Saving Grace

Dressed in a backless tight column of red sequins, Grace Broussard entered the ballroom alone. She looked poised … relaxed … in charge.

All an illusion.

Declan wasn’t close enough to read her as accurately as he might like, but even at a distance, he sensed her anxiety and an underlying fear that, under the circumstances, was totally understandable.

Chapter Five (#ulink_284ea232-dd65-5ce0-b69b-dbc25f5a0e2a)

Grace felt rather than saw heads turn when she entered the hotel ballroom. She was posing, pretending—not that she was someone else, but that she was as confident as she appeared. Inside, she was a trembling, pitiful mess. She probably should have had Declan escort her here.

Gazing around the room for the private investigator, she couldn’t miss the attention she was getting. For once she wished she could leave again, so she could go find a place to hide where she didn’t have to think about suggestive photographs and someone’s evil intent.

Was the blackmailer in the room now?

Would she be able to tell if she saw him?

How would she know when she couldn’t even look anyone in the eyes?

Spotting Raphael was a relief. As usual, her employer was dressed in black. And as usual, he wore ruby studs in his ears and a gold snake with ruby eyes on the middle finger of his right hand. His slicked, long, black hair accentuated chiseled features and slightly slanted brown eyes.

Raphael gave her a high sign before turning back to his young male companion.

Then she spotted Corbett and made straight for her brother.

As usual, his tux was perfectly tailored and not a strand of his golden-brown hair was out of place. His eyebrows shot up and his hazel eyes widened appreciatively.

“Grace, won’t you kick up Mama’s ulcer tonight.”

“If she actually had an ulcer, this dress might do it,” she agreed. “So, are you here alone?”

“I am. Although I have my eye on an interesting woman new to the political game in this town. What about you?”

Thinking of Declan again, Grace felt her pulse rush, but she said, “Alone for the moment, as well.”

“Well, this little event might be interesting, after all.”

“I’m hoping.” Grace tried to keep her tone casual so she wouldn’t warn Corbett something was wrong. “Anyone I should know to be careful around? Someone with a grudge against you or Mama?”

“Grudge? Not exactly. But there is Larry Laroche. He’ll be running against me for my seat on the city council.”

“Sounds as if you have reason to not like the man.”

“I don’t have proof of anything of course, but rumor has it he’ll do anything to win.”

“Anything?” Grace’s interest picked up. Like hiring someone to take questionable photos of his opponent’s sister?

“He smeared his last opponent, Tommy Ryan, the other candidate in his own party. His colleagues weren’t too happy with him, but he just shrugged off the censure.”

“Smeared Ryan how?”

“Sent a reporter to the bordello where Ryan was … well, occupied.”

“A sex scandal? How did I miss it?”

“Because it never hit the media. Tommy bought off the reporter. But word got around, courtesy of Laroche, and the next thing you know, Tommy is no longer in the running. He concedes and the victory goes to Laroche.”

“And you’re sure this information is accurate?”

“As sure as I can be of my sources. So don’t go getting yourself into some big scandal before the election or Laroche will use it against me.”

Grace swallowed hard. Corbett was dead serious. Knowing his temper, she hoped she could keep word of those photographs from getting to him forever.

“I’ll try to contain myself for your sake.”

Corbett grinned at her. “Good, and if you have the chance, chat up Jill Westerfield. See what you can find out about her.”

“Is that the woman new to the game?”

“One and the same.”

Grace followed her brother’s gaze to a woman who was tall, curvaceous and wore her blond hair short, scraped back from her face. Something about the blonde ticked at Grace, but she couldn’t place her. A simple black sheath and hornrimmed glasses did little to distract from Jill Westerfield’s attractiveness. The blonde stopped next to Laroche and put a possessive hand on his shoulder. The politician smiled at her and immediately wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Um … looks like she has a date for the evening. With a married man.”

“I can overlook that,” Corbett said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Wondering where Laroche’s wife might be, Grace couldn’t fathom why her brother was interested in a woman who would go after the sleazy politician. “Nothing like picking someone totally inappropriate.”

“Perhaps I’ll get her to cross the line, come over to my way of thinking.”

It had been years since her brother had seemed so focused on a woman—Naomi had been pre-Katrina—and Grace didn’t want to discourage him. For years he’d had “safe” dates, none of whom had ever put that particular gleam in his eyes, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Maybe she was just misreading the relationship between the Westerfield woman and Laroche.

“What about Mama?” she asked. “Does she have to be careful of someone, too?”

Corbett gave her his you-should-know-better-than-to-ask expression. “Her name is Helen Emerson. She sells herself as Mrs. Clean. No one is that clean, if you ask me. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, and that isn’t very far.” His gaze strayed back to the Westerfield woman. “This music is inspiring. I think I want to dance.”

Jill Westerfield was just breaking away from her politician date. She disappeared back into the crowd, Corbett following. Grace hoped her brother knew what he was doing, consorting with the enemy so to speak.

The enemy … how far would they go? Had Larry Laroche or Helen Emerson paid to have those photos taken of her? Was one of them planning on blackmailing her brother or mother? Grace couldn’t let their political careers be hurt because of her … but if Laroche or Emerson was behind the blackmail scheme, how could she stop them?

She would look for an opportunity to talk to the two politicians in question in person tonight.

Would they look at her with practiced politician expressions? Would one of them have a secret smile behind his eyes? Knowing she would come face-to-face with the person responsible for those photographs made it hard to take a deep breath.

Approaching Larry Laroche, who still stood at the edge of the dance floor, Grace wondered if she could get him off guard. When she heard him tell a companion, “You just have to find the right weapon, but you can manipulate anyone into doing what you want,” she had to fight back the urge to face off with him, right then, right there. Was his weapon a photograph?

Her mouth went dry and her throat tightened and her feet suddenly felt as if they were filled with lead.

“Excuse me,” came a familiar voice, “but I feel as if we’ve met before.”