Finding Grace (28 page)

Just the same, she was downright terrified she was
going to screw up whatever his intentions were. It would have been
nice if he’d given her a clue, but that was so not Jack.

Shit, she was dwelling again. Obsessing,
actually.

A nervous little breath escaped her when she heard
their voices in the hall. She put her knitting down and listened.
Joe’s wasn’t as deep and sexy as Jack’s, and there was no trace of
the warm Georgia accent. It took two knocks before she realized the
sound was more than just her heart pounding.

She opened the door and Jack looked her up and down.
He said, “Whoa, Grace, you look…wow.”

Was that
wow
good? Or
wow
I-don’t-want-to-be-seen-with-you? He just stood there staring at
her. Shit. What was she supposed to do now?

Oh, yeah. “Why don’t you two come in while I grab my
coat.”

She stepped back and motioned them in, trying not to
be more self-conscious about her apartment than she already was
about her outfit.

Jack was still staring at her and his voice sounded
funny when he said, “Uh, Grace, this is my brother, Joe. Joe, this
is Grace.”

Joe, at least, was easy to read. His flickering
glance spoke volumes of disdain and his smile was barely more than
a sneer when he said, “Delighted, I’m sure.”

Thorne mustered a smile and offered him her hand
anyway. He was Jack’s brother. “Nice to meet you, Joe. Um, I’ll
just grab my coat.”

Her fingers grazed the super-soft fake fur of the
brand new zebra-striped coat in her closet, and she wished she
could bury herself in it.

Jack seemed to agree. He couldn’t get it around her
fast enough or tie the belt around her snug enough. Well, at least
that answered the
wow
question. He hated her outfit.

* * * *

“I’ll just be in my office, if you don’t mind. I’m
sure you guys will want to talk for a while.”
And give me a
break from all of this tension.

The air had been so swamped with it on the way there
that Thorne had damned near drowned. It didn’t help that she
couldn’t tell how much of it was hers and how much of it was
between Jack and his brother. She bolted for her office and ran
headlong into Farley.

“Wait now.” He held her back by her shoulders and
looked her up and down. “My, my, who do we have here? Can’t be. Are
those legs, Thorne? Nice ones, too.” He let out a low wolf-whistle.
“Mmm. Now give me a peek at what you’ve got under that coat.”

Thorne blushed even though she knew he was just
trying to make her feel pretty. They’d all been like that since she
got back, since they knew. They’d been nicer to her, but at least
not openly, unbearably, pitying. She sighed and let the coat slide
down her arms before tossing it to her chair from the hallway. It
was awfully warm.

“Farley, you spend a lot of time with girlie-girls,
right? Be honest. Is this too…? Am I…? Did I pull it off okay?” She
did a slow turn and stopped with her hands on her hips, wearing the
most self-assured smile she could scrounge up, and held her breath.
The way his mouth was open but not answering made her regret
asking, so she just followed her coat into her office and tried to
shut the door and slink under her desk in shame.

But the door bounced off the foot he’d stuck in
it.

“Holy fucking hell,
yes
, you pulled it off.
No wonder Dagger’s been keeping you all to himself. Shit, Thorne,
you’re hotter than a Las Vegas sidewalk in July.” Turning his head,
he called, “Hey Markham, Hawks, Mills, come take a look at what we
got here. You’re never gonna believe this.”

Surrounded by them like she was, Thorne almost
didn’t see Jack come in. He must have overheard what Farley said,
because he was looking at him like he was considering different
ways to end the man’s life. He’d been acting overprotective lately,
sure, but that was partly his nature and partly part of his idea of
taking care of her until he thought she was ready to be dumped. One
part of a whole lot more she was going to miss terribly.

Jack growled, “What the fuck are you all doing
here?”

He must have forgotten about the late meeting Paul
had called for the team. They took one look at him, mumbled
apologies and took a step back, even if they did keep right on
gawking. Shit, she couldn’t believe she’d bought Farley’s line. The
way they were staring, she had to look like a complete dork. No
wonder Jack wanted to hide her.

Then Paul said, “You look great, Thorne. I wish
Katherine could see you,” and kissed her cheek.

Great? Paul had never lied to her before. The man
was painfully honest.

“I don’t know Paul, it’s not like anything she’d
ever wear.”

“No, it isn’t. But it suits you just fine.”

Well, if she were to believe Paul, that meant that
even if everyone was staring at her like she was the dorkiest dork
ever, at least she looked like herself. She couldn’t decide whether
that was reassuring or not. If she didn’t stop biting her lip soon,
there’d be a hole in it.

She caught Paul’s grin when he said, “So Dagger,
where are you and Joe taking our little
angel
this
evening?”

It was the sort of grin someone wore when they were
indulging in a private joke. That was definitely not
reassuring.

But when Jack said, “Terrelli’s. We have
reservations for seven, so we’d better get going,” she went from
not-very-reassured to scared witless before she could take another
breath.

She let out a wail, “Terrelli’s! Goddamnit, Jack,
you could have fucking warned me. Never in a million years would I
have guessed Terrelli’s. I can’t walk into Terrelli’s dressed like
this! You have to wear one of those little black dresses to a place
like that. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the angels on a bloody hat
pin, Jack, I can’t wear something like that.”
Not with these
damn scars. No place to hide them in one of those
.

Now she
knew
Jack had invited her to scare
Joe off. He had to have known she’d freak out over this, and he
knew how she was when she freaked out. It had worked, too. Joe’s
reaction was again easy to read—thoroughly stunned and more than a
little appalled. It was reassuring in its believability. Well,
she’d been nothing if not effective.
Good plan, Jack. And I was
so predictable you didn’t even have to clue me in
.

But Farley must have noticed the look on Joe’s face,
too, and taken exception to it. “What you have to understand about
all this fuss, see,” he said with one of his perfect smiles, “is
that up until a few weeks ago, we thought Thorne was one of the
boys.

“Now I can hear you asking yourself how could we
have thought that—looking at this sweet thing standing here, I’ve
been asking myself the same thing. It’s like this, see: Thorne was
always wearing these big dark glasses and butt-ugly loose men’s
clothes. And then, of course, there’s that mouth you just got a
sample of. Besides that, she can fight. You just ask those limping
dickwads of Major Darmfelder’s if you can find their yellow asses.
By the way, Thorne, honey, have the twins here tell you about the
welcome mat Dagger had them arrange for the major in Fargo last
week.” Turning back to Joe, Farley went on. “Anyway, looking at her
tonight…well, now, it’s probably just as hard for us to understand
how we were ever fooled as it is for you.” His smile was teasing,
reassuring.

“Never fooled me,” Mills snorted.

“Yeah, right, that’s why you made such a big deal
about Thorne being a fag.” Markham pointed out dryly.

Even in her damn near altered state of freak, she
could tell that the guys were, in their own way, defending her from
Joe’s disdain. They obviously weren’t aware of Jack’s
intentions.

To let them know she appreciated their efforts, she
said, “God, don’t you assholes ever know when to shut up?” And gave
them her sweetest smile.

Then she remembered the second part of what Farley
had said. A blessed distraction. “Wait. Welcome mat? Jack, you
promised!” Good, she’d managed that without uttering a single
expletive, even if she was still shouting.

Okay, next step: tone down the volume
.

She slid closer to Jack and whispered in his ear,
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screech at you, unless that’s what you
wanted. I’m so confused and nervous I can’t think straight. Would
you like me to rent a tux really quick or something? Or should I
just have Farley give me a ride home? And, uh, I think Joe may have
swallowed his tongue.”

Jack’s arm around her tightened and he whispered
back, “What? Why would I want you to…You’re not going anywhere,
especially
not with goddamn Farley. As far as Joe goes, I
hope he did swallow it. I like him better this way. And Grace,
you’d be the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, no matter what
you wore.” His voice rumbled in her ear before the hammering of
blood in her ears started.

There was just no way she could have heard that last
part right.

* * * *

Dagger gave himself shit all the way to Terrelli’s.
Grace was right; it wasn’t his kind of place at all. He’d never
even been there before, had just heard that the food was good, and
expensive. It sucked that, after all these years, he still wanted
to impress his brother. And worse, he’d made Grace uncomfortable
trying.

The stunning red car waiting for a valet in front of
the restaurant distracted him from his miserable self-examination.
“Wow, Joe, look at that! A Ferrari Testarossa. Too bad they don’t
make those anymore.” He couldn’t help sighing.

“Sure, Jack, it would make a nice replacement for
the caddy.” Dagger heard the sarcasm dripping from the back seat of
the Escalade.

“Do you think it has an iPod interface or at least a
CD player? The old behemoth was short on pertinent amenities, if
you ask me,” Grace said in her serious, thoughtful tone while she
looked the car over with that intent way she had.

Joe’s laugh was loud. “Nobody buys a Ferrari for the
sound system, baby.”

“So you want it just because it’s pretty?” She was
biting her lip again. She’d been doing that a lot lately. It would
be cute, if it didn’t make him think that she might be worrying
about something she wasn’t talking about.

“Pretty? Baby, that car is sex on wheels. Women just
can’t resist a man with that much power in his hands.”

A glance in the rearview mirror revealed the
expected flash of Joe’s perfect white teeth.

A glance at Grace’s mouth was less irritating, but
more troubling.

Shit. He’d gotten her past the whole dressed-wrong
thing—which he could at least understand—but how was he going to
get her past this when he didn’t even know what was wrong? He
didn’t have any more smooth lines. Hell, he didn’t have
any
smooth lines. He’d only said she’d be the most beautiful woman in
the restaurant because it was a simple fact that she would be the
most beautiful woman
any
place.

He said, “Shut up, Joe,” because that was a
no-brainer.

Then he said, “Driving that Ferrari would be a hell
of a lot more fun than driving this Escalade, or even the caddy,”
because it was the truth. Contrary to what his big brother had led
him to believe about women, the truth had always worked with
Grace.

“Oh, I get it now. Like knitting wool with super
smooth needles. It’s almost like flying.”

He risked a glance to make sure she wasn’t yanking
his chain.

Nope, serious as an ATF intelligence report. He
leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, only because the valet was
coming their way and he didn’t have time for a longer one.

* * * *

The low hum of background noise in the restaurant
went quiet as the maître d’ led them to their table. Dagger
couldn’t help wincing inwardly. Another thing he should have
thought of when he picked this place. If he could silence
O’Leary’s, what had he expected here?

Women were giving Grace the up-and-down and turning
up their noses, but their male companions weren’t. He smirked when
he saw one guy get a swift kick from a pointy shoe under the table.
Served the asshole right for ogling Dagger’s woman.

When their waiter appeared and stuttered twice
trying to recite the specials, Dagger was about ready to give it up
and leave. But Grace turned on that smile of hers and coaxed him
with questions about the menu. Joe was more than happy to chime in,
educating Grace on the finer points of escargot and steak
tartare.

So Dagger, lulled into what he realized too late had
been a false sense of security, almost choked on the ridiculously
expensive mineral water he was sipping when he heard Grace order a
scotch.

“Would you like that neat, ma’am?”

“That’s without ice, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sounds neat.”

He could have sworn he heard her giggle before the
waiter hurried off. What the hell was going on?

“Grace, did I miss something? Since when do you
drink? You told me alcohol rots your brain.”

“While that happens to be true, Jack, I may have
overestimated the importance of brain cells. Besides, tonight
appears to be an exceptionally opportune time to learn how to
drink.”

She had him there.

“Okay, but scotch? Why not beer, or wine?” Dagger
wasn’t exactly sure why it bothered him.

“I admit, Jack, that I do enjoy the taste of
secondhand beer, but both beer and wine seem…I don’t
know…inefficient to me. Besides, scotch smells so good.”

“And just where have you smelled scotch?” Dagger’s
eyes narrowed. He never touched the stuff; he was a sour mash man
himself.

“Farley was drinking it that night at
O’Leary’s.”

“That’s it.” Dagger slammed his fist down and the
whole place got quiet again. With great effort, he lowered his
voice. “I should have finished off that bastard the last time I had
my hands around his throat.”