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