Read Saving Grace for Free Online Page B

a
criminal, I smile and feign a confidence I am far from feeling.
    “I’m sure it was just a fluke. I happened to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Nothing more.”
    He blinks, another action I’m sure is designed to help him
cover what he really thinks of my pronouncement. For a moment his expression
exclaims a very clear you’re crazy lady .
    “Right,” he answers, dragging out the i .
“A fluke.”
    My reply is a small, tight smile. “I knew you’d see it my
way.”
    I stand and walk around the desk, somehow managing to
suppress the lingering limp as I walk towards the door.
    “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”
    Beaumont looks like he wants to argue, but after a few
seconds nods in acquiescence.
    “Of course. But, please, don’t forget the updates in the
future.”
    “Certainly,” I answer, having zero intention of following
through on that request. He’s moved onto my suspect list with his odd behavior.
Hell, everyone is on that list.
    Relieved, I shut and lock the door behind him, pulling the
shade over the glass top before turning back to the office. My offices--a small
reception area and one office really--are on the second floor of a quaint
mid-town building. I share the floor with a psychiatrist and a local insurance
company and all three businesses are longtime residents of the building. I
didn’t lie about the appointment exactly--not if lunch with the insurance
company’s receptionist counts as an appointment.
    And, I glance at the wall-mounted clock in the outer office,
I better get moving or risk being late. Inside my office, I push the door shut
behind me and get to work. Grabbing a priority mail box from the top of my file
cabinet, I set it on the desk and push my chair back out of the way. Grimacing
as I lower myself to the floor, absentmindedly rubbing my sore leg, I lean
forward to pry open a loose tile under the desk. After retrieving a stack of
files from the hidden hole, I return the square and press it back into place
before standing.
    I pull the chair closer and sit, grabbing a pen and
scrawling out Walker’s familiar address in Alabama, in care of myself. I’m not
sending it to my sister’s for the same reason I won’t be staying with her. If
trouble follows me home Walker can take care of himself. Honor can’t. Dropping
the files into the box--my recently received mail plus the other case files I
was working on at the time of the shooting--I quickly seal it. Grabbing my bag,
I lock the office behind me and head down the hall.
    I walk into the insurance company’s office to see Jennifer
chatting with one of the junior salesmen and slide the box onto the high ledged
shelf next to their outgoing mail. I’m probably letting paranoia get to me, but
it seems safer to mail the files to where I’m going and to do it from someone
else’s office. It isn’t unusual for me to leave my outgoing mail in one of the
other offices on the floor since the mail runs around lunchtime and I’m usually
out of my office at the time. No one will think it remarkable.
    Jennifer finally shoos away the salesman and comes around
the desk, hurrying out into the hall.
    “Let’s get out of here before someone discovers something
else that just has to be done right now.”
    I laugh and punch the elevator button. More like an
office-guru Girl Friday hybrid than a receptionist, Jennifer has an uncanny
ability for fixing things--reports, equipment, cranky clients--you name it, she
is good at it. Her fix-it skills went a long way in helping her negotiate her
last pay raise, but often makes escaping the office for lunch damn near
impossible. The ancient elevator finally dings, the doors slowly sliding open,
and we get in the full car. The building is emptying for lunch and we make
small talk with the car’s occupants. Outside we walk the couple blocks to our
favorite deli and stand in line to order. Jennifer fills me in on all the new
building gossip while I try to soak in the