Excerpt of The Secret Brokers by Alexandrea Weis

Dallas rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and silently cursed. If Carl Bordonaro had ventured outside the safety of his New Orleans lair, then something big had to be up. His thoughts quickly turned to Nicci. Perhaps something had happened to her. He then shook off his apprehension. He knew she was safe with her husband, David Alexander. David would have contacted him before now if there had been a problem. He and David had been in touch constantly ever since he had returned to New York to take over Simon La Roy's network of specialists. Burying himself in Simon's business of buying and selling secrets had kept Dallas going over the last several months. It was only at night, alone in Simon's king–sized bed, when the past caught up with him. His thoughts would always stray back to Nicci in the darkness. He missed reaching for her, touching her skin, and holding her slender body against his. That was the hardest part of loving someone—letting go. He sighed once more into the silence of his office, then squared his shoulders and headed for the door. Time to get back to work.

When Dallas walked into the drawing room, he saw a short, round man in his early sixties, with a bald head and a pasty face, admiring Simon's collection of ancient Greek vases. He was dressed in a tailored gray suit, wore thick, black–rimmed glasses, and seemed to sport a five o'clock shadow despite the early morning hour.

"Loutrophoroi?" the man queried in a deep voice as he turned from the mahogony display cabinet.

Dallas eyed the black and red vase the man had been admiring. "They belonged to Simon. I have no idea what it's called."

"Used for weddin's and funerals in ancient Greece, I believe," he said in his thick New Orleans accent. The man lifted his big brown eyes to Dallas. "Quite a collection the little guy had," he added, seemingly amused.

"He was an avid collector of art and antiques." Dallas placed his hands behind his back and stepped into the room. "Lance gave me the impression that you never left New Orleans, Mr. Bordonaro."

"Oh, I leave all the time," Carl Bordonaro acknowledged as he surveyed the room. "The feds try to keep an eye on me, but there are ways to get around their tails. Lots of ways." He held his hand out to Dallas. "And you can call me Carl."

Born and raised in the tough Irish Channel of New Orleans, Carl Bordonaro had learned from an early age to embrace a life of crime in order to get ahead in the world. His underworld dealings had landed him on every FBI Most Wanted List for the past fifteen years. But like many Louisiana politicians, Carl Bordonaro seemed immune to federal indictment, having survived five arrests with no criminal convictions.

Dallas took Carl's hand. "How is Lance?"

Carl Bordonaro gave Dallas a firm handshake. "Waitin' anxiously to become a great uncle."

Dallas let go of the man's hand. "From what David tells me, she doesn't have long to go."

"Yeah, Lance told me Nicci is due in another few weeks." Carl dipped his head. "I mean Jenny, of course. Still haven't quite gotten used to her new identity yet. I guess she'll always be Nicci to me." He paused and stared into Dallas's eyes for a moment. "And to you too, I think," he suggested with a grin.

"So what have I done to garner this unexpected visit?" Dallas asked, desperate to change the topic of conversation.

"It's not what you have done, my friend. It's what you're about to do."

Dallas raised one eyebrow. "About to do? I'm not sure if I like the sound of that."

Carl moved toward a mahogany chair not far from the display case. The chair was upholstered in the same blue and cream fabric that covered the walls. He looked from the chair to the walls and shook his head.

"Simon La Roy always was a flamboyant little guy."

Dallas eased his way across the room to a chair close to Carl's. "He tried not to let his sexuality influence his business, but his restraint did not seem to undermine his decorating skills. All in all, he was a very private man."

"Yeah, well." Carl sighed as he took his chair. "Now he's a very dead private man. Lucky for you the world wasn't too upset to hear of his passin'." He looked about the room once more. "Seems you have worked yourself right in here. Lance told me you have had very little opposition to your takin' over his business."

"Once it was finally leaked to the press that Simon was dead, there was little to no resistance encountered. Many of Simon's past associates were more than pleased to hear of his death. Seems the man had only enemies—myself included."

Carl Bordonaro sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his protruding belly. "Glad to hear that I was of some help to you and David last summer."

"Which is, I am sure, why you are here, Carl," Dallas replied with a slight grin.

"I figured cleanin' up that mess at David's place entitled me to ask for a favor."

Dallas leaned back in his chair, scowling. "A favor?"

Carl ran his hand over his bald head. "I want you to do a job for me, a job you and your organization are well suited for. Now, I'm a man of considerable influence, and could entrust this job to any one of my associates, but none of them are as skilled as you in gatherin' exactly the kind of information I need."

"What kind of information are we talking about?"

"Secrets," Carl answered