"Grace Beaumont has to be stopped." Ollie looked directly at Booth.

"I want the lady warned. Tonight." Booth took a couple of puffs on his cigar, laid it in the sterling tray, then shoved back his chair and stood. "Charlie, I'm putting together a little package for the young widow and I want you to deliver it. Tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Charlie Dupree wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was loyal to a fault and he hero-worshiped Booth. Although he was good to his elderly mother and had a soft spot for his pet parrot, Feathers, the guy had a vicious streak a mile wide. Like Booth, he actually enjoyed inflicting pain.

"That's it for now," Booth said. "Y'all can go. And whoever our traitor is had better enjoy his last days on earth."

When Jaron's trembling hand grasped the doorknob, Booth called to him. "Jaron, wait up. I want to talk to you. Privately."

Charmaine held her breath. Did Booth already know that Jaron was the traitor? Was he going to question him, grill him, until he confessed? She couldn't just stand by and do nothing. But what could she do? Think, Charmaine, think!

You could kill Booth, an inner voice advised her. Yes, she could kill Booth. She had dreamed of murdering the bastard in his sleep, had planned and plotted his demise numerous times.

"Yeah, Booth, what do you need?" Jaron asked, and Charmaine marveled at how calm her brother's voice sounded.

Booth walked over to Jaron, gripped his shoulder tightly and said, "Jed's back in Louisiana."

"What?" Jaron's gaze darted up from the floor to meet Booth's steady glare.

At the mention of Jed, Charmaine's heart missed a beat. She hadn't been in love with Jed in a long, long time, but she'd never forgotten him. And a part of her had never forgiven him for leaving Louisiana without her.

"It seems my nephew works for the Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency, out of Atlanta." Booth loosened his hold on Jaron's shoulder. "He's the one heading up the investigation for Mrs. Beaumont."

"Jed is? I can't believe… God, Booth, why would he-"

"Look me square in the eye, Jaron, and tell me the God's honest truth-have you or Charmaine heard from him since he came back?"

Jaron shook his head. "I swear on my life, neither I nor Charmaine knew Jed was back, that he was working here in Louisiana."

Booth slapped Jaron on the back. "You can stop sweating. I believe you. You've always been loyal, always knew your place. I like a man who realizes when I own him. And you know that I own you and your sister. Always have."

"Yeah, Booth. I know."

Booth laughed. The sound sliced through Charmaine like razor-sharp blades, creating deep, agonizing wounds. She hated his laughter because when Booth was happy, it usually meant he had just inflicted pain on someone else.

If Jed was back, if he was working against Booth, was it possible that he could help Jaron? Help her? If as she suspected, Jaron was the traitor, could Jed save him from Booth? There was no way she could contact Jed from the house, no way to get a message to him. If Ronnie would take her into town and allow her to make a phone call… But on what pretense could she leave the house again tomorrow when everyone knew she'd gone into town two days in a row?

Charmaine eased up on her knees, scooted the cardboard box over the peephole, then stood up and opened the door just a fraction. She peered out, looking up and down the upstairs hall. Empty. Good.

She opened the door all the way, hurried out of the closet and closed the door very quietly behind her. With her heart racing wildly, she tiptoed down the hall to her room. Once inside, she rushed to her dressing table, sat down and picked up her silver brush. She brushed her hair, counting the strokes as the bristles glided through her thick, curly mane. It was only a matter of time until Booth came into her room through the door that connected her room to his. She wanted him to find her sitting here waiting for him. Calm. Cool. Controlled. She glanced at the nail file lying atop the mirror-topped silver tray on the table. Could she kill him with the nail file? It wasn't very big, but if it went into his jugular vein…

Charmaine's hand trembled so badly that she dropped the brush. Oh, God, what was she thinking? Unless Booth was unconscious, passed out drunk or drugged, she'd never be able to overpower him. Besides, if she killed him, his syndicate associates would kill her, if his household entourage didn't do the job first. And that meant Jaron and Ronnie would die, too, because she knew both men would lay down their lives for her.

Restless, Jed meandered around in his room at Belle Foret, probably wearing a hole in the antique Persian rug beneath his feet. He had grown up in a nice home, surrounded by expensive things, but Booth Fortier's decor had nothing to do with good taste and everything to do with how much things cost. In Grace's home, the decor whispered timeless elegance, the very essence of what was once referred to as gentility. It was there in every room, in every stick of furniture, every painting. A style that had taken generations to cultivate. Just as Grace was quality, pure and simple, so was her home. Yeah, quality, that was the big difference between the two of them. She was; he wasn't. And the funny thing was, money had nothing to do with it. If Grace didn't have a penny to her name, she would still be quality.

He'd done everything he could to convince himself that he'd be a fool to approach Grace on a personal level again. The kiss they'd shared had only whetted his appetite for more. But the lady had said no. If he was smart, he'd listen to her, and take her refusal to heart.

Think about business, he reminded himself. There's five million dollars sitting in the safe at Sheffield Media, Inc., with Dom and Kate staying overnight at the office to assist the nighttime security guards. Of course, none of the employees were aware that a small fortune had been deposited in the company's safe. But Hudson Prentice knew, as did Elsa Leone. And Grace's uncle Willis and cousin Joy knew. They were four trusted friends, but Jed suspected one of them had betrayed Grace in the past, so what was to keep him or her from doing it again? Had the traitor told Booth exactly what was going on? Did Booth already know he had a Benedict Arnold among his most trusted associates?

The person who had helped Booth destroy Dean Beaumont and Bryam Sheffield would still be under Booth's thumb. He or she would still be reporting to Booth. That meant what the informant knew, Booth knew. Not only would his uncle be aware of a traitor in his midst, he would know Grace was having his association with Governor Miller investigated. And he'd also know that Jed was working for Grace. "The Plan" had been set in motion. It was only a matter of time before he could have an excuse to go to his uncle, confront him and ask him to disprove the allegations against him, all a guise to put Jed in contact with the federal agent working in Booth's camp.

Jed stood at the windows, pulled back one curtain and looked down at the dark, sprawling backyard lawn. Glancing up he studied the few stars visible tonight. Partial cloud cover shielded a section of the moon and half the stars.

If Booth already knew that Grace was having him investigated, if he suspected a traitor in his midst, then Grace was in danger. And when Booth discovered the traitor's identity, he was a dead man. But if Booth knew, why hadn't he made a move? Why hadn't he issued a warning? It wasn't like his uncle to bide his time. Just as soon as the first threat against Grace occurred, Jed could put their plan into action. He would have an excuse to visit his uncle and find a way to make contact with the FBI's undercover agent who apparently was trapped within the organization and kept under such close scrutiny recently that he had no way to exchange information with his superiors within the Bureau.