The Secret Brokers (9 page)

“You got eight more stalls to hay and water, Dallas,” she brusquely said, snapping him out of his study of her.

Dallas shook his head. “Just when I was beginning to believe you’re all warm and fuzzy on the inside, you turn into mega-bitch again,” he muttered under his breath as he carried the hose over to the next stall.

***

The grocery store Gwen took him to wasn’t really a grocery but a super Walmart located not far out of town. On the drive over, Dallas noticed Gwen passed a smaller general store and another grocery store closer to the house.

“Why didn’t you stop at the other stores closer in?” Dallas asked as he got out of her warm
pickup
truck.

Gwen exited the truck and came around to his side. “And how am I going to explain you to the people I know in those stores? Better to go somewhere no one knows me.”

Dallas pulled his brown leather jacket closer to his body. “I hate to admit it, but that does make a lot of sense.”

“I think there is a compliment hidden in there somewhere,” Gwen mused as she buttoned up her blue jean jacket.

He gazed about the cold and dreary Walmart parking lot, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t get cocky.”

As Dallas escorted Gwen around the large grocery section of the store, he tried to teach her about the finer points of selecting fresh produce.

“Always smell a pineapple on the bottom to see if it’s ripe,” Dallas told her as he held out two pineapples for her to test. “A ripe pineapple will have a sweet smell to it.”

She put her nose to the base of each pineapple, and tried to tell the unripe or acrid smelling one against the sweeter smelling pineapple.

“You learned all of this stuff when you worked in your mother’s restaurant?” Gwen asked as she took the ripe pineapple from him and placed it in their grocery cart.

Dallas returned the unripe pineapple to a pile on his right. “She was a chef and I spent many a day after school and weekends watching her prepare meals in her restaurant.” He wiped his hands together as he turned back to Gwen. “I learned a lot about cooking, preparing food, and how using the best produce, meats, fish, and chicken, can add to the flavor of a meal.”

“What do you mean she was a chef? What does she do now?”

“She died a long time ago.”

“Sorry,” Gwen offered. She noticed how some of the other woman in the store let their eyes linger on Dallas as they walked buy. “And what about your father? What does he do?” she went on.

“He used to build yachts before he died,” Dallas told her as he selected two brown potatoes from a pile. “My family has a yacht building business in Connecticut.” He placed the potatoes in a plastic bag, tied off the bag, and placed the potatoes in their grocery cart.

“And why didn’t you go into the family business?”

Dallas looked over at her and grinned. “Who’s to say I didn’t?” He began going through bunches of mustard greens. “Perhaps I’m really a boat builder, moonlighting as a bodyguard.”

Gwen laughed as she leaned over their cart. “You, a boat builder?” She watched as he placed the mustard greens in a plastic bag. “No one spending any time with you would ever figure you for a boat builder. That’s not you. I think that kind of life would drive you batty.”

Dallas placed the mustard greens in their cart. “What makes you say that?

“Look at you,” she proclaimed as she waved her hand down his figure. “Everything about you, from the way you look to the way you move, screams intrigue and adventure. Some men are made for a quiet life of running a business and providing for a family. But I think you like living on the edge. I could never see you settling for that kind of boring existence.”

“The way I look? The way I move? I don’t look or move any different from any other person in this store. You don’t even know me. How can you think that I would want such a life?”

“I can spot the signs a mile away when someone is pretending to be something they aren’t. The sooner you embrace what you are, the happier you will be.”

Dallas turned away and began picking through a box of mushrooms.

Gwen came alongside of him and examined his scowling countenance. “Did I say something wrong?”

Dallas picked at the mushrooms. “No,” he firmly replied.

She watched as he methodically selected the best of the mushrooms from the pile and placed them one by one in the plastic bag.

“So who did you try to change for? Who did you try to be that simple man living that uncomplicated life for? For a man that doesn’t say much, you sure do speak volumes with your body. You don’t have to express pain for it to be evident, Dallas.”

He shook his head, appearing frustrated. “And what makes you think I’m in pain?”

“The long moments of silence as you look at nothing. The restlessness in your eyes, and the way you sigh, like every breath is a weight you must bear.” She paused. “I also found the half empty bottle of vodka under the sink this morning. I’m a nurse, Dallas. I’ve watched a lot of people carry around their personal demons just like you are doing now. I may not be able to tell a broken heart from a happy one with my stethoscope, but when I look into someone’s eyes I can see the difference.”

“My demons are my business, Gwen,” he snapped as he tied off the bag of mushrooms in his hand. “Analyzing me isn’t going to keep you from getting killed.”

“I’m not trying to analyze you, Dallas,” She stepped back over to their grocery cart. “I’m simply saying I’m here if you need to talk.”

“You’re an assignment, Gwen,” he coolly reminded her. “And in two weeks when this is over, you will forget all about me.” Dallas placed the bag of mushrooms in the cart and pushed it further down the aisle.

“I never forget a fine looking ass,” Gwen commented behind him.

Dallas turned back to her. “For a woman who lives a solitary life without a man, you sure do seem to be unusually flirty.”

“Flirty? Is it flirty to notice the attributes on a man? I think I am just being…female.”

Dallas examined her with his disconcerting eyes. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Gwen eyed him suspiciously and then slowly nodded.

“When exactly was the last time you were with a man?”

At first, Gwen was astonished by his question, but then her surprise slowly waned to annoyance. “I don’t think that is relevant,” she finally told him.

“No, it’s relevant. Answer the question, Gwen.”

“I’m not going to answer that question, Dallas. Not everything is about sex. Well, I take that back—for a man everything is about sex; for a woman, not so much.”

“I think you’re a woman who tries to confirm her disappointment in others by seeking out relationships that you know will only hurt you in the end. You married a gay man to punish yourself, not to save yourself.”

Gwen’s jaw fell as she stared at Dallas. “I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a shrink. Don’t stand there and try to dissect my reasons for marrying Doug to help satisfy your smug condescension. I’m sure you knew about Nicci Beauvoir’s obsession with that artist before you hooked up with her. So what’s your excuse for living with a woman you knew could never love you?”

“Now you’re getting defensive,” he stated, trying to control the anger in his voice. The woman’s words cut a little too deep for his taste and he wanted to fight back, but he knew he had to maintain control.

“People who have something to hide get defensive, Dallas; people who know that what they are hearing is the truth get angry. So which one are you right now?” She folded her arms across her chest and peered doggedly into his eyes.

He moved closer to her and lowered his voice, not wanting to be overheard by the other shoppers. “Would you kindly explain to me why you are trying to piss off the guy who was sent here to protect you? Keep this up and I might be inclined to paint a bull’s-eye on that lovely ass of yours to guarantee the bad guys don’t miss.”

“My lovely ass?” She unfolded her arms and smirked. “Any other parts of my anatomy you would like to critique?”

“When I find something, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Dallas grinned and he turned away from her. “Now come on. I’ll show you how to pick out a great chicken.” He began pushing their grocery cart down the produce aisle.

Gwen shook her head and dutifully followed behind him. “Great. Of all the bodyguards in the world, I get a Wolfgang Puck with a gun and an attitude,” she mumbled.

***

The back seat of Gwen’s truck was filled with grocery bags when they made the turn off the main highway toward her house. Gwen had refrained from buying more frozen dinners at Dallas’s behest. He insisted she had to try his cooking before she returned to her microwaving ways.

“Just give me two days and I swear I will convert you,” he avowed as her truck made the long drive down the narrow road to her property.

“I told you before, frozen dinners are convenient. I just don’t see the point of cooking for just me,” Gwen clarified.

“But why would anyone who likes to cook want to eat such tasteless food?”

“Have you ever tried them?” Gwen asked, raising her voice.

“No!”

“Then don’t knock it,” she said, sounding rather perturbed as she pulled the blue truck up to her gate.

Dallas spotted the black Ford Crown Victoria parked off to the right of the property entrance.

He turned to her. “The day shift?”

She nodded. “Brewster and Crawford. They usually show up just after I feed the horses. I didn’t see them on our way out this morning, so maybe they were running late.”

He opened the truck door. “Or maybe they were doing a little checking up on me,” he suggested, and slammed the door behind him. He looked back at Gwen through the open passenger window. “Go back to the house. I’ll be along shortly to help you unload the groceries.”

“But I thought you said you didn’t want any trouble with the feds?”

He zipped up his brown leather jacket. “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just trying to make sure they don’t interfere with me doing my job.”

He waited until Gwen had driven through the open gate before he approached the Crown Victoria. As soon as
he
came toward the black car, two men exited the vehicle.

Both men were dressed in gray suits with black ties, wore sunglasses, and had dark, short-cropped hair. To Dallas, these two men looked a lot more dangerous than the night crew.

“I’ll bet these guys are the senior officers,” Dallas murmured as he walked up to the car. “Seniors always get the day jobs.”

The man who had exited from the driver’s side of the black car approached Dallas. “Mark Crawford,” he said as he held out his hand to Dallas. “Dan Wilbur told us to extend you every courtesy.” After shaking hands with Dallas, the tall man removed his sunglasses. He had a handsome, round face, engaging green eyes, and a scar running down the length of his right cheek.

The other man came over and took Dallas’s hand. “Brewster, Al Brewster,” he stated. “Senior agent in charge of this case.” He removed his sunglasses and frowned at Dallas.

Dallas noticed how the agent’s small mouth, long, sloping nose, and bulging forehead gave his face an almost sinister appearance.

As Al Brewster placed his sunglasses inside his jacket pocket, Dallas caught sight of the gun holstered against his chest.

“Dan spoke very highly of you,” Brewster informed Dallas as he gave him a going over with his deep-set brown eyes. “He said you were one of the best when you were with the Bureau.”

“That was a long time ago,” Dallas admitted.

“So how did you end up pulling jobs like this?” Brewster asked.

Dallas examined Brewster’s square face and felt an instant dislike for the man. He had enough experience on assignments to know he needed to heed that instinct. “I’m just a family friend volunteering my time,” he explained.

Brewster’s dark eyes stared intently at Dallas. “You’re in pretty tight with friends of Carl Bordonaro. Rumor has it you were somehow involved in that nasty business a few months back, involving the death of that writer, Nicci Beauvoir.”

Dallas kept his face like stone. “Nicci and I were friends. I was in town helping her out of a difficult situation; unfortunately
,
she decided to take matters into her own hands.”

Brewster nodded as he looked to the house. “Any idea where we can find Bordonaro?”

Dallas shook his head. “Not a clue.” He paused and watched Al Brewster’s eyes gaze about the property. “How long have you two been assigned to Gwen?” he questioned.

“Little over a week now,” Mark Crawford replied. “Dan sent us down here from Washington right before the trial was set to get under way. We were told to keep an eye on her until the verdict was read.”

“Then what?” Dallas waited for the man’s reaction. “Are you taking her and her old man into witness protection? That’s the usual protocol after such a high profile case.”

Brewster cast his eyes to the ground. “Her father has refused witness protection for the both of them. We figure he’s cutting some kind of deal with Bordonaro.”

“Yeah,” Dallas agreed as he glanced back to the house to see Gwen watching them from her front porch. “I guess that’s a possibility,” he added.