Free Secondary Targets by Sandra Edwards Page A

and that panged her heart like a pin cushion overrun with tiny needles.
    Grace looked for sanctuary in Marcus’s outdoor paradise. The deck—the ultimate in backyards—offered endless possibilities, from the empty dining table near the lavish grill, to the benches surrounding the fire pit, to the plush lawn chairs accompanying the hot tub.
    I need to sit down . Maybe then, she could pull herself together. She chose the inviting wicker furniture beneath an ivy-tangled pergola.
    “Listen, if you want to cut and run,” she said, dropping onto the oversized, cushioned chair, “I’ll understand.”
    “Not my style,” Eric said. “That’s more your department.”
    Irritated by his mocking tone, her lips parted in surprise. Was he joking?
    “Is that supposed to be funny?” she said in a voice that was as cool and clear as ice water. He had to be joking. The only other option was that he was intentionally being mean. Grace’s mind raced through her memories, searching for any inclination that he’d always been this insolent.
    Her reaction seemed to amuse him. His laughter had a sharp edge as he sauntered toward Grace and took the seat opposite her. Sitting back, he propped his feet on Marcus’s table, and a cheeky grin overtook his features.
    “Nah...” He laced his hands behind his head. “It wasn’t meant to be funny.” But, judging by the look on his face, absolute gratification, he wasn’t torn up that she’d taken it that way. “Interesting how that works out, huh?”
    And annoying. Swamped by a measure of bitterness, she laughed to hide her building frustration.
    Eric Wayne had turned into a real pain-in-the-ass.

CHAPTER 10
    MARCUS prided himself on the notion that his guests could count on any meal he served to be not only grand, but entirely satisfying. Everything from the sophisticated display of foods right down to the Tansu table from American Drew that he served them on, it all showed how much Marcus enjoyed the art of dining.
    Even if it was just him, which it usually was, he was never one to skimp when it came to a good meal.
    He referred to this one as brunch because he was serving it much later than the first meal of the day. But, in reality, it was nothing more than an elaborate spread of breakfast foods. It was all there. Eggs, biscuits, potatoes, bacon, sausage, pancakes and various fruits—all ready and available for the taking.
    From the head of the table, he dished the foods nearest him onto both Eric and Grace’s plates, and passed his own for them to return the favor. Eric tossed strips of bacon and sausage medallions onto Marcus’s plate and passed it to Grace, who carefully spooned country fries next to the meats before handing the dish back to Marcus.
    “I’m not saying this is all tied together.” Marcus sat his plate down and grabbed his fork. “But I’ve heard stories.” He hesitated, unsure if he should be telling this to anyone. Even Eric, whom he trusted implicitly. With that notion, he continued, “Different versions of the same tale, more than once. About some poor schmuck who’d insisted he was being framed.”
    Up till now, Eric had been listening quietly, only stealing quick looks at him every-so-often. But the revelation grabbed Eric’s attention and hauled it to Marcus.
    “Framed?” Grace, who’d been concentrating more on the food, chimed in. “For what?” She stilled, confirming she was ill-at-ease. “And by who?”
    “For what...” Marcus shook his head. “That never really matters. And by whom is purely a matter of speculation.” A secretive tone fueled his words. “The important thing is that they all had two things in common.” He waited until their curiosity caught up with his disclosure. When sufficient interest lit their faces, Marcus continued. “They all said they were being framed.”
    “Isn’t that the usual defense?” Eric chuckled and chomped on a piece of bacon.
    “Yeah, but, when they also say they were offered a