The Secret Brokers (19 page)

Gwen began unpacking T-shirts and placing them in a mahogany dresser next to the bed.

“You have a lot of faith in Carl. Are you two close?” Dallas asked.

“Not that close. He was my father’s friend and I knew him growing up.”

Dallas reflected on what Carl had told him about Gwen Marsh and the kind regard he had for the woman. Gwen’s casual attitude contrasted sharply with Carl’s version of their relationship.

“You must have met a lot of men like Carl growing up the way you did. I bet you have some stories to tell,” he added and intently waited for her reaction.

“No.” She shook her head and went back to her overnight bag. “I didn’t really meet that many of Carl’s friends. My father tried to shelter me from that lifestyle. I didn’t fully understand about Carl and the rest of my father’s friends until I was in nursing school.”

“And what made you decide to go to nursing school?”

Gwen shrugged as she placed some jeans in a dresser drawer. “Seemed like a good fit for me. I was interested in the human body, and because I grew up in a stable, I was not afraid of the sight of blood.”

“Did you like being a nurse?” He stepped into the room and moved closer to her bed.

Gwen retrieved some toiletries from of her bag. “I liked my patients,” she admitted as she walked into the bathroom.

“What kind of patients did you take care of?” He sat down on the bed.

Gwen emerged from the bathroom. “Mostly elderly. I worked mainly on medical surgical floors, so many of the patients there
were
elderly.”

Dallas traced his finger along the pale green bedspread. “I bet you liked talking to your patients. You seem like someone who really cares.”

Gwen reached into her bag and pulled out some white cotton panties. “Yeah, I liked talking to my patients. Heard a hell of a lot of great stories.”

“And what about secrets?” Dallas softly asked. “Did any of your patients ever tell you things you wished they hadn’t?”

Gwen stopped and stared at him. Her mouth turned downward around the edges and then she looked away. She stepped over to the dresser and put her underwear in a drawer.

“Yes, I heard secrets, mostly from people at death’s doorstep; things I wish they had never told me, but my job was to listen. Sometimes all the dying want is someone to listen to them before it’s too late.”

Dallas got up from the bed and walked back to the entrance. “That sounds like a dangerous profession, Gwen. Dead men don’t have to worry about secrets, only the living do. Just make sure you don’t keep all of those secrets locked away for too long.”

“Listening to the last confessions of the dying isn’t dangerous,” she insisted.

“It is when you learn things that other’s may want to know.”

She gazed up at him. “What kind of things?”

Dallas shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Get unpacked and I’ll make us some lunch,” he commented as he noted Gwen’s distracted eyes.

Dallas August could not help but grin as he walked out of her bedroom. He was making progress. Soon, he would get her to tell him everything he needed to know.

***

Dallas was in Carl’s gym, getting in a few miles on the treadmill before bed
,
when his cell phone began ringing. He grabbed his cell phone from the treadmill console, and answered the call.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone.

“Everything all right?” Lance Beauvoir inquired on the other end of the line. “Haven’t gotten any news flashes about you in the past eight hours, so I thought I should check in.”

Dallas kept up his pace on the treadmill. “We’re fine. Hell of a place our friend has here.”

“I know,” Lance agreed. “A shame he hasn’t had much of a chance to live in it. Hiding out from the feds doesn’t allow one much use for a permanent address.” He paused. “How is she doing?”

“Went up to bed right after dinner,” Dallas told him. “She’s been pretty restless since we got here. I think the events of yesterday are starting to get to her.”

“What’s that noise?” Lance asked, sounding concerned.

“I’m on the treadmill. Just wanted to get a few miles in before bed,” Dallas replied.

“Why?”

“I like to stay in shape, Lance.”

“That’s what sex is for
,”
Lance chuckled. “I wanted to let you know I’ll be coming by tomorrow with some fish food. Our friend stopped his usual fish guy from coming out since you two took up residence. He wondered if you and Gwen wouldn’t mind seeing to his herd of future sushi rolls.”

“Gwen was wondering about that,” Dallas reported as he wiped the sweat away from his brow. “I’m sure Gwen will like having some kind of animal to take care of. Might help get her mind off things.”

“I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon. Let me know if I can pick up anything on my way there.”

“Will do,” Dallas told him. “I’m sure Gwen will enjoy seeing you again.”

Lance laughed. “No, she won’t.” He hung up the phone.

***

After his four-mile run, Dallas was standing in the door to the gym, toweling off, when he saw the light go on in the kitchen. He slung the towel over his shoulder and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

When he stepped through the arched doorway, he saw Gwen with her back to him, rummaging through the refrigerator.

He quietly walked up behind her. “Can’t sleep?”

Gwen jumped and spun around. “You scared the crap out of me. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” She placed her hand over her chest and then her eyes became distracted by his running shorts and naked chest. “What have you been up to?”

The bright light from the refrigerator shone through her thin T-shirt, casting a seductive silhouette. Dallas examined the curve of her hips, her naked thighs, and the muscles in her slender calves.

“I was running,” he answered as he moved closer to her. “What are you looking for?”

She turned back to the refrigerator. “That chicken cacciatore you made tonight.”

Dallas placed his hands on her hips and gently nudged her aside. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a blue container from the top shelf.

“Here.” He handed her the container and felt a twinge of electricity pass through him as his fingers caressed her soft skin.

She glanced down at the floor as she took the container from him. “I, ah, couldn’t sleep and this stuff…
.
” She held up the container. “It was really good. I figured I would come down here and grab a nibble.”

Dallas folded his arms over his naked chest as he smiled, smugly. “I guess that means you like my cooking after all.”

“It’s good.” She shook her head and smiled at him. “It’s very good. You really should reconsider becoming a chef.” She went over to a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a fork. “If I had the money, I’d hire you to cook for me.” She took the fork and the container over to a chair next to a dark oak breakfast table in the corner of the room and had a seat.

“I think that is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He watched as Gwen pulled the top off the container and started digging into the leftovers with her fork. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she munched on her chicken. “I’ve been thinking about everything that has happened, worrying about my horses, thinking about poor Harley, and then…
.
” She motioned to him.

He frowned at her. “Me? I’m glad to know I’m on your mind, even if I do come behind your animals.” He took a sip of water.

She dipped her fork into the bowl of chicken smothered in red sauce. “I just feel like I know so little about you and you know so much about me.”

Dallas glimpsed the bottle of water in his hand. “What would you like to know?”

Gwen sighed. “Where do you live, for starters?”

“New York City.”

“Any brothers or sisters? You never mentioned anyone.” She placed a fork full of chicken in her mouth.

“No brothers or sisters. I do have a few cousins and an Uncle Elliot who lives in Connecticut. He runs the family yacht building business.”

“And why aren’t you running the family business? Do you not like boats or something?”

Dallas took a seat next to her at the table. “No, I love boats, but running the family business wasn’t for me.”

Gwen placed her fork down on the table. “Why not?”

“I’m not a boat builder. I don’t have the patience for that kind of business. I got frustrated with the customers and sitting around doing books half the time drove me crazy.”

“Is what you do—protecting people—is it profitable?” She rested her elbow on the table and placed her head against her hand.

Dallas nodded. “Yes, very profitable. But that’s not why I do it. I like the adventure and sometimes the danger keeps me on my toes.”

“But you can’t do this forever. One day you will have to slow down. What will you do instead?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’ll go back to the boatyard, or sail around the world. I’m not sure which. I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

Gwen snapped the top back on the container of chicken cacciatore. “I hope you figure that out sooner than later, Dallas. I don’t want to see you end up like Ed or Carl Bordonaro. Experiencing life from the shadows and hiding from the world is no way to live. I think if you keep doing what you do, you’ll eventually find that out.”

“And how different will my life be from yours when this trial is over
?
You’ll be living constantly looking over your shoulder, Gwen. Last night was just a sample of what is ahead for you.”

“And what do you suggest I do? I can’t live in a Witness Protection Program. Neither can my father. I would rather die living with my secrets instead of spending a lifetime running from them.”

“You don’t have to live with your secrets, Gwen. You can share them with me.”

“Why would you do that for me?” She tossed her head to the side. “You have no idea what I’m talking about,” she mumbled.

Dallas placed his bottle of water on the table. “I think I have a pretty good idea. Since the moment we met, I feel like there is something you’re fighting to keep hidden, like you are carrying around some great burden. If you would let me, I would like to help you.” He lowered his voice and added, “I’m here for you, Gwen.”

She sighed heavily as she looked down at the container of chicken cacciatore on the table. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell you all about my secrets.” She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his lips. “But not today,” she whispered.

Gwen got up from her stool and took her container back to the refrigerator. “Good night,” she said as she strolled out of the kitchen.

Dallas listened as her feet padded down the hallway. He picked up the bottle of water from the table and placed it against his forehead.

“I need to get the hell out of here,” he whispered into the empty room.

He got up from the table and pondered what was going to happen to Gwen once he was out of her life. He had never before considered the aftermath of an assignment. Long ago he had trained himself to walk away from a job and forget all about it. Now he found himself worrying about how Gwen would remember him, and, more importantly, how would he feel when this job was finally over.

He flipped off the lights and for a moment envied the ability of that light switch to just shut everything down. He wished he could once again find that ability within himself—to turn off his emotions with just a flick of a switch.

The next morning Dallas was up to his elbows in flour when Gwen came into the kitchen. She observed the way he angrily pounded a lump of dough against the Italian tile on the counter.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked as she walked over to the gourmet coffee machine.

“Making pizza dough,” he replied. “Thought I would try out that fancy pizza oven for lunch.”

As she filled her cup with the rich smelling coffee, she glanced back at Dallas. “You really do love to cook,” she commented and added a teaspoon of sugar to her coffee. “It’s a shame you don’t pursue some kind of catering business or restaurant. You would really be in your element.”

“Lance told me you got more than a few offers to cater parties around the city and turned them all down. You, more than anyone, should be able to understand why I don’t want to cook for a living. It’s something I do for me. And I’m afraid turning it into a business would destroy the joy it brings me.”

“The joy it brings you?” Gwen frowned. “Cooking never brought me anything like that,” she mumbled.

“Then what about your animals? They bring you joy
,
don’t they?”

She smiled and nodded. “Most definitely.” She took a sip of her coffee. “When I was a kid I was alone a lot. My animals were always there for me. I used to bring home strays all the time.” She laughed. “Used to drive my mother nuts.”

Dallas stopped kneading his dough. “Your mother? I thought you said you couldn’t remember much about your mother?”