Saving Grace

“The thought of getting in the middle of someone else’s love life doesn’t appeal to me,” Declan said.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“No one could ever accuse you of being a romantic.”

Ian snorted. “You’re romantic enough for the both of us. Turning in your resignation on a job that was your life and leaving town all because of a supposed curse by some jealous witch of a woman.” He shook his head.

“Hey, it affects you, too, Ian.”

“If I believed in curses.”

“How can you not when you’ve seen the things that have happened to other McKennas who were descendants of Donal?” Declan asked. “Or what happened to my mother? Nothing like a scorned witch good at casting spells.”

Should Donal McKenna’s descendants find love and act on their feelings, they would put their loved ones in mortal danger. McKenna loves had died from illness, accident and even murder—and they’d all been young. Considering their McKenna relatives all had abilities that regular people didn’t, how could Ian shut his mind to the possibility that Sheelin O’Keefe had indeed cast a powerful hex on them all?

“As a private investigator, I’ve seen all kinds of terrible things happen in relationships,” Ian said. “Maybe we’re all doomed to heartache and unhappiness and we just aren’t aware of it until it happens to us.”

“Not everyone loses the love of their life to death.”

His mother had died from a mysterious fall before Declan was even born—he’d been taken surgically from her lifeless body. His survival had been a miracle. His father had remarried and Declan had several half siblings, but that relationship had been built on respect, not on romantic love. As an empath, Declan was as aware of that as he was of his father’s limited love for him. Padraig McKenna blamed him for the loss of the love of his life—not that he ever said so. But from the time he was a boy, Declan had sensed it, had sensed the difference in what Da felt for him compared to the others. It was something he had to live with, something he would never pass down to a child of his own.

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Ian said. “There are McKennas very happily married.”

“But not without overcoming danger … and some of them aren’t married to their true loves,” Declan countered, wondering if Grace had ever found hers and had her heart broken. Thinking of the woman, he said, “Back to the new case I took on last night. I’m going to a charity event tonight where I’ll meet with Grace Broussard.”

“Lucky man.”

“It’s business, Ian.”

“She is single.”

“And a client.” Though a very beautiful, very desirable, very vulnerable woman.

“Which means you need to act in her best interests. whatever that entails.” Ian winked.

Sensing a surge of unadulterated lust wash over him from his cousin, Declan said, “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I appreciate the package, but she’s not my type. I want a woman with drive and big appetites for everything.”

Despite himself, Declan asked, “How do you know Grace doesn’t qualify?”

“I might not know Grace Broussard personally, but I know of her. At least enough to read her.”

Having grown up in New Orleans, having worked for a major private investigations firm before they started their own, his cousin had the pulse of the rich and famous, knew where the bodies were buried, so to speak.

“There’s more to her than you give her credit for,” Declan said.

Ian shrugged. “Grace Broussard has gone through life without goals. She went from school to school, job to job, never earning a degree, never settling down to a career, never developing a long-lasting relationship with a man.”

“Until Voodoo.”

“If you call that a career.”

“What would you call it?”

“A distraction. It won’t last, Declan. Nothing with Ms. Broussard ever does.”

“I didn’t get that from her.”

“Using your abilities to read her, are you?”

“You have an argument against my using another tool to help my client?”

“If that’s your story …”

“It’s not a story. Grace Broussard came to me for help. She thought it was an annoyance—a stalker—but there’s more to it. Someone is trying to blackmail her.”

“That’s a new turn. For doing what?”

“For doing her job.”

“You mean photographs?”

“Someone installed a hidden camera in her dressing room.”

Ian whistled. “What does the blackmailer want?”

“Don’t know yet. The demand will be e-mailed at midnight. I might need some of your expertise to track the e-mail back to the sender.”

“No problem. Let me know what you need.”

“I will. In the meantime, I’d better get out of here and change.”

Checking his watch, Declan realized he had to hurry. Luckily his apartment was a quick walk from the office. Once inside, he was showered and dressed in ten minutes. And in another five, he was on his way to the hotel.

Declan couldn’t help but mull over what he’d learned from his cousin about Grace. A woman who didn’t get herself involved in long-term relationships. Perfect. She might be a client now, but that would change when he solved the case. He was already looking forward to the possibilities.

CARS AND TAXIS LINED UP outside the Hotel Monteleone. Declan looked for Grace as he went inside. No luck there, either. Not that she couldn’t be in the ballroom. It was already swarming with guests.

Declan wandered through the crowd, his intent not only to find her, but also to read the guests, as well. Empathic impressions weren’t as accurate an ability as telepathy, for example, but taking the pulse of the room had always served him well, perhaps the reason he’d had such a good arrest and conviction record as a cop.

As he walked through the crowd, Declan opened himself to the people around him who didn’t even notice he was there. Most people were into themselves, projecting a particular face to the room—success, interest, openness—while casting out vibes at odds with those facades.

He sensed uncertainty … contempt … awe … remorse.

Unfortunately he could only take the crowd’s pulse. It would demand a face-to-face to get a clearer picture of how any particular emotion played out in a given situation.

Suddenly the tenor of the room changed, lust being the overriding emotion sizzling off the men around him. Declan turned, his gaze fixed on the entrance where he caught a glimpse of a gown that shimmered and glowed as brightly as the crystal chandeliers overhead.