Loving Grace

Copyright © 2006-2012 Eve Asbury

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic,
photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written
consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form
of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser. Previously Fall from Grace.

The right of Gayle Eden to be identified as
the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with
the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters in this publication are purely
fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is
purely coincidental.

Published by Air Castle Books at
Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

“If I’d wanted to be a PI, Seth. I would have
become one,” Grace Dean said to her brother over the phone.

“Just this one favor, Grace. It’s not real PI
work. All I want you to do is go the bar and take a few pictures of
the guy. I’ll give you a watch-camera; no one will ever know you’re
taking them.”

“That’s not the point. You know I am not a
bar person. Look, I’m sorry you broke your foot. I’ll bring you
chicken soup, movies, magazines, anything you like—but do your own
spying.”

Seth laughed. “It’s not spying, Grace, not
really. This case is almost finished. I need the money now that
I’ll be laid up. This is the big one, the night we can catch him
with his mistress. Then, my job is done. It’ll be up to Maxine
Winestead to use the evidence any way she sees fit.”

“I thought you said she wanted it for the
divorce....”

“Yeah, yeah, but half these rich women say
that, then use it to get a new mink or car. I don’t care, frankly.
I do my job, I get paid.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I’m an accountant,
Seth. I wouldn’t know how to skulk and sneak.”

“All I’m asking is for you to walk in a bar,
sit down, and wait for the guy to show. When the mistress does, you
get the photos, preferably, of them being friendly.”

“But it’s so sleazy.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I’ve never understood why you went into such
a profession.”

Seth muttered, “Nor I, you. Very few people
have aspirations of looking at numbers all day, Grace. You live
like a hermit. When’s the last time you had a date? Went to a
movie? Didn’t order in? I’ll bet you can’t name one popular song
or—”

“My profession is a very stable, respectable
and—”

“Boring...Boring...Boring.”

“For someone who wants a favor you’re
treading on thin ice.”

A heavy sigh came over the line. “Drop by the
apartment. I’ll give you photos so you can recognize him. Please,
Gracie, just a few pictures. These damn meds they have me on make
it impossible for me to drive. Have pity on your poor crippled
brother.”

Grace snorted. “Manipulative, spoiled—”

He laughed softly. “Ah, Grace, I wish you’d
quit that stuffy old firm and live a little. You’re twenty-eight
and you act fifty.”

“No thanks. You do enough living for both of
us. I might have more pity if you had broken your foot on the job,
instead of sky diving with some rich heiress.”

“Have a heart. I spend most of my time seeing
the seedy side of life, I earn the right to play.”

“Mmm.” Grace eyed her reflection in the glass
doors of the bookcase, sitting in her basement apartment in
Alexandra’s historic district, only minutes from Washington DC. The
cobbled streets, quaint shops and iron lampposts had an atmosphere
that suited her. Sure, there were high-rises a couple of blocks
away, and the chic restaurants and shops were far from hokey, but
it beat downtown DC where her brother lived. Right now, it was
autumn and the tree-lined streets were blanketed with gold, yellow
and crimson leaves, the colonial buildings decked out for
Thanksgiving, and the taverns, coffee shops and eateries flavored
the nut-tinged air, mingling with the wood-smoke from fireplaces
and the pungent smell of the Potomac Bay.

DC and the suburbs hummed during the chilly
season, not just because of football, but this part of the city, no
matter how crowded, offered a slower, more leisurely pace. Couples
in their calf-length coats and gloves, wearing vibrant scarves,
strolled the narrow footpaths, ducking inside a café or sitting on
a bench in the mini parks, admiring the visual richness of living
in the colonial town.

“Hey, you still there?”

“Yes.” She reached up and released her brown
hair from its usual practical bun. “Where is this bar?”

“Not far from you. It’s the Red Room. Ever
heard of it?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” He laughed. “I’ll bet you’ve
never even been to a place like that.”

“Just get to the details before I hang up,
and leave you on your own.”

“I’ll fill you in when you come by to collect
the camera and pictures.”

Grace muttered something sufficiently
agreeable, and they hung up. She clicked off the phone and sat it
on the graceful end table, before easing up out of the antique
leather chair.

The place was small, as were most apartments
in the older section, because the entire building used to be one
residence. But it suited Grace. She liked order, was a neat freak
by nature. The brick walls had built-in shelves that housed her
collection of books, mostly from her college days since she rarely
had time to read anymore.

There was only the main living room, a
kitchenette, a bedroom, and a tiny bath with ancient fixtures. In
the top half of her wall were the windows, protected by scrolled
ironwork, she could see ankle to knee of the strollers walking by.
The drawbacks of living on the bottom floor was the sounds of water
constantly flushing down the drain pipes from the floors above, and
the chill in winter. But she counted herself lucky to get the
place.

She owned a few nice pieces of furniture, the
leather chair, a Queen Anne settee, her iron lamps and an heirloom
rug in burgundy. Her bed was still just a frame, but she’d gotten
an eighteenth century wardrobe at a good price; and the trunks, a
leather one she used as a coffee table, and another in the bedroom
she could store off-season clothing in.

Grace walked to the kitchenette and put on
the teakettle. While it heated, she padded to her bedroom and stood
in front of the mirror, removing her turtleneck and tweed skirt,
and then slipped off her black hose. She placed them in the hamper
and found comfortable sweats to pull on. Rubbing the bridge of her
nose under her square black-framed glasses, she wished she could
schedule time to go get contacts. Accounting was hard on the eyes
and her sight hadn’t been twenty-twenty to start with. She could
see without them for general tasks, but had been wearing them since
she was fourteen. Now she had rather grown used to them, only
finding them aggravating at times like this, stress days.

In her sweats, she brushed her hair before
putting it up in a ponytail. She eyed her reflection with a wry
expression. Yes, she was twenty-eight, and Seth was correct, she
hadn’t been on a date in years. In college, she’d worked her rear
off thinking she’d have a career in politics, discovering quickly
that she had neither the extrovert personality nor the go-for-the
throat ambition, and luckily, she’d changed her major in time to be
offered a job at Farley and Brown upon graduation. She had been
working there so long now, that it was nothing to put in ten or
twelve-hour days plus the clients she took on herself.

Accounting suited her much better. It felt
right, like a favorite coat or pair of gloves. Her brother was the
outgoing, handsome, energetic and the passionate one. Grace always
worked best alone. She felt detached in huge social gatherings. She
supposed it was their father’s influence, since he’d raised them
himself after their mother died. A math professor, he’d also loved
to sit and read, to do puzzles, and preferred having the same two
close friends as opposed to going out on the town.

Seth was one of those fearless young men
who’d done everything with gusto and handled social situations with
ease, he’d played music, sports, and had a gang of buddies, and was
never without a girlfriend because of good looks and verve. Now at
thirty-five he was still foot-loose and fancy free, and they were
opposites still. Though closer, she was glad to reflect, since
their father passed away.

Grace wouldn’t have changed Seth for the
world. However, she knew he thought she was wasting her life and
missing out on a lot. He teased her about her profession, sure, but
there was underlying seriousness when it crossed the line to her
private life. He couldn’t understand how she existed without
one.

Grace put the brush on the trunk and heard
the whistle of the tea kettle. She slid her feet into black fuzzy
slippers and hurried to the other room and the kitchenette. She
brewed a cup of orange spice tea and eased down into the worn
leather chair. Sipping it, she detected the patter of rain and
slough of runoff in the street drains.

She must be out of her mind to even consider
doing Seth this favor... She’d likely blow the whole deal, stick
out like a sore thumb and end up earning more of her big brother’s
eye rolling and sighing. She could tell just from the name of the
place it was one of those noisy, crowded and seedy dives.

Grace shuddered. Seth had better be glad she
loved him so much, likely, she would have to hang around late, and
pretend to drink, and just as likely, that would make her usual
waking at five AM difficult. She liked routine, she needed her
sleep, and she was not genetically inclined to be a good spy.

~ * ~

Muttering at the congested traffic, Grace
leaned forward to see the road in the heavy rain. This was not how
she wanted to spend her Saturday mornings, really. She blew out a
long breath as other drivers slowed the movement even more by
constantly switching lanes and easing between cars. She could be
home on the computer, finishing that last bit of work for Pep-Corp.
She had wanted to take her vacation this year at Christmas instead
of working through it as usual. Darn it, she’d been working so much
overtime to finish up so she could go somewhere warm.

“Finally.” She sat back as traffic started
moving, hearing the hard slam of the wipers and the faint sounds of
her car radio playing holiday music. By the time she reached the
neighborhood of Seth’s apartment complex, she had to worry about
parking since it cost a fortune to park on the street. She ended up
driving to a back lot, behind the dark brick building, knowing some
tenant would likely be pissed she’d taken the slot. But she never
stayed long at Seth’s. What he called his “livable” décor drove her
nuts—messy, haphazard housekeeping also made her want to
clean—which she would not let herself do—or stand in the hall,
where at least she didn’t have to look at it.

Grace cut the engine and tucked her purse
under the front seat. She got out, already opening her umbrella as
the rainwater soaked her suede boots. The lapels of her trench coat
flapped as she dashed around front. The spritz of rain spattered on
her face and hastily piled up hair. Inside the foyer, she closed
the umbrella and wiped her feet on the mat before taking the
elevator to the fifth floor. On her first knock Seth was there,
leaning on a crutch, wearing hacked off shorts with his thick blond
hair sticking up.

“Come in.” He hobbled back.

Grace smelled burned toast and strong coffee.
She took off her coat and placed it and the umbrella on a stand
while her eyes took in the big living area with black furnishings
and chrome tables. Everywhere there were magazines, beer cans,
movies out of the case, and potato chip bags. She walked around a
pile of laundry still in the basket, and a massive speaker from his
stereo system. The biggest thing in the room was the TV and the
stereo.

“Coffee?”

“Only if I can make it fresh.” She followed
him to the kitchen, noting how well he was doing on the crutches,
and also that it had only been three days and all the names signed
on it were female.

“Sure.” He seated himself in a high stool by
the bar, gathering the crutches and propping them beside him.

While she poured out the black mud he had
made, and fixed fresh, Grace eyed his good-looking face. Even in
need of a shave, he was handsome, and his six-foot body in perfect
shape from running and sports. She supposed in his profession,
sitting in cars and bars, and watching people, he did need to
exercise regularly.

He had apparently been studying her too,
because when she turned and leaned against the sink while the
coffee brewed, his blue eyes were going over her. He commented,
“Don’t you own anything that doesn’t look like you robbed a
librarian?”