The Secret Brokers (18 page)

“You mean in Lawrence’s bedroom,” he corrected.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m…
.
” She ran her hands over her face. “I mean it’s been a while.” She rolled her eyes. “A long while since…and I don’t know if I’m ready…
.
”

“I’m not expecting you to jump into bed with me tonight, Gwen. What happens between us happens. Besides, I think we have more important things to worry about.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

Dallas’s arctic eyes burned into hers. “Like staying alive.”

The following afternoon, Dallas pulled his red Mercedes in front of an opulent French Quarter mansion. The three-story home had a Greek revival façade with towering columns and intricately carved statues of women draped in togas situated along a high garden wall behind the main house. The exterior was done in plaster and painted bright red. There were
French
doors located along the first and second stories with a long, grand wrought iron balcony sweeping across the second floor. A wide front door of dark mahogany had the letters “C” and “B” intertwined in leaded glass. The gardens were expensively landscaped with lemon and lime trees lining a red-bricked walkway.

Gwen stepped from the car, carrying her brown leather purse and a small overnight bag. She peered up at the three chimneys rising from the sloping roof.
“Who in the hell owns this monstrosity?”

Dallas shut the door of the car behind him as he walked around to the trunk. “Knowing Lance, I’m afraid to ask.”

Dallas nodded to the overnight bag on Gwen’s shoulder. “I thought you put your bag in the trunk.”

“I did.” She patted the bag. “This is medical supplies for my arm, your finger, and
whatever
else may arise. With your knife skills, I felt it was better to plan ahead, in case you lop off an ear or something.”

“I don’t think I like the sound of that,” Dallas grumbled as he opened the trunk.

As he began unloading their luggage, a black Ford Crown Victoria pulled up behind him.

Brewster hastily exited the car and walked over to Dallas. He took Dallas by the elbow and discreetly pulled him a few feet away from the back of the red Mercedes.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Brewster said, waving at the house.

“What are you talking about?”

“This is Carl Bordonaro’s home.” Brewster pointed to the front door. “His initials, ‘C’ and ‘B’ are on the front door. He was well known for placing his initials into the architecture of the home during its renovation. He even wanted to have the roof shingles laid out in contrasting colors to make the letters ‘CB,’ but the local port authority shut him down when they said it would only confuse helicopter pilots making tours of the river front.”

Dallas shrugged. “What do you want me to do, Brewster?”

Brewster leaned in closer to him, his dark eyes bulging in their sockets. “Find another place to stay,” he angrily asserted.

“I would be an idiot to refuse Carl’s hospitality. And I don’t think there’s a safer place for Gwen right now. Robertson’s men wouldn’t be stupid enough to blatantly break into Carl’s home and try to hurt us. You and I know that would be tantamount to declaring war in the underworld,” Dallas added with a grin.

“If something happens, August, we can’t come in and save the two of you
, not
without court orders and a hell of a lot of red tape. I got the impression from Dan Wilbur that you were going to help us.”

Dallas stepped away from Brewster and went back to the car. “I am helping you.” He lifted the last of the bags from the trunk and placed it on the ground. “I’m protecting the girl for you guys. Anything other than that was strictly Dan’s imagination.”

“I’m gonna be blunt, August,” Brewster growled, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what kind of crap you have on Dan Wilbur to make him go soft on you, but I don’t like it, and I personally would like to bust your ass for interfering with a federal investigation.”

Dallas chuckled. “Why Agent Brewster, I think that is a threat. Are you threatening me?”

“I don’t like you or your business. People like you give the Bureau a bad name.”

Dallas waved his hand to Gwen, standing beside the car. “I’m so glad we cleared that up. Now if you don’t mind. I’m going to get Gwen settled in the notorious Mafia kingpin’s home.”

Brewster scowled at Dallas and then returned to his car.

“What was that about?” Gwen asked as she came up to his side.

Dallas nodded to the black Ford. “Brewster doesn’t want us staying here.”

“Probably pissed that he’s not in charge,” Gwen remarked.

They collected their luggage and strolled down the red-bricked walkway to the entrance. Dallas pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket as they climbed the front steps. “You know, I think Brewster doesn’t like me,” Dallas admitted.

Gwen repositioned the two overnight bags hanging from her right shoulder. “That doesn’t surprise me. He reminds me of every self-righteous asshole I ever met. I never liked the guy hanging around my farm. Why was he so upset about us staying here?”

“It seems this is Carl Bordonaro’s house,” Dallas reported, punching the code he had written down on the paper into the keypad next to the front door.

“And how do you feel about staying here?” Gwen questioned as she examined the detail in the leaded glass door.

“We should be well protected. No one would be foolish enough to trespass on Carl’s property,” Dallas asserted as the door popped open.

“Or we could be huge targets because it is Carl’s property.”

Dallas pushed the front door open. “Well, at least here we’ll be out from under the thumb of the self-righteous Brewster. Feds won’t set foot in Carl’s house with anything less than an edict from the Pope.”

Gwen gave her funny smile as she walked through the front door. “This place is sounding better already.”

Once Dallas had shut the front door, he found the keypad by the entrance and punched in the same code. He waited until a green light flashed above the keypad.

“We’re all locked in now,” he informed Gwen. “Don’t open the garage door or this front door, otherwise you’ll set off the alarm and the half of the NOPD that is on Carl’s payroll will probably show up.”

They wandered from the entrance and into a palatial foyer. The floors were covered in white marble and the walls had burgundy wallpaper with traces of gold leaf speckled throughout. Hanging on the walls were paintings by Frederic Remington, John Frederick Peto, and Fitz Henry Lane. Gwen examined the different works, until a small drawing of a woman shaped like a puzzle box distracted her.

“Is that…is that a Picasso?”

Dallas glanced over at the drawing. “Probably,” he replied, and then he recognized another painting hanging not far from the Picasso.

The portrait was of a familiar woman with auburn hair and creamy skin, standing on a porch and gazing into a beautiful sunset. The evening sun had captured her beauty against the magnificence of a red and gold sky.

“Wow, now that is a stunning portrait,” Gwen spoke up beside him as her eyes took in painting. “I know this painter…I’ve seen his work before. Do you know his name?”

Dallas smiled. “David Alexander.”

Gwen took in a breath. “Ah, yes, his Jenny.” She paused as she admired the portrait. “Nicci Beauvoir was a beautiful woman. It’s a shame she died so young.”

Dallas nodded. “Yes, it is.” He quickly picked up his suitcase and started across the foyer.

He stopped in front of a curved mahogany staircase and dropped his suitcase and overnight bag on the floor. Along the walls by the staircase were more paintings, all by American artists whose names neither one of them could remember.

“Let’s check out the rest of the first floor before heading upstairs,” Dallas proposed.

Gwen put her bags and purse down on the floor. “Sounds good to me.”

Dallas took her elbow. “Come on. I want to check out the kitchen.”

Dallas escort
ed
Gwen down a tastefully decorated hallway done in different shades of gold and green. At the end of the hallway, a wide arched doorway opened into an expansive kitchen.

Dallas walked ahead of her as they entered the kitchen. Along the right wall was a built-in refrigerator and matching freezer. An eight-burner gas cooktop was located on an island in the center of the room, and against the far wall next to the extra wide double sink were four built-in electric ovens. The counters were done in a sandy-colored, rustic Italian tile, and at the far end of the room was an open wood burning pizza oven.

Gwen stepped into the kitchen. “I guess we know where you’ll be sleeping.”

Dallas turned to her with a huge grin on his face. “Always wanted a kitchen like this—the kind you could get lost in.”

He discovered the refrigerator and freezer had been filled with fresh fruits, vegetables, fish, meat, chicken, eggs, milk, cream, and a variety of cheeses. The pantry had also been fully stocked with enough canned goods and dried foods to last them a month or more.

“Why didn’t you become a chef instead of a bodyguard?” Gwen asked as she watched him going through the pantry.

Dallas shut the pantry door. “After my parents died, I tried my best to forget about cooking and all of the things they loved to do. I graduated college, joined the FBI and…
.
” He shrugged. “Cooking has only become something of a hobby in the past few years. I would never be any good as a chef.”

“You never know until you try. And it would be a hell of a lot safer than your current profession.”

Dallas turned to exit the room. “Let’s see what else we can find,” he insisted over his shoulder.

What they found was a small library, filled from floor to ceiling with rare copies of antique
leather-bound
books, and a dining room capable of seating twenty-five people. Across from the dining room was a gym with a treadmill, elliptical machine, free weights, and a stationary bike. There was also a media room with four widescreen televisions, along with a blue-ray player, and a CD stereo system. In addition, a mahogany-paneled study boasted a stone fireplace, a bar, and a
150
-
gallon saltwater aquarium.

They eventually made their way to the back patio. Ten-foot-high, red-bricked walls surrounded a kidney-shaped pool with a hot tub, shower, and an outdoor bar. Along the side of the patio was a wide waterfall that spilled into a rectangular pond. Inside the pond, several large koi could be seen swimming about. To his right Dallas saw a door that led to the garage entrance that faced Burgundy Street.

“Who feeds all the fish?” Gwen asked, nodding to the pond.

“Knowing Lance, I’m sure we’ll find a note somewhere with instructions,” Dallas commented with a roll of his eyes.

He pulled Gwen back to the foyer and picked up his suitcase and overnight bag. They started up the winding mahogany staircase and took a right at the top of the stairs.

The first bedroom they came to was done in pale blue with a king-sized, four-poster bed in the center, a mahogany dresser and nightstand, a white marble inlay fireplace, and a flat screen television. There was also an adjoining bathroom with a wide shower, Jacuzzi tub, double vanity, and double closets.

Dallas walked over to the bed and tossed his black suitcase and overnight bag on the pale blue comforter. “I’ll take this one, since it is closest to the stairs.” He turned back to Gwen. “Let’s find you a room.”

They stepped down the hall and discovered the bedroom next door was done in pale green with similar mahogany furniture, and a private bathroom.

Gwen placed her overnight bag, her bag of medical supplies, and her purse on the bed.

“Maybe you should have packed a little more than that,” he suggested as he nodded to her overnight bag. “We may be here a while.”

Gwen shrugged. “I don’t need much, and I’m sure once the trial is over in the next few days I can go back home.”

“And what if it isn’t over then?”

She drew her blond brows together. “What do you mean?”

“Gwen, your father is testifying against a known underworld figure—your lives will never be safe again. Brewster told me that your father refused to go into the Witness Protection Program after the trial. He refused for both of you. Don’t you understand you’re going to be just as vulnerable after the trial as you are now? Even if Robertson gets convicted, he could still order someone to kill you.”

“Ed explained all of that to me, and I agreed with him about not wanting to go into Witness Protection. I can’t live like that. Ed promised that he will make arrangements to see to his safety and mine.”

“Are we talking about Carl Bordonaro arranging for your safety?”

She nodded. “That’s why my father is testifying. He only agreed to do it as long as Carl could guarantee my safety and his.”

“That’s a tall order, even for a man like Carl Bordonaro,” Dallas insisted.

Gwen unzipped her overnight bag. “Carl is a man of his word. If he said he can guarantee it, he can.”