An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(59)

She opened the refrigerator and thought of Smith. The shelves were full of fresh vegetables, meats, and cartons of orange juice and soy milk. She figured the appliance was probably grateful for being used as more than a graveyard for condiments.

She was on the way back to her bedroom after having had a sandwich, when the phone rang. Smith materialized in the doorway as she reluctantly picked up the receiver in the living room.

"Grace?" It was a male voice. A shakey, grief-stricken male voice.

"Yes?"

"It's Ted Lauer."

She felt the blood drain out of her head. "Oh, God no..."

"Mimi is ... she's gone, Grace ..." Ted choked and cleared his throat.

Letting out a small, wounded sound, she collapsed into a chair, picturing Mimi as the woman had left Bo's suite. The; idea that she'd been dead when Grace tried to reach her that morning was horrifying.

She tried to imagine Ted having to tell their son that his mother wasn't coming home ever again.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.

"There's nothing anyone can do."

When she finally put the phone down, after offering words of condolence and sorrow that felt pitifully insubstantial in the face of the man's suffering, she looked up at Smith.

"That family's life is ruined. Her son ..." She stood up, shaking her head desolately. "We can't go to Newport. The funeral's this weekend."

"I don't want you to go."

"To the funeral?" She frowned. "How can I not?"

Smith shook his head. "I'm not taking chances."

"But I'll be perfectly safe. You'll be with me—"

"It's going to be a mob scene. I told you, no big crowds if we can avoid it."

"But she was my friend." Grace crossed her arms over her chest, battling tears of rage and frustration and fear.

"Grace, we've got to be reasonable."

"They'll be plenty of policeman there. You manage to protect political figures, right? People like the ambassador," she shot back. "So why is it any different for me? "

"That night, I had the Plaza crawling with my men."

"So bring them on, make me a damn coat out of them, I don't care."

His eyes grew dark. "We have an agreement. You'll do what I say is right."

Grace started shaking her head. "This isn't fair. I have to go."

"It's got nothing to do with fairness. This is about risk and going to that funeral is an avoidable one. Serial killers enjoy seeing the aftermath of their work. There's a good possibility he'll be somewhere in the crowd and I don't want you anywhere near him."

"So what's next? Are you going to tell me I can't go to the Gala?" When he didn't answer her she thrust her chin out. " I'm going to the Foundation's Gala, John. No matter what you say."

"Then we may have a problem."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? Are you threatening to leave?"

"I told you from the beginning. I'm here only on my terms."

She was ready to argue with him when a surge of hope broke through her anger. "But maybe he'll be caught by then. Maybe this will be all over in a couple of weeks."

"Maybe."

His tone was more along the lines of maybe not.

"The Gala is still over three weeks away," she said. "Can we at least discuss this later?"

"You can't bargain with me."

She cursed out loud. "Fine! Can I yell at you, then? Because I'm getting pretty sick and goddamn tired of having no say in my life."

She felt wetness on her cheeks and realized she'd begun to cry. Impatiently, she wiped under her eyes.

"Christ," he muttered, holding out his arms. "Come here."

Grace hesitated and then went to his embrace, collapsing into his strength, laying her cheek on his wide chest. He held her for a long time, stroking her back with his big hands.

"I despise you right now," she said against his shirt.

"I know."



* * *



Smith cradled her in his arms for some time, trying to ease some of her frustration and fear. He'd decided even before Mimi Lauer's death that he might have to pull Grace out of the Gala and knew the conversation was going to be a tough one.



She was right. He had protected people like the ambassador, people who were being hunted by assassins who liked taking down targets in public. And the killer who was after Grace had a pattern of working in private. He probably preferred an intimate setting, which was why he killed in the victims homes. Still, though Smith trusted his men and he had confidence in himself, when it came to Grace the slightest elevation in risk seemed unacceptable.

As he held her tightly against him, he couldn't bear the thought of her getting hurt and felt a real shot of sympathy for that Lauer woman's husband. To find out your wife had her throat slashed open and bled to death in your living room. What the hell was that like for a civilian? Death was hard enough to deal with if you were trained to handle it and it took out your colleagues or your enemies. But a wife ?

Christ.

He recalled what Marks had told him over the phone earlier. The murder had been along the lines of the other two. No forcible entry. Vicious knife work. No prints. And the woman's clothes had been neatly arranged after the struggle. The killing fit the pattern although it was out of order. Isadora Cunis should have been next if the killer was following the sequence of the article but Smith knew that didn't mean that woman was out of danger. Marks had said Cunis and her husband had left the city and were not coming back until her big event later in the month.