An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(6)

"How are you doing?" Her friend's voice had an edge to it.

"I told you. I'm fine, Mrs. Farrell. Now, I want details, although the Cliffs Notes version of the wedding night will be sufficient."

"You look exhausted."

"You just told me I looked fabulous."

"You look fabulous and tired." Carter's expression softened. "I've been worried about you. I know how close you and your father were."

Grace glanced down into her wine. "Let's only talk about good things. Wouldn't you rather wow me with details of the honeymoon?"

The silence that followed told her that Carter, in typical fashion, wasn't going to be sidetracked.

Grace put her glass to her lips and emptied it in two swallows. Liquid courage, she thought, tilting the thing toward her friend.

Carter obligingly refilled it.

"Did you read in today's paper about Cuppie Alston's death?"

Carter frowned. "A gruesome tragedy. You knew her well, didn't you?"

Grace nodded. "I was at the reception last night. Waiting for her to arrive like everyone else."

"That must have been awful."

"It was. They kept extending the cocktail hour until finally they had to start the program without her. That empty chair on the dais ..." Grace shuddered. "They found an article next to the body, about socialites in the city. Cuppie was one of the women covered by it."

"Don't tell me they think it's some kind of serial killer?"

Grace took a deep breath. "I was also featured in the piece. I was questioned by the police today."

Her friend's response was a shocked hiss.

"My God, Grace." Carter reached across the table, knocking over a salt shaker.

Grace gave her friend a reassuring squeeze while righting the shaker with her other hand. Just then, the back door swung open and Nick Farrell strode into the kitchen. They both looked up.

Farrell was a big man, a powerful man, dressed in an elegant pinstriped suit with a pale blue shirt and dark tie. As he placed a lingering kiss on his new wife's mouth, Grace looked away discreetly.

"So this is not just Grace Woodward Hall," Carter said nodding her head across the table. "This is my old friend Woody."

Pale gray eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard a lot of things about what you and Carter have done together."

As she shook his hand, Grace forced a smile. "It is true we were almost kicked out of Groton for smuggling in wine coolers, but that thing about the St. Mark's lacrosse team is a total fabrication."

He laughed and glanced back at Carter. Instantly, his expression changed. Dark brows crashed together. "What's wrong?"

Carter's eyes flashed across the table. When Grace shrugged, her friend explained. When she was done, Farrell wore a grim expression.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said.

"Please," Grace interrupted. "None of this is your problem. I don't want to—"

"We're going to call John Smith."

"That's a great idea," Carter declared.

"Who's John Smith?" Grace asked. "Other than a man with a ridiculously ubiquitous name?”

"He's helped me in the past," Farrell said. "He's a private security guy. First rate. And he's very discreet."

"I don't really think that's necessary."

Nick shot her a blunt look. "Whoever left that article is probably just getting started. You want to meet him some night when you happen to be alone? "

The picture of Cuppie's throat flashed through her mind and Grace felt a stab of fear in her chest.

Carter frowned and stroked her arm protectively. "You don't have to be so harsh, Nick."

"I apologize, but you both know I'm right. She needs a bodyguard."



Grace looked away from the man's intense, diamond-colored eyes. The last thing she felt up to was fighting with someone like Farrell about her own safety. She didn't have the energy to spare and, even if she did, she had a feeling he rarely backed down once he'd made up his mind.

"I'm calling Smith right now," he announced and left the room.

Grace took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She shouldn't have come, she thought.

Carter rushed to apologize. "I'm sorry. He can be a little ... aggressive when he worries. We're working on that. It's really just because he's concerned."

Grace shrugged, feeling the tension in her shoulders. "I don't want to be an alarmist. I'm not a movie star who needs a posse and I don't want some doughnut-munching rent-a-cop following me around."

“From what I've heard about this guy, Smith seems more like a trained killer."

Grace flattened her lips. "I don't want that either."

When Farrell came back ten minutes later, he said, "Smith’ll be here tomorrow morning."

Grace opened her mouth to protest but the two of them just stared at her with almost identical expressions of determination.

No wonder they were such a great pair, she thought. Although their arguments could probably level a city block.

“I guess it can't hurt to talk to him," she said, giving up.

As they smiled at her, Grace took another sip from her glass. Inside, she felt numb. As she had so often in previous weeks, she found herself wondering whose life she was living.