Loving Grace (11 page)

When Grace’s bosses began to question her
distracted state, her stressed and absent frame of mind at work,
Grace uncharacteristically snapped back at them, until she feared
that she was becoming as obsessed with the case as she had been
before meeting Noel.

In April, rumors at the office spread that
Noel’s lawyer wanted an independent firm to work on his defense. An
accounting firm that could track his money and expenses to help
prove that he had no part in the trafficking of drugs. It became
apparent that there was no mix up. The Gallery and the art really
had been used for illegal purposes.

Grace called Seth. “I’ve plenty of money in
the bank. I’m going to quit my job. I’ve a good track record with
clients. I’m going to see Mr. Crumm. Noel’s lawyer.”

Seth sighed over the line. “He’s guilty as
hell, Grace.”

“He’s not. But I feel guilty. Who knows what
help I could have been? We don’t know what the Feds needed. I can’t
sit around and do nothing anymore.”

“Grace... I love you.”

“Seth. I know you’re good at what you do.
This time you’re wrong.”

“You hate publicity. Don’t you know what’s
going to happen if you get yourself linked to his defense
team?”

“I’ll serve as an independent,
unbiased...”

“Yeah, right. We both know you’re hung up on
this guy.”

Grace sighed too. “Just believe in me then,
Seth. Like I was there for you. Please. If I need you, be there for
me. Don’t judge anything until it’s over.”

“You know I’m here for you. If they take you
on, I’ll do whatever you need. Hell, Grace, I’m just worried about
you. Since this thing went down, no, since you met him, you’ve
undergone a personality change. You’re stressed already, not
eating, not sleeping, I’ve never known you not to be cool and
collected and in command of your emotions.”

“Which, you thought then, was abnormal. Once
I’m in, I’ll be in familiar territory, Seth. I’m good at this. I
have contacts, and I know how to find a money trail. I know how
to...”

“All right. Call me as soon as you get hired
on, if they take you.”

“My credentials are impeccable. My reputation
is honest and unbiased.”

“I know, Grace.” He sighed again. “I know how
lying, even to Noel, bothered you.”

“You bet it did,” Grace said quietly. “God,
Seth. The press is chewing him up. It’s bad enough what this mess
is doing to his dreams, but I think he loved Elisa. His best friend
and his fiancée have destroyed his life and his pride. He’s human,
to be that betrayed.”

“Okay. I do see all sides of it. Call me and
take care. I’ll see what I can find out from a reporter friend.
Maybe we can get ahead of the game if you’re hired on.”

“At this point, Seth. I don’t even care. I’ll
risk it.”

“You’ve got it bad, Grace. You’re in love
with this guy.”

“Maybe. I’ll be calling.” She hung up. She
emailed her resumé to Mr. Donald Crumm and called her bosses. After
an hour of conversation, they all understood each other. They were
sorry to see Grace leave, but they wished her well and offered to
call Donald Crumm too, as Grace told them she would eventually open
her own office. For now, she was an independent accountant.

Grace spent the day pulling strings and
calling clients. She worked steadily, put together her most
impressive work history file, and faxed that to Mr. Crumm.

Six A.M. the following morning, she got the
call. Grace had an appointment with both lawyer and client at the
loft. She threw up for fifteen minutes after hanging up, then, laid
out her buff spring suit and white silk blouse, her conservative
wheat-colored pumps and set her tortoiseshell, small, square-framed
glasses, by her brown leather purse. She went to bed early so she
could shower the following morning, have time to do her usual
routine and get in her work mode. Grace didn’t fool herself that
Noel wouldn’t recognize her just because of the bun, clothing, and
glasses. She just hoped no one put her together with the tiger
painting, and that Noel might trust her enough to refrain from
saying anything, until she had time to convince him she was the
best at her job.

Grace’s last thought was that he was likely
skeptical and didn’t trust anyone at this point. It made her
stomach ache. But she was going to take the risk. She had to.

Chapter Fourteen

Noel rubbed his gritty eyes and stood by the
huge open window of the loft, letting the spring air rush in to
offer some relief from the dusty steel interior. He sipped his
coffee and didn’t have to look around to see the yawning emptiness.
Almost everything was gone, including the expensive lighting system
and sets. The maid service had been canceled and the marble floors
were dusty. He knew the only thing in the room was the table, now
with chairs around it; where he’d sat until nearly two in the
morning with his legal counsel, Crumm and his assistant, going over
his case.

The personal items were there; his easel and
paints, his bed and wardrobe, and a stack of paintings. He didn’t
care that the rest was gone, sold, or taken. The less evidence of
his gullible and incredibly stupid mistakes he had to look at, the
better.

He was watching traffic on the side street
when the phone rang. Expecting Crumm in an hour, Noel wasn’t
surprised to hear that gruff voice come on the speakerphone. Crumm
looked like Colombo, right down to the absent-minded way of
conversing, and that he habitually chewed a cigar. Nevertheless, he
was brilliant, literally, he was the best money could buy.

“I’m here.” Noel turned and pulled on a
T-shirt with the jeans and sneakers he wore while he listened to
the lawyer.

“I’ve arranged for an accountant to meet with
us today. I figured you’d want to meet them.”

“You bet I do.”

The lawyer laughed, sounding rusty. “Yeah,
well, m’boy. There isn’t any crime in trusting people. You keep the
faith and we’ll get you out of this mess.”

“Yes, sir,” Noel said flatly, mentally
shaking his head. Not because Crumm called him m’boy, but because
of the mountain of evidence the prosecution had.

“I’m bringing doughnuts. You just keep an
open mind.”

Noel smiled cynically as he made fresh coffee
and then cleaned up around the bed. He stood and stared at the
distant door. Dark shapes of steel that used to hold the lighting
lay here and there, or propped against the wall. He had a mental
flash of Elisa that last day at the Gallery, of the look of guilt
and fear on her face. Knowing she and Bryce were trying to turn
against him even now just twisted the knife deeper in his gut.

Noel walked over and stared at the notebooks
and papers they’d left on the table last night. There were stacks,
piles, reams of notes, where they tried to sift through the last
year, figure out how Bryce and Elise managed to screw him and set
him up. Noel was physically sick over the blow to his career, the
complete and utter destruction of his dreams. But what really
bothered him was how Elise and Bryce had played him so neatly. He’d
become her lover and almost husband. They were sleeping together
while he fell for every trick Elisa had, which included giving him
as little sex as possible to keep him in knots and distracted.
Bryce played the slick best-friend/ business partner role
and...

His curse echoed in the empty space, in the
daylight-flooded area. Feeling bitterness churn his stomach, Noel’s
hands fisted at his sides, hands that couldn’t paint, would never
paint another faithless, manipulating bitch of a female.

The door chimed, clicked, and slid open. He
filled two cups as Donald Crumm came forward, his lightweight
trench coat flapping and a large doughnut box in hand. Crumm’s
soft-soled shoes looked like brogans from three centuries ago.

Crumm reached the table and set down the box
and his briefcase. He hadn’t bothered to shave the stubble from his
cheeks. A half-chewed cigar stuck out of his shirt pocket, By God,
Noel hoped the sparks of brilliance he saw in the man turned into
an explosion of genius in the courtroom.

He was looking at a life sentence.

“Come and eat, m’boy. We have a lot of work
to do today. I’ve got some reference-check calls to make.”

Noel pulled out a chair and sat down, passing
on the doughnuts while the lawyer ate, dropped crumbs on his plaid
shirt and legal briefs, and made phone calls.

When the lawyer clicked off the phone and was
scribbling away on some papers, Noel asked, “Who is Grace
Dean?”

Crumm glanced up and pulled off his
nicotine-stained glasses, studying Noel as he explained. “The
accountant. I’ve checked most of the references last night. Faxed
her to bring a copy of everything with her to this meeting.”

“I’d rather we hire a firm. Of males.”

Crumm sat back and smiled. “It wouldn’t do to
appear hostile to any sex during this stage, Noel. We’ve both sexes
working on your team. I understand how you feel considering Elisa’s
betrayal. But...”

Noel shrugged. “All right. But she damn well
better be good at what she does.”

Crumm opened his mouth just as the door
chimed. “That would be her,” he said instead. He arose from his
chair, standing by the table as the figure came striding in.

Noel didn’t stand. He took in several things
all at once. The purposeful walk, the above the knee tan skirt,
linen material, a short, thin, unbuttoned, jacket, pearl-white silk
blouse underneath. Straw hued pumps clicked on the marble floor.
She carried a briefcase, laptop, and purse over her shoulder. By
the time she reached the pool of light, he saw the brown hair in a
bun, square tortoise-shell brown glasses. He watched her shake
hands with Crumm.

“Ms. Dean. A pleasure.”

“Same here, Mr. Crumm. I’ve admired you for
years.”

Donald was laughing; they were exchanging
professional small talk when Noel felt the truth impact him. He
knew that voice, though not so clipped and businesslike, and he
knew that face when she turned and leaned slightly over the table
to offer her hand.

Brown and gold eyes collided.

“Mr. Hawthorn.”

He took the hand with taupe trimmed nails,
seeing a silver watch when her cuff slid, and a discreet pearl ring
on her middle finger, and held tighter than polite. “Ms. Dean.”

Her gaze held for a second, then slid away,
and Noel knew she was trying to relay some message. He was too
furious to read it.

She motioned Crumm back into the chair, and
after setting her things on the table, opened her briefcase. She
took out papers, setting them in front of himself and Crumm. “This
is a copy of my client list and my resumé. I’ve also brought
personal references. Here is my private information, general stuff,
but copies of my passport, ID and home address.”

Crumm cut in as Noel was staring at the
copied photo and address. “Just tell me Ms. Dean. If the FBI looks
into your background what would they find?”

Noel looked up as she locked her gaze with
his. “My father was a math professor, widowed for many years. My
mother, a housewife. My father worked on criminal cases, as a part
of an exclusive group of experts, people with above-average IQs.”
She seemed to hesitate, and Noel saw her lick her lips before
adding, “My brother is a private detective. Elisa employed him for
a short time, to spy on Noel for several months.”

“Very good,” Crumm said thoughtfully.

Noel glared at him.

The lawyer shrugged. “I recognized the name
from the evidence file. We discussed this already Noel. The man,
Seth Dean, was hired him to see if you were having affairs. He’s a
good detective and gave you a clean report. The Feds have nothing
against him, nor does his report harm you. It helps in fact, that
it establishes part of your alibi on those nights that pickups or
phone calls were made at the Gallery.”

Noel felt a nerve in his jaw tick, he held
back with Crumm, not saying anything, but he shot Grace Dean, a
look of pure ice. That meeting at the Gallery was no accident, and
he wondered how much of a fool she too had played him for, and why?
He said to Crumm, “Have you checked out this personal
information?”

“Yes. Her references, the address, her
private information all check out. It’s impressive, Noel.” Crumm’s
eyes went to the serious and businesslike woman standing there.
“Trust this old dog. I’ve been in the junkyard a long time. She has
the look of someone who won’t buckle or be easily shook up.”

“Yes.” Noel looked at Grace again, letting
his eyes deliberately go down her body to remind her he’d seen what
was under the clothing, just to let her know he wasn’t fooled this
time. “She’s more than meets the eye it seems.”

“Have a seat. Ms. Dean.”

~ * ~

Grace was glad to sit. Her knees were shaking
after the coldly raking gaze from Noel. She’d almost stumbled
walking the distance from the door, seeing the starkness and
emptiness of the space. The rumors were true. However, that was
nothing compared to seeing him.

His hair was still short, his beard shaved
but growing back apparently. He wore a black T-shirt, denims and
those old converse sneakers. But it was his expression, the cold
brown eyes and cynical slant to his mouth. He’d lost some weight,
looked lean, but disillusioned and yes, bitterly angry. No more was
there a sensitive look in his bedroom eyes, and no more did he
appear intense or pensive, nor have that enigmatic artist air.
Right now he simply looked hard and inflexible, a man bitterly
disillusioned with life. Friendless, loveless, untrusting, and
expecting the worst.

Dammit! She could only hope to have a chance
to help him.

He recognized her. That handshake almost
hurt. She had very little time to reach him, to prove herself.
Because she’d seen that flicker of contempt when she’d mentioned
her brother, and Grace reasoned that if the lawyer was aware of the
work Seth had done, Noel was apprised of the time frame and could
easily put it together with their first meeting.