The Secret Brokers (22 page)

Dallas lowered his hands and placed them behind his back. “I don’t know. It’s a big house and Gwen is the restless sort. She never sits still.”

Brewster squinted his deep brown eyes at Dallas as if trying to figure out if he was lying or telling the truth. “We’ll start a sweep upstairs and then go through the first floor,” he said, waving Dallas up the stairs with his gun.

As he started up the steps, Dallas thought of every scenario he could for keeping Gwen safe. He had to find some way to warn her.

They stepped on to the second floor landing together. Dallas slowly walked over to the first bedroom door to his left. Hoping to b
u
y some time, he figured he could go through the three bedrooms down the hall to his left before he approached Gwen’s room.

Dallas opened the first bedroom door and stepped inside. He moved over to the bed as Brewster came into the room. After checking the bedroom and adjoining bathroom, Brewster turned Dallas.

“How many bedrooms?” he asked.

Dallas shrugged. “Five on the second floor. There’s a billiard room on the third floor.”

Brewster placed his gun right under Dallas’s chin. “And where are the two of you staying?”

“Two main bedrooms off to the right of the stairs,” Dallas replied.

“Two bedrooms? What’s the matter, August, losing your touch with the ladies?”

“She’s a job, Brewster. Just a job.”

Brewster lowered the gun from his chin. “From what I have heard, it doesn’t matter if they’re a job or not to you.” He motioned to the door with the gun.

Dallas walked out of the room and waited by the door for Brewster. When the agent stepped into the hall, Dallas slammed the bedroom door closed.

Brewster spun around and pointed the gun at his head.

“Sorry. Just a little jumpy,” Dallas told him.

“Or trying to warn the girl,” Brewster reasoned. He kept his gun pointed at Dallas’s head as he pushed him down the hall. “Take me to her room first, and don’t do anything like that again. Next time I will kill you.”

“Surprised you haven’t done so already,” Dallas stated as he kept his eyes on the plush burgundy carpet beneath his feet.

“You in a rush to die, August?”

Dallas slowly walked across the landing toward his bedroom door. “No, are you?”

Brewster shoved the gun into Dallas’s back. “Just take me to Gwen’s bedroom.”

Dallas stopped in front of his bedroom door. He took a breath and reached for the door handle. He felt the tip of the gun press into the back of his skull.

“Nice and easy or I’ll put a bullet in your head,” Brewster hissed behind him.

Dallas opened the door and Brewster pushed him inside. When Brewster walked in, his dark eyes eagerly scanned the blue bedroom.

“Where is she?” he snarled.

Dallas gazed casually about the room. “Obviously not here,” he answered.

Brewster stepped over to a chest of drawers. He lifted a man’s pair of white briefs from the top drawer. After tossing the underwear back into the drawer, Brewster stormed over to Dallas. Without warning, he lifted the gun and brought it down hard against the right side of Dallas’s face.

As soon as the impact of the blow hit him, Dallas’s vision went black. He felt his body falling to the floor and when he hit the ground his vision returned. He lay sprawled on the floor for a few moments, stunned. As he started pushing himself up from the ground, Brewster placed his foot on the side of Dallas’s neck and smashed him back against the floor.

“I told you not to do anything stupid,” Brewster barked.

Dallas tasted blood in his mouth as he fought against the blackness closing in around him. The weight of the man’s foot was cutting off his air and he knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he would pass out and Gwen would be as good as dead.

He reached his hand underneath the sole of Brewster’s black leather shoe and pushed with all of his might to send the man off balance. As soon as his neck was free, he gasped for breath as he tried to get up
, but
the wave of dizziness that hit him as he struggled to his feet was overwhelming. As he fought to gain his balance, Brewster slammed his shoulder into Dallas and sent him hurtling into the wall. Dallas hit the wall with a thud. After his body settled on the floor, he could not help but grin. The wall where he landed was next to Gwen’s room. Dallas prayed she heard the commotion and would know what to do.

“You’re one dumb son of a bitch,” Brewster pronounced. “I’m in charge. I’ve got the gun, August.”

Dallas wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. “A gun doesn’t make you in charge, Brewster
; that’s
one of the first things they teach you at the academy. Never assume that because you have a weapon, you have the advantage.”

Dallas slowly rose from the floor. A sharp pain came barreling up from his side. He pressed his hand into his left shoulder, but nothing felt broken or out of place. He swayed slightly on his feet.

“Look at you,” Brewster said, pointing the gun at Dallas. “You can’t even stand up straight. What are you going to do?”

Instantly, Dallas leapt from his spot against the wall and went after Brewster. Dallas drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, sending him to the ground. As he hit the floor, the gun fired in the agent’s hand. Dallas reached for the gun. He used every ounce of strength available to keep Brewster from turning the gun on him. Dallas felt a blow to his face as his opponent lashed out with his left hand.

Dallas was thrown off balance and fell to the side. Brewster used the opportunity to get out from under Dallas and free his right hand
,
still holding on to his gun.

Brewster was on his knees beside Dallas, pointing the gun at him. “You’ve outworn your usefulness,” he mumbled

“I’d think twice about that, Brewster,” a woman’s voice advised from the door.

Dallas careened his head around to see Gwen, standing in the doorway with her legs spread apart, and her Glock pointed directly at Brewster’s head.

“What? You’re going to shoot me?” He nodded to Dallas. “He’s the one working for Robertson. I’m here to save you. We just found out about the guy. He’s supposed to kill you after the trial is over
—you
and your father.”

“Gwen,” Dallas called out to her, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “If I’d wanted to kill you
…
”

Gwen smirked. “I’d be dead already.”

Brewster turned his gun on Gwen, but before he could pull the trigger the roar of a single gunshot filled the bedroom. Brewster was thrown back and hit the ground with a loud thud. A few seconds later Dallas struggled to his feet
,
and then he saw Brewster lying on the floor with a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. He checked for a pulse and removed the Sig Sauer from the dead man’s hand. Dallas turned and saw Gwen still standing in the doorway.

“He’s dead?” she calmly asked, lowering her gun.

Dallas nodded. “Are you all right?”

She took in a breath and walked over to him. “Fine,” she whispered. She examined the large discoloration on Dallas’s right cheek as she wiped the blood away from his lip. “I’ll bet that hurts,” she remarked, nodding to his cheek.

Dallas looked down at the gun in her right hand. “I wasn’t sure if you heard us.”

“Oh, I heard you all right.” She turned her eyes back to the dead man. “What about Crawford?”

Dallas shook his head. “I think Brewster may have killed him. He wanted you. You were to be the insurance policy to get your father to recant his testimony against Robertson.”

“So Robertson bought off a federal agent sent to protect me
?”
She sighed. “There’s going to be hell to pay for this.”

Dallas took the Glock from her hand. He noted how calm she seemed, like she had done this a dozen times before. In his experience, no one was ever “fine” after killing a man. There were usually panicked looks of terror, tears, hyperventilating, and a whole lot of shaking. But Gwen showed none of those hallmark signs of distress. She was as cool as a hit man taking out a mark.

“You sure you’re all right?” He inspected her eyes once more. “Most people aren’t so together after killing someone.”

“Yeah, well, not like it’s the first time I’ve watched someone die.” She quickly started for the door.

“Watching someone die isn’t the same as pulling the trigger, Gwen.”

She stepped into the hallway and glanced back at him. “That’s just semantics, Dallas. It doesn’t matter who pulls the trigger. Dead is dead.” She was about to turn toward her bedroom when she stopped, appearing lost in thought for a moment. “Any idea who we’re going to call about this?” she eventually asked.

Dallas gave a heavy sigh as he glimpsed Brewster’s body on the floor. “I know who to call.”

Gwen nodded to him. “I’ll get something for your face while you make the call.”

As she disappeared down the hall, Dallas realized his initial instincts about the woman had been completely wrong. This was not some vulnerable, scarred, recluse wrapped up in her animals; this was a cold and calculating woman with nerves of steel. He wasn’t sure if he should be repulsed by that insight or turned on by it. Vulnerability in a woman was a quality most men admired, but then again, he preferred someone who could handle herself in tough situations. And Gwen Marsh had just proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she could definitely take care of herself.

Dallas waited patiently on Gwen’s bed for the party on the other end of his cell phone to pick up. After seven rings, a man’s irritated voice came through the speaker.

“August,” Dan Wilbur grumbled. “This better be good. I was in the middle of dinner.”

“Brewster’s dead. And I think Crawford may be to. I haven’t been out to the car to look yet. You might want to send a team out to Carl Bordonaro’s house to take care of the bodies.”

“You and the girl okay?”

“A bit bruised, but we’ll survive.”

“So Brewster was my plant,” Dan Wilbur mused.

Dallas shook his head. “You suspected all along. I should have known.” His body sank against the bed. “You could have said something to me, Dan.”

“I knew Robertson had somebody on the inside, but I wasn’t sure who. When I was told you were brought on board, I figured I would find out sooner or later. You have a talent for bringing out the worst in people, August.”

“I assume you don’t want the locals brought in on this,” Dallas asserted.

“For Gods sake, no,” Dan roared. “The last thing I need is a federal investigation in New Orleans. That city has more problems than it knows how to deal with. I don’t need my office dragged through all that Katrina mud. I’ll have a crew come by and clean up.”

“We’ll be here,” Dallas assured him.

“And August, I would appreciate it if, after the verdict is read, you get the hell out of that city. Once we have Robertson behind bars, I need you to leave the girl to me.”

“And what if the jury finds him not guilty?”

Dan was silent for a moment. “Not to worry. Justice will prevail.” Dan Wilbur hung up the phone.

Dallas placed his cell phone down on the bed beside him and winced. Every part of his body hurt. The right side of his face was throbbing and his left shoulder was sending shooting pains down his arm. He gently eased his body back on the bed and let out an uneasy breath. He had to keep it together for a little longer.

Dallas closed his eyes, wanting just a few moments of rest. His mind raced with plausible explanations why he should not give in to his fatigue, but his body was winning the battle and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

***

“Dallas,” a voice called out, snapping Dallas awake from his slumber.

Dallas opened his eyes and discovered Gwen leaning over the bed. When he sat up he spied a bottle of peroxide and a package of gauze in one hand, and a bottle of Stoli in the other.

“I must have dozed off. How long was I out?”

“Not long,” she told him. “I went downstairs and got this.” Gwen handed him the bottle of Stolichnaya vodka
.
“I figured you could use it.”

“Ah, the cavalry,” he quipped as he grabbed the bottle.

He immediately took two long sips from the vodka. He grimaced slightly as the alcohol stung inside of his mouth.

After Gwen put the bottle of peroxide and gauze down on the bed, she began tracing her fingers along the right side of his face. “What did he hit you with? The gun?” she asked, inspecting his swollen cheek.

Dallas nodded. “Among other things.” He handed her the bottle of Stoli. “You sure you don’t need any?”

She shook her head. “I found a bottle of Johnny Walker Red behind the bar.”

“You were pretty good in there. Who taught you how to shoot like that?”

Gwen unbuttoned his shirt. “Learning how to shoot was a requirement in my household,” she conceded, pushing the shirt over his injured shoulder.

“The dead man next door was not some buck out in an open field, Gwen. You
r
shooting was accurate, deadly and showed exceptional skill.”