The man shot her a quizzical look while Smith gave him a card. "If anyone asks to get into her apartment, call my cell phone immediately. No one gets in unless I clear it, okay?"
"Yeah, sure thing."
"Have a good day," Grace said as they went out under the awning. Approaching the car, Smith went ahead and opened the door. She climbed up into the backseat, trying not to rip her skirt in the process.
"Good morning!" The cheery, booming voice was a shock. "Didn't mean to startle you. I'm Eddie."
A hand the size of a bear paw was passed into the backseat and as she took it, she looked into a face that belonged on a Christmas card. Round, rosy-cheeked, white-bearded, the guy was a dead ringer for Santa Claus.
"Er. .." Grace smiled and shook her head. "I'm sorry to stare. It's just that you look—"
"Like Brad Pitt? Yeah, I get that a lot." The New York accent was thick, warping the words. She liked the sound of it. "So do I have to call you Countess?"
"Absolutely not. I'm Grace."
"Okay, Grace." He gave her a wink.
As soon as Smith climbed in the other side, the doors were locked with a stereo click.
"Mornin', Boss man," Eddie said, hitting the gas and throwing them out into traffic. Grace grabbed onto the armrest to keep from pitching into Smith's lap. As the Explorer's engine roared, and then Eddie slammed on the brakes to avoid sideswiping a taxi, she reached around behind her and put on her seat belt.
Heaven help her; she hoped they'd make it downtown in one piece.
Eddie looked up into the mirror. "Hey, Grace, what did you feed this one for breakfast? He looks a little drawn. A little piqued. A little—"
"Not in the mood for your antics," Smith muttered.
Grace's eyes flickered across the seat. Smith's tough face was relaxed.
"So come on, Grace," Eddie prompted, "whatcha feed him?"
The man was staring into the rearview mirror while pumping the gas and the brake like they were bike pedals. If only to get him to look at the street again, she said, "He didn't get a lot, I'm afraid,"
"Ah." He addressed Smith. "What'd you make do with? A bowl of cereal that tastes like cardboard but it's good for your colon?"
"Caviar," Smith said dryly.
"Jeez! Is that what you fancy people eat for breakfast?” Another wink was sent Grace's way. "Well, you can't keep a man like him going on fish eggs. Boss man, you want to pick up something on the way?"
The tone was light but the question serious. She had the impression that Eddie was used to taking care of Smith.
"I think I can make it."
"Well," Eddie huffed, "you aren't gonna lap me in a weight contest with that kind of attitude."
"That's a trophy you can take home."
Eddie looked back over to Grace in the mirror. "You know, not only can I eat him under the table, but I can bench press two of him.”Course, he could probably bench press two of me, come to think of it. Which is even more impressive."
Smith was staring out of the window, his face a study in calm concentration in spite of all the jerking and surging. She got the sense he was comfortable around Eddie and she wondered what had brought the two men together. Maybe they were related in some way.
She glanced at one and then the other. Or maybe not.
"We have to think of a reason ... for you," Grace said abruptly. "I don't want people to think I need a bodyguard."
Smith looked over at her, one eyebrow rising. "Understandable."
"A consultant. You'ie a consultant of some kind." She started smiling. "On organizational development."
He frowned. "What's that?"
"OD experts help companies overcome organizational stress by bringing staff together and helping them get along. Think Wall Street meets the Age of Aquarius."
He shrugged. "Sounds good to me."
"And it'll even explain the wardrobe."
"What's wrong with my clothes?" He drawled, obviously not prepared to change even if they were downright offensive.
She eyed his leather jacket with a smile. "You're not exactly pulling off the corporate pinstripe and wing tip routine."
Eddie laughed. "Well, the man's got basic black down cold. He's got more dark clothes than an undertaker."
"There's nothing wrong with black," Smith countered.
"Maybe if you're in the embalming arts, sure."
"You know that's just a side job."
The two shared a look and Grace's smile dropped from her face. She couldn't help wondering if Smith had had to kill anyone.
"Tell me more about your number two," he said.
"Lou Lamont is head of our Development Department. As I mentioned, he's been fighting with me, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, from the moment I took over."
"Well, maybe I can help him get used to you." There was a tightening of Smith's jaw and a furrow appeared between his brows.
"I thought you didn't know anything about OD."
Eddie laughed. "You're looking at a man who marshaled a team of Army Rangers through the desert. He can handle one guy in a suit. Trust me."
Grace flushed and looked at Smith. He must have been an officer, she thought. And fought in Desert Storm.
She stared at him, as if she could find answers in his face or his hands or the way he was sitting. He had one arm against the window and the other across the back of the seat. Spread out as he was, his jacket was gaping open and his black shirt stretched across his chest. The glimmer of his gun was barely visible. His confidence in himself was obvious.
But there were no hints, no clues for her.
She looked back out of the window, trying to distract herself by watching the people on the sidewalk. Anything to keep her from getting absorbed in him.
Although on that logic she'd need something big. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. A presidential motorcade.
Elvis, back from the dead.
When Eddie pulled up in front of the Hall Building, Smith leaned forward. "I've got stuff I need back at the hotel."
"No problem. Anything else?”
"Food. And lots of it."
"I know what you like."
"That's it."
Grace reached for the door handle but Smith stopped her. "Allow me."
He got out, looked around, and then opened her door.
Grace paused by Eddie's open window. "It was nice to meet you."
"You, too. Now will you feed him something real for lunch? A good sandwich. Some salad. Maybe a piece of fruit. It's good to keep the potassium up and protein is really important."
Smith rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're back at the extension school."
"Sure am. Just finished a class on nutrition. Now, I’m taking creative writing."
"Oh, boy." Smith lifted a hand as Eddie lurched back into traffic. "Here we go again."
Grace shot him a quizzical look as they walked past George Washington. She was surprised when he indulged her.
"Eddie never graduated from high school. When he turned fifty, he decided it was time to get educated. We've been through medieval history, French, and how to bake bread in the last year."
"That's wonderful."
"Yeah, except he made me eat his homework. He failed light and fluffy. Makes an excellent brick, though."
Grace glanced up at him and her quick laugh caught in her throat. His voice had been so casual, she'd assumed he was merely strolling through the plaza as she was. He wasn't. His eyes, calculating and impassive, were scanning the pedestrians around them, noting the revolving doors they were walking to, measuring the street behind them. His stride was even but she knew he could spring into action in the space of a breath.