The Secret Brokers (4 page)

Dallas looked around at the crowds busily rushing about the baggage claim area. “So I’m to be Carl’s whipping boy?”

“More like information boy. And don’t knock it, Dallas; the street runs both ways with Carl. He’ll remember and he always returns his favors.”

They walked up to the gate outside of the baggage claim area.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better, Lance,” Dallas admitted as he showed his baggage claim tickets to the attendant stationed right outside of the gate.

“Friends like Carl are a must in your business, Dallas. I don’t need to tell you that,” Lance admitted.

Dallas turned back to him. “No, you don’t.”

Lance examined the crowd gathering around the luggage conveyer belt assigned to Dallas’s flight. “Meet me outside the doors after you get your luggage, and I’ll drive you to your rental.” He was about to turn to go and stopped. “I’m in the blue Jag,” he added.

“Blue?” Dallas crinkled his brow. “Why not red, like the last one?” he asked.

“I’m trying to go for the more distinguished look.” Lance shrugged. “I was told blue makes a man look more distinguished.” He turned and headed out a pair of glass doors to the first floor passenger pick up area.

Dallas shook his head. Lance Beauvoir distinguished? And then he chuckled.

***

“The place is about an hour from the city in horse country, outside of the town of Folsom. It’s well known as a racehorse Mecca to all the local racetracks,” Lance said as he plugged an address into the GPS mounted on the dashboard of Dallas’s red Mercedes E550 Coupe. “You’ll need to head across Lake Pontchartrain and follow this thing until you get to her farm. It’s on a dead end road and surrounded by woods.” He pointed to the GPS.

“That has advantages and disadvantages for protection,” Dallas reasoned as he examined the GPS.

Lance nodded and then opened the glove box. “That’s why I got this.” He pulled out a Sig Sauer P226. “For protection. There are three extra boxes of ammo in the trunk along with a Sig P229, for concealed carry purposes in case you need it.”

Dallas took the gun from Lance and looked it over. He racked back the slide and checked the chamber. Then he felt the weight of the pistol in his hand. “Any idea what a woman like Marsh might keep in her house?”

“Probably a BB gun, knowing Gwen,” Lance replied with a roll of his green eyes. “She’s a big gun opponent, despite being raised with two brothers that make Dirty Harry look like a model citizen.”

“There weren’t any good shots of her on the Internet, and the DMV photo I downloaded was pretty hard to make out. The only decent pictures I could find were of her back and profile. Anything else you can tell me about her looks?”

“Attractive, blond, stays in shape, about five-foot-seven, pretty face, but frowns a lot.” Lance paused and looked at Dallas. “Kinda like you,” he added with a grin.

Dallas scowled as he put the gun back in the glove box. “From the way you describe her, I’m surprised you didn’t try to date her.”

“I did, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. And from what I hear, she won’t have anything to do with any man.” He shook his head as he held up his hand to Dallas. “And no, she’s not into girls; I checked. When a woman turns me down, I usually like to find out why,” Lance asserted with a stern frown.

“And what did you find out?”

“Apparently the marriage to Doug Marsh wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Dr. Marsh only married Gwen for a cover. Seems the good doctor likes to fish in the little boys’ pond and not the little girls’. The marriage was arranged between the two of them so Doug could get into some pretty prestigious hospitals; hospitals that wouldn’t have taken too well to his sexual orientation.”

“And how did you come by this information?” Dallas asked, intrigued.

Lance gave a cheeky smile. “Quite by chance. Ran into a guy in a club I often hang out in. The guy happened to be good friends with Dr. Marsh. After about six shots of tequila he began to tell me about his real relationship with the doctor. Doug Marsh wasn’t too happy when Gwen wanted the divorce, and has complained to everyone who will listen in Houston that he wants his wife back. But when the operating room lights go out, Dr. Marsh pays male escorts to come out to his fancy house. The guy is big time into his image and never wants his gay lifestyle revealed.”

“So she went along with the marriage…for what, money?”

“You got me there. I dug pretty deep into the woman’s life. She had a few love affairs prior to her marriage to Marsh, but nothing too dramatic.” Lance paused and his features briefly darkened. “But then there was that mess with Troy kid.”

Dallas noted the somber expression on Lance’s face. “What happened with him?”

“Before Marsh came along, she was seeing a guy named Steven Troy. He was from a wealthy family in Baton Rouge and was killed when he ran his Porsche into a tree. Gwen was also in the car and was pretty badly injured. I remember it damn near killed Ed Pioth to see his daughter go through all of that. Then, a year after the accident, she announced her engagement to Marsh.”

“Maybe Marsh was a rebound from Troy’s death?” Dallas suggested.

Lance shook his head and his mood brightened. “I doubt it. Gwen never appeared too serious about Troy, or any other man, until Marsh came along.
And from what I can find out there was apparently no one on the side during her marriage, either. As far as I can figure, she just doesn’t like people.”

“That would explain her love for animals. They replace the people in her life,” Dallas analyzed.

Lance feigned a shiver. “Try not to go all psychological on me. After all the crap we went through with that shrink, Michael Fagles, anything sounding remotely like psychobabble gives me the creeps.”

“All right, Lance. But this may make the woman tougher to crack than I first anticipated. If you get anything else on her that I can use, let me know.”

“I do have one thing,” Lance offered. “She’s rumored to have killed her mother.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She was six when Nell Pioth took a shotgun and blew her face off. Gwen witnessed the whole thing. Crazy woman had her daughter help her get ready to commit suicide. For years people thought Gwen pulled the trigger. But the police said a six-year-old couldn’t have held the shotgun in the position needed to create the fatal shot.”

Dallas rubbed his face in his hands. “Christ, that must have scarred her.”

“You would never know it. Gwen is a real grounded, practical, and together woman. A lot more together than…well, a lot of woman I hang out with. I guess something like that in your childhood either rips you apart or pulls you together.”

“She’s ripped apart, Lance,” Dallas stated as he glimpsed the leather steering wheel in front of him. “The mother’s suicide, the fake marriage, the lack of close relationships…there is a pattern here.”

“What pattern?”

Dallas took a breath and nodded to Lance. “She’s troubled, probably deeply troubled. And that gets me an angle to use to get close to her.”

“What? Therapy?” Lance joked.

“No,” Dallas countered. “Empathy.”

“But your parents didn’t commit suicide, they were killed in a boating accident—Nicci told me about it. You were almost married twice—to women you loved. And as far as I know, you have a few friends and no pets. So what empathy?”

Dallas smiled, slyly. “It’s all part of the cover, Lance.”

Lance reached for the door handle. “Your cover? Let me know how that works out for you, Dallas. In the meantime, may I suggest another approach?” He climbed out of the car.

“What?” Dallas asked, leaning over the passenger seat and looking up at Lance.

Lance placed his hand on the car door and glared back at Dallas. “Why don’t you just try and get to know the woman? You’d be amazed at how far you might actually get.” He gave a wave of his hand and slammed the door closed.

Dallas sat back in his seat as he watched Lance walking away through the passenger side window. He turned the key in the ignition and then grinned.

“Get to know her? That will never work,” he scoffed as he put the car into gear.

The tedious drive across the broad expanse of Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge gave Dallas time to think. He took in the white caps darting across the top of the lake as brown pelicans hovered close to the edge of the bridge, gliding along in the strong northern winds. He had been rolling Lance’s words around in his head ever since he had left the airport. The more he thought about the Marsh woman, the more he knew Lance’s advice would never work. Getting to know a target was a luxury that any specialist had little time or use for when on an assignment. To get information, the line of attack had to be smooth, quick, and accurate. You couldn’t waste a lot of time learning about the details that make up the complete person. Such details were immaterial to a man like Dallas. It was better not to get to know the whole person. The less you knew about an individual, the easier it was to walk away.

As his eyes took in the choppy waters of Lake Pontchartrain, his mind began to wander back to Nicci. In some small way, he wished he had followed his instincts and not let her in. She had attached to his heart like a clinging vine. He knew one day he would be rid of her, but for now her invasive tendrils still tugged at him. The pain had lessened some, but he preferred to be done with his grief. At least, he reasoned, Nicci had done something for him; she had made him swear that he would never open up to another as he had done with her. His was a new path. He vowed he would no longer form heartfelt attachments or compromising relationships. He was better off alone. It made things simple that way. It made the job easier.

Pine trees soon replaced the blue water and houses filled the landscape as his car finally came to the end of the long bridge. Dallas knew the woman’s farm was close and he could feel the adrenalin kick he got with the start of every new assignment. But this time a nervous streak invaded his usually resilient demeanor. He disliked not knowing everything about a target, and his plans for Gwen Marsh were still murky. Winging it was not something Dallas was used to, but he knew he could think fast on his feet, and assured his itchy nerves that he would figure something out once he got a good look at the woman and her place.

“Relax,” he mumbled. “How hard can this be?”

***

The Marsh farm was about thirty minutes from the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge. As Dallas made the short trek down a narrow road toward the property, the scope of the facility came into view. The main house was a raised wooden Acadian cottage surrounded by porches and painted white. An old tin roof glistened in the mid-day sun, and a bricked chimney rose from the center of the roof. Off to the left, up on a ridge and surrounded by a few tall oaks, a large red barn stood boldly against the backdrop of a pale blue sky. Paddocks on both sides of the barn were filled with horses, eight in all. Not far from the barn was a metal storage building that almost matched the house in size and height. Behind the building, he spotted a few cages and kennels underneath a wide shaded portico.

Dallas drove through an open front gate and followed the shell-covered drive to the house. He parked his Mercedes next to an old, dark blue Ford
pick up
truck parked beneath a tall oak tree, and looked to the wide porch. There were a few potted plants and statues of forest creatures placed along the worn floorboards. Hanging in the middle of the front door was a sign that read, “All Visitors Will Be Eaten.”

Dallas frowned. “Definitely not the friendly type,” he softly said.

Before he had even put his hand on the car door, a massive, fawn-colored dog with a black face and slobbery mouth placed his front feet on the driver’s side door of the car and gazed in at Dallas.

The animal’s dark eyes stared at Dallas, but the dog did not growl or bare his teeth. He just stood there on his hind haunches, looking in through the car window.

“Harley!” a woman’s voice called from the side of the house.

Dallas turned toward the direction of the voice and saw a petite blond approaching his car. The woman, who was half the size of dog, grabbed the dog by the collar and pulled him off the car.

“Sorry,” she apologized as she gazed in the window. “You can come out now. Harley won’t hurt you.”

Dallas opened the car door and stepped outside. The mastiff sat quietly on the ground and stared at him.

“He’s friendly; he only looks scary,” the woman explained as she waved at the dog.

“Is he the one who will eat all visitors?” Dallas pointed to the sign on her door.

She gave Dallas a serious going over with her eyes. “The sign is for noisy salesmen and Bible-beaters looking for a handout. So which are you?” she asked in a sharp tone.

Dallas turned and inspected the woman standing before him.

She looked nothing like the pictures he had seen on the Internet. She had fine, almost aquiline, features that made her appear more aristocratic than snobbish. Her face was slender with pale, thin lips, blue-green eyes, high cheekbones, and porcelain skin. Dallas figured she could not have been more than five-foot-five, and was not at all what Lance had reported. She was indeed very attractive, but what Dallas found surprising was that after everything he had heard about the woman and her past, he expected Gwen Marsh to look as cold as she had been described. The woman before him appeared vulnerable, and instead of being repelled by her reputation as distant, Dallas found her delicate femininity to be nothing short of intoxicating.