Finding Grace Read online

  “I develop because it’s my nature, just like you protect shit because it’s yours. You put those patents through without my name on them and everyone benefits. They never would have seen the light of day if you hadn’t stuck your neck out and taken the risk of bringing me on. This kind of technology becomes obsolete pretty fast. Besides, it’s not like you’ve sold the patents yet, right?”

  Letting a sigh out through his nose, Paul shook his head. It was hard to argue with her logic, even though his sense of fairness told him he was being manipulated.

  “Okay, I’m still seeing that Buzz Lightyear grimace of guilt. So I tell you what, when you sell those patents, and I really think you should—split the profits among the team.” Then she dealt the final blow to his resistance. “Hey, you’re the one who goes on like a scout leader about all of this team shit. So put up or shut up, Paul.”

  Shit. She had him and he knew it. “Fine, Thorne, if that’s the way you want it.”

  “Yeah, it is. And I don’t want you blabbing it all over, either. They’ll think I’m trying to buy their affections.” She smiled. “So, if we’re all done with this boring money shit, can I go back to work now?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. Nothing new there. At least she was calling him Paul again. She seemed happier, and, for that matter, so did Dagger. After that song and dance two weeks ago about not wanting to give Thorne rides any more, he finds out she’s a woman, does a one-eighty, and doesn’t seem to want anyone else near her.

  Paul didn’t want to think about the implications. He couldn’t see any point in rocking a smooth-sailing boat. He’d deal with it later. If he had to. Maybe after he talked to Katherine about it. She was a whole lot better at this relationship shit than he was.

  In the meantime, there was another thorny issue—one he didn’t want to think about any more than the other, but needed to. The better part of the team was in town and Mills wasn’t. It would be a good evening for Thorne to join the team down at O’Leary’s. But how could he ask that of her, knowing what had happened the first and last time she’d set foot in a bar?

  Dagger had said he thought she must have gotten beat up pretty bad. He had no idea. Of course, that was back when his friend thought Thorne was a small gay man. He wondered if Dagger had thought about it since he’d learned otherwise and drawn any conclusions. Only one way to find out.

  He pounded on Thorne’s door and opened it.

  Dagger’s hand was still in motion, as though it had been resting on Thorne’s shoulder. She was still pointing to something on the display.

  Paul’s eye twitched again. He couldn’t remember when it had started doing that, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been just after Thorne had started at Blackridge.

  It was too much to hope that Dagger’s sudden interest in the technical aspects of security was innocently acquired. On the other hand, Paul had never known the big man to come by his female escorts by wooing them with false interest. To his knowledge, arrangements had always been much more basic than that.

  He cleared his throat.

  Thorne looked up and smiled. “Hi, Paul. I was just showing Jack some modifications I’m making to the comm unit to make it more powerful and portable. With the satellite phones being safer to use, there’s no reason the comms can’t take over more serious stuff. I should have a prototype ready some time next week.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing it.” He meant it, too, but right now his mission pressed him to go on. “Say, what do you think about joining the team down at O’Leary’s tonight?” He directed the question to Thorne, but watched Dagger to see if he’d put anything together.

  His friend was completely focused on Thorne’s response. Nothing certain to be found in that. Thorne just rolled her chair back and put her hands in her lap. “Uh, sure, boss, I guess I can’t put it off forever. From what Farley told me last week, I’m less likely to be the subject of conjecture if I’m in attendance.”

  “You talked to Farley?” Dagger looked displeased.

  “Well yeah. He’s okay.”

  Paul saw Dagger’s fists tighten. It couldn’t possibly be jealousy, could it? The very idea of Dagger being possessive of a woman was incomprehensible. And disturbing. He added the answer to the list of things he didn’t want to know.

  “See you both in fifteen then.”

  His mission was accomplished, so why did he get the feeling the trouble hadn’t even started yet?

  * * * *

  They were the first of the Blackridge team to arrive. Thorne cursed inwardly when every head in the place turned, and she felt unfriendly eyes follow them to the bar. She had to tap Jack when he almost pulled out a stool for her. She’d made him promise not to blow her cover in any way and he’d already almost slipped up.

  The bartender missed it. She could only hope the rest of the bar had, too.

  The round man with a bad rug just nodded and said, “Dagger,” while he opened a bottle and handed it to him without taking his eyes off Thorne. “And what’ll you have, ah…”

  “Thorne.” She smiled tentatively. “Do you have any ginger ale?”

  The bartender and everyone who’d been listening—which was pretty much everyone in the place—seemed to be snickering.

  She was just glad she was there with Jack. There was no way she’d ever have been able to set foot in the joint if he hadn’t been there. It wasn’t just the demons from her past his presence kept at bay, it was the ones who hung out in places like this.

  Jack stood up straighter and glared at the bartender until he gave her her ginger ale. The normal hum of the place slowly returned. Farley came in with Paul, the others trailing in behind them in ones and twos.

  “Holy shit, hell must have frozen over—the little freak has decided to come off his mountain and join us.” But Farley’s smile was sincere. “Glad you could make it.” He thumped her back hard enough that she had to grab the bar’s rail to keep the chair from tipping her into it.

  She saw Jack frown and glared at him. He turned and propped his elbows on the bar behind him. His lips formed their typical snarl, but he hadn’t said or done anything to give her away.

  Markham sat down on the stool on the other side of her and began pumping her about Sarah’s kidnapping while Hawks tried not to look half as interested in the story as she could tell he was; they’d both been out of town on assignment when it happened.

  She was running out of small talk when she spotted an arcade game machine in the corner with the word “Dance” on it.

  “Hey, what’s that?” she asked Farley, pointing.

  “It’s one of those dance games. You move your hands and feet like the diagram tells you to. Jeez, Thorne, you don’t get out much, do you?”

  “Not much, I guess. Too busy. No one to go with.” She shrugged as casually as she knew how.

  “Hell, Thorne, you go to bars to meet someone. I thought you people knew all about that, had your own special clubs and everything.” There wasn’t a hint of snideness in his voice.

  She hadn’t really been prepared for that. Farley was trying. Thorne wished she had some social skills to draw on. They’d never been necessary in the academic world, or with Jack or Paul; they just talked about real things. All she could think of to say was, “I went once a few years ago.” She swallowed and pushed her chair back. But instead of bolting out of the place like she would have done if Jack hadn’t been there, she settled for saying, “Think I’ll go check out that game.”

  She took three steps and heard Farley say, “Kinda grows on ya, don’t he?” and Jack’s grunt in response.

  Thorne felt Farley watching her, just as she felt Jack watching Farley—only he wasn’t smiling like Farley was. Why wouldn’t Jack want Farley to talk to her, or watch her? The fact that it pleased her made no more sense than the original question.

  At least the game made sense. The patterns revealed themselves through the flashing lights and constantly changing screen. The music left something to be des
ired, but she was sufficiently delighted to have found such an engaging diversion that she was willing to overlook it. Her body was more than happy to have an outlet for all of its nervous energy.

  She was so into the game and the progress she was making that she didn’t realize the bar had quieted and people were watching her until she overheard Jack ask the bartender about the game. He didn’t sound any more pleased about it than he was with Farley.

  The bartender responded with, “Got it on sale a year ago. My nephew talked me into it. He loves it—him and his buddies use it all the time. You’ve just never seen him. Hey, here he comes now.”

  Someone in the crowd called out to the new arrival that his high score had just been beaten.

  Thorne took a moment to check out her fellow player. She was immediately disappointed. He didn’t look very nice. And he wasn’t alone. She felt a chill work its way up her spine.

  One glance at Jack told her he agreed with her assessment. She put up her hand in a gesture of warning. His eyes flicked to hers, then locked on Paul’s. They nodded silently to each other. Thorne marveled as some unspoken agreement spread quickly through the Blackridge team.

  The young man, heedless—or ignorant, more likely—of the danger he was in, walked toward her. His first words immediately confirmed her fears. “Think you’re so hot, you little fag? Probably not good enough for the queer bars, so you come around here putting your cock-sucking lips on the glasses we drink out of. We don’t like your kind. You should see what happened to the last one of you came around here.”

  His little gang fanned out around him.

  Thorne blinked behind her glasses and hopped off the machine, feeling the chill spread to all her limbs. She knew with an icy certainty that she was facing William’s murderers. Her voice squeaked just a little when she said, “Sorry, I just never saw anything like this. It’s great, isn’t it? Want to play a challenge game? Or would you rather I just…”

  The rest of the bar had gone quiet by now, so Paul’s voice, though soft and low, carried easily, “Problem, Thorne?”

  The punk leader was the one who responded. “What do you care about this faggot? He’s just a little freak who couldn’t make it anywhere else.”

  Both Paul and Jack looked surprised, but not as surprised as she was when it was Farley who stood up and said, “Yeah, but he’s our little freak.” The rest of the crew stood too and the other patrons began heading quietly toward the door.

  She watched the leader. He was looking over the Blackridge crew and was at least smart enough to be concerned, but she doubted he’d be willing to back down in front of his peers.

  He didn’t. “He’s yours? Kind of like a altar boy with a bunch of priests, huh? Is it like that?”

  She winced. Not smart enough, not by a long shot.

  The other men had moved to tables and the kid didn’t notice Jack until he stepped away from the bar. His massive hands hung loose at his sides; his face looked like it was made of stone.

  His voice was even softer than Paul’s. “Maybe you wish it was you, huh, tough boy?” He took two steps closer to her. She was afraid he was going to get all protective before she could figure out what to do.

  Her eyes met Jack’s and she silently begged him to hold off.

  By this time, the bartender had found his voice, though it was neither soft nor low. “Darryl! Are you fucking nuts?” he shrieked. “Tara would kill me if anything happened to you in here.” Turning to Jack, he went on, “Look, Dagger, the kid didn’t mean nothin’. He’s just real competitive, is all. My sister’s kid. She was always the smart one, but she married a dumbfuck. How ’bout a round for you and the boys, on the house?”

  Thorne listened to him babbling and watched Jack struggle to keep his promise to her. “Sounds nice. After Darryl here apologizes to Thorne.” He took another step. Hawks and Markham nodded to each other and moved to cover the doors now that the other patrons had cleared out. The rest of the men were still standing, some with their arms folded, others with their hands loose at their sides like Jack.

  Thorne considered her options and came up with a plan.

  “Thanks, Jack, but what I really want is a challenge game. I think Darryl’s just scared because he knows I’m gonna beat that ass he’s so fucking worried about.”

  She knew he’d take her up on it. He’d have a chance to save face if he played the damn game. Everyone was surprised when he beat her at the last minute. She’d been way ahead of him. She stepped off the machine and offered him her hand, managing to scratch him when he tried to pull it away. “Oh, sorry, Darryl.”

  “Please pour your nephew one on me. He beat me fair and square.” She bent down and rifled through her backpack, pretending to look for something. “Uh, say, do you happen to have a sandwich baggie back there anywhere? It looks like I’ve got a leaky pen.”

  The bartender just shrugged, completely confused and immensely relieved. He didn’t notice later when she slipped the shot glass Darryl had used into the bag, along with a discreetly clipped fingernail.

  She sat down with the crew, sipping another ginger ale while she talked and laughed with them and promised to cover the money they’d lost betting on her with the thugs. She knew she hadn’t fooled any of them; it was obvious she’d thrown the game. When someone asked her why in a whispered voice, she just smiled her favorite Cheshire-cat smile.

  * * * *

  “So, Grace, tell me about Darryl.” They were en route to her place. Dagger wanted this discussion over before there was something much better for her to do with her mouth.

  “He did it. Him and those thugs with him. I knew it when I heard his voice, the things he said.”

  Dagger frowned but Grace answered his question before he could ask it. “Yeah, Jack, like I sometimes know about other shit. They beat Trent’s William to death.”

  Almost everything made sense now. “That explains the scratch and the shot glass—your fingernail has his DNA and the glass has his fingerprints. But why’d you throw the game? I had a Grant on you to win,” he grumped.

  “So there’d be witnesses to his initials on the high score. Those same initials put him in the neighborhood the night William was murdered. Besides, I already said I’d cover everybody’s losses.”

  “Never mind. That’s what I get for not reading you better. Shit, Grace, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  “‘Our.’” She said it like it was a new word for her. “It felt great, Jack. The way everyone stood up for me. They didn’t even know about the arrangement I made with Paul this afternoon.” Grace was smiling and happy.

  “What arrangement? I am a full partner in Blackridge. How come you do all of this shit with Paul?” It bothered him more than ever that Paul seemed to know more about her than he did.

  “Because it’s the boring shit that he takes care of. I like to do other shit with you.” She laughed and slowly ran her hand up his thigh, pressing along the inside seam of his jeans.

  “You’re just trying to distract me.” His complaint was less than half-hearted.

  “So, you gonna just drop me off, then?”

  If he hadn’t been carefully parking the caddy, he’d have wiped that grin off her face with a kiss she’d never forget.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dagger had woken up early, showered, and dressed while Grace slept. He was watching her chest rise and fall beneath the sheet, wondering at the strange pulling sort of ache in his chest. He’d gotten used to the one in his jeans, since it was pretty much always there when she was near. But this was even more uncomfortable because he refused to define it. Even thinking about it made him feel vulnerable.

  Dagger did death and mayhem, and the things that went along with them. He did not do vulnerable.

  It was bad enough that they’d spent the whole weekend pretty much in bed, and it had only made him want her more. Want more of her, too—hell, all of her, all of the time. The blindfold thing was fun, but it was beginning to make him feel like she was ho
lding back, as though she didn’t trust him. And the idea of returning to work today and pretending they weren’t together bugged him, too. He’d had enough covert bullshit to last him a dozen lifetimes. They were going to have to get a few things straight before this went any further, before he lost his—

  Her eyes blinked open and met his, soft and warm for second before her whole body jerked. “You’re up.” She managed to make it sound like an accusation he wasn’t in the mood for.

  “Goddamn it, don’t you dare be fucking pissed at me because I woke up before you and got ready. I sleep good with you.”

  “It’s a nice mattress isn’t it?”

  Her response shouldn’t have hurt. So he ignored it and said, “If you think I’m going to put on a fucking blindfold just so you can get out of bed, forget it.”

  “At least turn your back.” The thinness of Grace’s voice, the way the sheet was pulled up to her chin, those mesmerizing eyes wide—he recognized a plea when he heard one, even if it came from an unlikely source.

  He might have wavered, cut her a break, if he hadn’t felt so off-balance and on edge. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and said, “I’m sick of this shit. Whatever happened, whoever teased you about a mole or a birthmark, it’s time to get over it.” No big deal, right? But she just stared at him.

  Then she said, her voice cracking, “Get over it? Who the hell are you to tell me to get over anything? Fuck you, Jack. Good-bye and get out. Go find a girl who doesn’t have shit to get over or just fuck yourself, Jack. Just fuck yourself.”

  Her words slammed into him like a wrecking ball, tearing a hole through a carefully constructed and well-guarded concrete wall, right to the core of his worst memories and deepest fear. She was throwing him out? Just like that? Like he was some worthless piece of trash?

  “Fine, Grace, whatever. You are one crazy bitch, you know that?” He slammed the door so he wouldn’t have to hear his words echoing in his head. Or think about the look on her face when he’d said them, the way those beautiful silver eyes had filled with tears.