She had never even considered the possibility that she might love again, that someday she would want another man. But rough-around-the-edges Jed Tyree had opened the door of possibility, had given her a glimpse of what it could be like to live again. Really live instead of simply exist.

The telephone rang. Grace ignored it. Laverna or Nolan would pick up on the fourth ring. Whoever it was, she didn't want to talk to them. What she needed was a long soak in the garden tub in her bathroom. A bubble bath. With some soft music, a few scented candles. Quiet time. Stress-reducing time. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with all her problems.

Just as Grace chose a pair of beige silk pajamas from her closet and headed toward the bathroom, a soft rapping on the door interrupted her plans.

"Miss Grace, there's a phone call for you," Nolan said from outside the closed door.

"Please, take a message," Grace replied. "I'll return their call tomorrow."

"Miss Grace, you might want to take this call. The man said if you didn't talk to him, you'd be sorry."

Grace's heart caught in her throat. It was him. The man who'd sent her the letter. Jed had told her that he might call, but she hadn't seriously believed he would.

"All right, Laverna, I'll take the call. And would you please tell Mr. Tyree about the call and ask him to come to my room immediately."

"Yes, ma'am."

Grace glanced at her hands. They were trembling. Her stomach fluttered and a tingling nausea churned inside her. She tossed the pair of pajamas on the foot of her massive four-poster bed, then hurried toward the nightstand where the antique-inspired French phone rested. Her hand hovered over the receiver for a split second, then she lifted it and mentally prepared herself for whatever was to come.

"Hello, this is Grace Beaumont."

"Listen very carefully," the voice said. "I won't repeat myself. I have documents that will prove Booth Fortier controls Governor Lew Miller. I want five million dollars in exchange for that proof."

"Five million is a lot of money."

"Not for a woman as rich as you."

The bedroom door opened quietly. Grace glanced at Jed as he entered the room, a portable extension phone in his hand. Oh, Lord, Jed was listening to her conversation with the caller.

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?" Grace asked the caller as Jed came toward her.

"You don't ask any questions. Just get the money together. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know when and where to bring the money for the exchange."

"But I need some sort of-" The dial tone hummed in her ears.

Jed set the portable phone on the nightstand, then reached out and took the receiver from Grace's death grip and returned it to the cradle. He wrapped his big hand around her small wrist.

"We'll get those taps put on the phones here and at Sheffield Media ASAP," he told her. "Our guy isn't wasting any time. Looks like he needs that money fast. He's desperate to get his hands on it and leave the country before Booth Fortier finds out what he's done."

"So, do I believe him? Should I get him the money?"

Jed nodded. "Call your banker. Tonight. Start the ball rolling. Whether we give this guy any money or not, we need to make it look as if we intend to."

"Do you think he has proof of-"

Jed caressed her wrist, causing her tight fist to relax. "Yeah. Maybe. Probably." He paused, then looked directly into her eyes. "Be sure you want to go through with this, with all of it-the money exchange, the investigation. Booth Fortier is a formidable opponent. He plays dirty. And he plays for keeps."

"Four years ago my life ended," Grace said. "If Booth Fortier was responsible for my husband's and father's deaths, then he killed me, too, that very night. Don't you see, Jed, I have nothing to lose. I've been dead inside all these years. If Fortier was behind the hit-and-run driver's actions, if it was murder and not an accident, then I want him to pay for what he did. I want him to suffer. I want him…" Grace hadn't realized she was crying until her tears hit Jed's hand that held hers.

Jed pulled her into his arms. She went willingly. The feel of his strength surrounding her comforted in a way nothing else ever had, not since she'd been a child and her father had consoled her after all her little girl crises. Although her reaction to him confounded her, she couldn't help but give in to his protective embrace.

"Nothing will ever bring back your father and your husband, but you're alive, Grace, very much alive. And you'll love again. You'll marry again."

She clung to him as the silent tears trickled down her cheek lying against his hard chest. "I lost more than my husband and father that night. I lost my baby. I lost Emma Lynn. God didn't spare her life. He didn't give me even that much."

"You lost a child?" Jed asked, gazing down at her.

"My little Emma Lynn died before she had a chance to live. I was almost six months pregnant."

"Damn! Grace, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He pulled her closer to him.

"I don't believe in happiness anymore. I don't trust God. I will never-ever-care for anyone that much. I'd rather be dead inside than know that kind of pain again."

Grace doubted that Jed understood her reasoning, doubted that anyone who had not experienced the kind of losses she had could possibly comprehend the extent of her torment. Numbness was preferable to agony. Existing was better than risking being hurt if she took a chance by truly living again.

«^ »

The telephone rang at eleven o'clock, waking Oliver Neville with its insistent clamor. He roused from sleep, blinked his eyes and yawned. Who the hell would be phoning him at this time of night? he wondered, and could think of no one other than his most notorious client-Booth Fortier. By the fourth ring, Oliver managed to rise from the overstuffed lounge chair in his den, where he'd fallen asleep tonight as he did almost every night. Between the fifth and sixth ring, he lifted the receiver.

"Hello."

"Did I wake you?"

It took Oliver half a second to realize his caller wasn't Fortier. "You shouldn't be calling me. There mustn't be any record of contact between the two of us."

"I'm at a pay phone near a gas station off Interstate 10. Believe me, I don't want anyone to know that there's a connection between the two of us. Now or in the past."

"Is there a problem?"

"Well, Ollie, now that you ask…" Self-satisfied chuckles hummed through the phone line. "Yeah, there's a problem. A big problem."

"Concerning?"

"What the hell do you think it's concerning-it's about Grace Beaumont."

"Any problems you're having with Ms. Beaumont are yours-not mine."

"Oh, they're your problems all right. Aren't all of Booth Fortier's troubles your troubles, too?"

"And just how is Ms. Beaumont Booth's problem?"

"Tell Fortier he'd better start looking for a traitor in his midst. Somebody in his organization or in the Miller camp sent Grace a very informative letter."

Ollie's stomach knotted painfully. "Just how informative?"

"The message stated plainly that Dean Beaumont and Byram Sheffield's accident had been murder, ordered by Fortier because Beaumont had discovered Fortier's connection to our esteemed governor."

"God damn!"

"Grace has hired a private investigator to look into the matter. She's determined to unearth the truth-the whole truth."

"We've got ourselves a mess… a holy mess. Booth will have conniptions. He'll be fit to be tied when I tell him." Oliver knew exactly what Booth would do after he exploded-he'd give Grace Beaumont a couple of warnings, then he'd eliminate her, just as he had gotten rid of her husband and father nearly four years ago. "By the way, who's the P.I.? Is he local?"