets my gaze.

“What are the odds, you figure? That my cousin --your
girlfriend--would be hired to investigate this murder?”

I shake my head. I have no idea. But there is no way it is
simple chance.

“That’s either a very weird coincidence or disturbing as
hell.”

She looks at Grace.

“Who hired you?”

“Carlos Beaumont.”

“Hugo’s son?”

“Yep.”

“You got in bed with a
Beaumont
?” she asks
incredulously and I’m so with her on that. That family is Alabama’s version of
the mob. Grace looks insulted but before she can answer, Lynn asks another
question. “This was before you got shot?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Lynn asks. “Grace. Why would you sell out like that?”

“Excuse me? It’s an investigation. I’m not doing anything
illegal.” I can see she’s pissed. And though she should understand the
ramifications, she’s ignored them.

“Yeah, Grace. Why? You were a cop. You know better than to
tie your name in any way with a family like this,” I ask.

She stares at me a long minute and I don’t think she’s going
to answer. She’s going to shut me out. Again.

“Because of you,” she says softly and I’m stunned. “When I
realized who he is, what he is, I was going to pull out of it. And then I found
your connection and I couldn’t let it go.”

Trace catches my eye and his confusion is obvious. He knows I
worked for Beaumont years ago but this is the first he’s heard of the murder. I
cut my eyes away, back to Grace and Lynn. I’ll tell him everything but not the
women. They should be touched by our world as little as possible.

Lynn sighs. “When were you going to tell us?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Grace answers defensively. I watch as
her eyes narrow and her gaze sweeps over to include me. “You left out a thing
or two, too.”

“When are y’all gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Trace asks.

“Where’d I leave the whiskey?” I mutter.

I don’t know about the rest of them, but I could use it
right about now. Trace crosses his arms over his chest and glares at us all in
turn, stopping with Lynn.

“Well?”

The silence stretches. Finally Grace answers.

“I’m looking into the murder of a man named Hugo Beaumont.
He was killed eight years ago in Birmingham. Lynn was one of the responding
officers.”

“And Walker?”

I turn to meet my brother’s gaze.

“I worked for him.” He already knows that and I already
confirmed it to Grace.

“What else? I can tell by the look on your face there’s
more, little brother.”

I shrug. It was a long-ass time ago. How upset is Trace
really going to be about it? Knowing my brother, very.

“I was a suspect for awhile. I don’t think I was ever
officially cleared actually.”

“And you didn’t think maybe I needed to know about this?”
His voice vibrates with anger. I shake my head.

“What would have been the point? There wasn’t anything you
could do. It was a long time ago, Trace.”

Trace rubs his hands over his face and mutters under his
breath. I catch
shit
and
idiot
and tune the rest out. Turning to
Grace, Trace speaks louder.

“How do you fit in this?”

“I don’t know. Beaumont’s son hired me.” She grits her
teeth. “I don’t remember the day of the shooting. Any of it. Some kind of
amnesia, the doctor said. Someone mailed that to me a few days ago. No return
address. I have no idea who it came from.”

She nods at the file spread across the table and I’m glad
she hasn’t pulled my police file out. There are things I’d rather not discuss
with Trace. My brother isn’t completely unaware of what I was doing while he
was in prison, but we haven’t discusses it and I’d rather not. Knowing it is
there is like waiting for a ticking bomb to go off.

“Then Beaumont came to see me yesterday,” Grace continues.
“He acted like he didn’t know I’d been shot, but he was lying. Several weird
things have happened. I have to assume Beaumont knows how we’re all connected.
I can’t see him shooting me though. I mean, why would he? He hired me. And he
was what? Thirteen or so when his father was killed? He wasn’t even in town
when it happened. If he’d been involved, he’d be pretty stupid to hire me. It
doesn’t make much sense yet.”

“But he wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t know your
connection to Walker and suspected him.”

She shrugs. “That’s the theory I’m working with at least.”

“Fuck,” Trace mutters.

I laugh bitterly. That is my assessment--succinct and to the
point.

“So now what? You’re determined to find this killer?”

“Don’t have any choice. He seems determined to find me.”
Grace pauses, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “I need to go back to
Birmingham.”

“Bad idea,” Lynn says.

“No fucking way, Grace,” I growl, stalking around the table.

I grab her shoulders and stare down into her eyes. No fear,
just a shitload of resolve and determination. Damn it. I will not lose this
fight. I have to find a way to make her drop it, stay with me where I can keep
an eye on her.

“You’re staying right here. Where I can keep you safe. This
guy’s already taken one shot at you.”

“I really don’t have a choice here.”

“You can let it go.”

“No,” she says. I meet her gaze and see regret. “I can’t.
Someone’s tried to kill me once. You think he’s going to stop? What if he’s
setting you up, Walker?”

Shit! I know she is probably right. The hell of it is she
wouldn’t be in this position if not for me. Surely Beaumont would have hired
someone else if she wasn’t involved with me. Now what? Stick to her like glue
and hope for the best? That option sucks. Papers rustle and I look over to see
Lynn gathering everything up. She pushes it all into a pile and puts it back in
the folder.

“Let’s deal with this later.” She smiles too brightly,
trying to diffuse the situation. “Y’all promised me steak.”

Chapter
Nine

Grace

After dinner, Lynn turns to me and suggests we look through
the crime scene photos again. I almost beg off. Walker’s scowl grows blacker
the longer we have company. I’m tempted to spend what is left of the evening trying
to alleviate his worries and ignoring mine rather than looking at the pictures
for the umpteenth time. But Lynn looks so thoughtful I decide to just go with
it. Maybe she has an idea that will help.

We carry the dishes inside and get the photos out. Lynn
stands at the table and slowly flips through them. Then she lays them out
across the long table. There are the usual pictures you expect--the body and
the room. Plus several of the empty shell casings found around the body. Lynn
lines them up, five in all, and stares at them for several minutes before
stepping back so fast the chair behind her tips over.

“Damn, I can’t believe I didn’t see that. I must be
slipping.”

I frown and look down at the photos. What am I missing?

“What?”

“It was a
Glock
. Look at the
impression from the firing pin.”

“Holy shit. Well, we both missed it.”

“Missed what?” Trace asks from his position leaning against
the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, his ankles crossed. I see the
casual pose for the lie it is. Lines etch his face and his biceps flex and
unflex
as if looking for a target.

“
Glocks
have distinctive firing
pins. You can see from the photos the weapon that fired these left an oval
mark. Where’s the ballistics report, Grace?”

I shake my head. “There wasn’t one.”

“That’s an unusual gun for your average street thug to be
carrying,” I add into the silence.

“Yeah,” Lynn answers.

“Remember anyone in particular that did?”

Lynn looks at the floor, clenches her jaw, and looks across
the room to meet Walker’s gaze.

“Now they’re common.” She shrugs. “But I only knew two
people back then who carried a
Glock
.”

I have a damned good idea who one of them is. Could it get
any worse?

“Oh, just great.” I throw my hands in the air and turn to
glare at Walker. “Please tell me you know where that gun is. That it never for
a minute left your possession.”

He nods. “I do and it didn’t.”

I exhale a sigh of relief. Thank God.

“Who was the other one, Lynn?”

“Brady used a
Glock
as a backup.”

“Well, he’s probably not my guy,” I sigh.

The silence that meets that statement is deafening and I
search Lynn’s carefully blank face before turning to Walker.

“What?”

He shrugs, but his eyes are glittering, angry. It is obvious
he doesn’t want to answer the question and knows I won’t back down. Christ on a
stick, I am sick to death of people withholding information from me.

“Hugo had something on Brady. He used it to get him to look
the other way a few times.”

Lynn looks up. Her voice is sharp. “You know any of that for
sure?”

Walker just meets her gaze, not answering, but his reply is
clear as day.

“I guess you would,” Lynn says. “Not that that proves
anything.”

I narrow my eyes and put my hands on my hips. Other things I
wondered about start to make sense. Over a dozen arrests, and every single charge
dropped. The only way to manage that without the use of a high priced lawyer is
a well placed ally in the DA’s office. Or the police department.

“Your arrest record.”

Trace jerks his gaze back to Walker’s. Both men tense,
standing straight with the typical Graham pride. I hope I won’t have to step
between them.

“What record?”

Walker levels an angry glare at me and I fight not to
flinch. Is it my fault he keeps secrets even from his brother? He answers Trace
without taking his gaze from me.

“I got picked up a few times. No big deal. Nothing stuck.”

“Because of Brady. Because Brady fixed it for Hugo.”

“Probably.” He clenches his jaw, averts his eyes and I know
he’s lying to me. Brady was on Hugo’s payroll, or something, and Walker
benefited from it by walking away with no convictions on his record.

“Probably my ass.”

His head swings back around and he pins me with his gaze.
His expression has altered slightly, still angry but remote, as if he is
distancing himself from me. Well, that’s what I want right? So why does my
heart twist when I see it? Because it is
not
what I want. It’s way too
late for that and it’s time to own up to it.

“Okay,” Lynn says, stepping in to make peace. “This isn’t helping.
Walker, don’t get so defensive over something you know you’re guilty of. You’re
lucky I never busted you. You worked for Hugo. You weren’t an innocent
bystander. And you knew Brady was dirty. We’re just trying to figure this out.
And Grace, cut him some slack. Using Brady to get those charges dropped was
Hugo’s doing, not Walker’s. It probably isn’t significant anyway.”

“No it probably isn’t. But it is an interesting addition,” I
say deciding to try to lower the tension in the room and change the subject.
“What do you want to bet these casings are as missing as the ballistics
report?”

“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Trace drawls.

Lynn looks up at him, her anxiety clear in the way her body
freezes. So much for getting rid of the tension. Their past isn’t entirely put
to rest it seems. After being railroaded into a ten year prison sentence by her
father, Trace would never be very trusting of law enforcement even if his wife
used to be a detective. There is no way I’m getting in the middle of that. I
gather the photos together and put them back in the file. Trace and Lynn leave
a few minutes later.

Silence stretches between me and Walker. Instead of prying
or trying to figure out his mood, I go to the sink and fill one side with soapy
water. He joins me. I wash. He rinses and dries. When the job is completed, he
takes my hand and leads me to bed without a word as we silently agree to ignore
the case and my misgivings for the night.