The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  Gregory Caston jumped in between Simon and me. “Then why don’t you go back to your suite at the Royal Orleans, Simon, and leave Ms. Beauvoir in my care for the evening.”

  “How did you know where Simon is staying?” I questioned.

  Gregory Caston grinned. “I know all of Simon’s comings and goings.”

  “Yes,” Simon concurred. “It’s a game Gregory and I play. It’s called keeping a wary eye on one’s opponent.”

  Gregory Caston quickly turned to me, ignoring Simon. “Perhaps, Nicci, you would be kind enough to tell me something of your days with David Alexander. And I would love to know your thoughts on Winston’s work. Of course, he’s not as good as David, but he’s filled with promise.”

  I casually glanced about the gallery, looking for Dallas. “I know nothing of art, Mr. Caston.”

  “Please, Nicci, call me Greg.”

  I stared into his dark eyes. “I’m afraid, Greg, my opinion would be of little use to you.”

  Greg laughed, a very empty sounding laugh that made me homesick for the heart felt snorting of the Hoover’s. “Nonsense, your opinion means more than half of the critics in this town. The difference between you and them, Nicci, is that you have lived art. They have only dreamed of it.”

  “You sound like a man who is very devoted to art, Greg.”

  “I am. I love all things related to art. I have ever since I was a little boy. I have spent my whole life enthralled by the look, smell, and feel of anything on canvas. I guess you could say art is my obsession really and I…”

  Just then my counterpart, clad in a bright red strapless cocktail dress and tripping on her black stilettos, shimmied her way up to Greg’s side.

  “Aww, honey, would ya look at that?” she exclaimed in a Jersey cadence thicker than the petroleum products refined there. “They got them little crab thingys, watch ya call ‘em?” She held a marinated crab claw up in front of Greg’s face.

  Greg lowered the girl’s hand. His smile fell away. “Jenny Ryan, I would like to introduce you to—”

  “Ah, look, G.,” she interrupted him. “She looks just like me. Ain’t that somethin’?” She smiled revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

  Jenny Ryan focused her gaze on me. Her blue eyes seemed as if they contained flecks of green or perhaps she wore contacts to make it appear that way. I was not sure. Close up, I could see the resemblance between us, and I found it more than a bit unsettling to find my likeness standing before me.

  “Jenny Ryan,” Greg said, sounding a little perturbed as he nodded to his date. “This is Nicci Beauvoir. David Alexander’s Jenny.”

  Jenny Ryan tilted her head at me and smiled. She slapped her hand on Greg’s chest. “G. here just loves them paintin’s of ya. He’s dragged me to damn near every gallery in New Yawk to see them things.”

  “I’m so glad,” I articulated, internally thanking my mother for teaching me the virtues of proper diction.

  Greg turned away from his date and back to me. “Jenny, why don’t you go to the bar and get me a scotch and soda?”

  “Why don’t I join you, Ms. Ryan,” Simon offered, stepping closer to the young woman. “I don’t know if you remember me but we met at….” Simon went on as he guided the woman toward the bar and away from Greg’s side.

  Greg stood before me, staring at my dress. “He painted you in that, didn’t he?”

  I held my head up high. “Yes, the one of me on a couch with the champagne bottle on the floor.”

  “It was the first painting he ever did of you,” he softly reported.

  “Actually the first painting he did of me still hangs in my father’s living room.”

  He leaned in closer, and I detected the aroma of some expensive cologne mixed with the slightest essence of oil paint. The smell of the paint reminded me of David. A memory of David standing before me dressed only in jeans and covered with paint clouded my thoughts. I struggled to erase the happy image from my mind and tried to concentrate on the difficult task at hand.

  “I’m hosting a benefit day after tomorrow at my gallery in the Warehouse District. It’s a black tie affair for one of the many local charities I support. Would you allow me the honor of escorting you to my little event? I think we would enjoy spending the evening together. What do you say, Nicci?”

  I noticed how Greg’s sinewy smile made him look more reptilian than human.

  I struggled to find a way to put him off. “I will have to check my schedule before I can give you an answer,” I replied, wondering if Dallas was watching us.

  “I will give you a call tomorrow and we can discuss it.”

  I slowly brought my eyes back to his. His smile was unnerving and his deep-set dark brown eyes felt as if they were probing painfully inside of me.

  “That will be fine, Greg.” I gazed to the bar for Simon. “Simon has my numbers.”

  “I’d rather not call him. To say that Simon and I have a strained relationship, would be putting it mildly.”

  “Why is there such animosity between the two of you?” I asked, hoping to make the man as uncomfortable as he was making me.

  “You don’t know?” he questioned, appearing genuinely surprised. “I run an organization similar to Simon’s. I would have thought David would have told you about me.”

  “After David left Simon’s employ, he put his past behind him. If it’s of any consolation, he never spoke to me of Simon, either. I never knew Simon La Roy existed until we met last December.”

  “David must have loved you a great deal to risk leaving Simon. That man never allows anyone to just walk away.”

  “How would you know that, Greg?”

  Greg Caston said nothing. We stood in silence as the room around us buzzed with conversation.

  “Tell me how to get in touch with you,” he whispered.

  I waited a few seconds before I spoke. “I’m staying at Val Easterling’s house here in the Quarter while she is out of town for the next few weeks.”

  “I know Val, and I have the private number to her home. I’ll give you a call in the morning.”

  I nervously looked away to find Simon not far from the end of the bar talking with the fidgeting figure of Jenny Ryan. Simon glanced over at me and our eyes met. He smiled and casually nodded his head. Within seconds, he turned from Ms. Ryan and headed back to my side.

  Simon leaned heavily on his cane as he came up to me. “If you will forgive me, Gregory. I am suddenly feeling my age. I know it is early for you, Nicci, but we should be going.”

  “Of course, Simon.” I gently patted his shoulder.” We can go whenever you’re ready.”

  “But if Nicci wishes to stay,” Greg spoke up. “I can see her home.”

  I shook my head. “No, Greg. I should see Simon back to his hotel.”

  “You understand, my good man,” Simon commented, grinning at Greg. “I am responsible for Nicci this evening. I would feel uncomfortable relinquishing my duties to another.” The grin fell away and he gave Greg a stern warning with his eyes. “She is very dear to me,” he coldly added.

  Greg turned to me. “Nicci, I will talk to you tomorrow.” Greg took my hand. “I look forward to seeing you again,” he whispered, and gave my hand a suggestive squeeze.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Greg,” I said, attempting to sound sincere.

  Simon placed a fatherly hand on my arm. “Always a delight to see you, Gregory.” Simon nodded to me. “Nicci, shall we?”

  Simon ushered me out of the building and onto the sidewalk. Once we had walked past the crowds outside the entrance, Simon stopped and smiled to me.

  He rested against his cane. “Well done, my dear. What did he propose for your first date?”

  “A benefit for one of his charities at his gallery in the warehouse district, day after tomorrow,” I reported, letting my shoulders relax a bit.

  “Good. That will give you an opportunity to do some preliminary snooping around his gallery. Maintain the cool aloofness you showed tonight.”
A black town car pulled up to the curb beside us. “Go only to the gallery and refuse late night drinks or dinner, feign a headache if you must. Tease him with only small tidbits of your company, but give him nothing of yourself. Understood?” Simon turned to the black town car.

  “If he asks to see me again after that?” I inquired, observing his profile.

  He nodded to me. “By all means, say yes. You need to see him again. At the next meeting, he will invariably propose dinner or something more intimate. Agree to that, but emphasize your desire to only be friends. Tell him you’re not interested in any romantic liaisons, for the time being. It will make him want you more. Dress more conservatively for your next meeting. Wear something that covers and does not reveal.”

  I was starting to feel more like a secretary than a spy. “Anything else?”

  “He has an affinity for jazz music and French food. I strongly suggest you become acquainted with those topics,” Simon instructed.

  “He also thinks he’s something of a wine connoisseur. He has never been married, but does have a young son who lives with his mother in Atlanta. He sees the child every summer and keeps up on his support payments. He never discusses his son with anyone,” I said with a smug grin.

  Simon chuckled while tapping his cane on the ground. “Very good, my dear girl. You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “Dallas trained me well. You once told me to learn everything I could from him. These past few months have been very educational.”

  Simon inspected the thinning crowds outside of the gallery. “Just make sure you tell Gregory you share his interests to peak his curiosity about you.”

  “What about his painting?” I asked, referring to the smell of oil paint on his clothes.

  At that moment, Gerard emerged from behind the wheel of the black town car beside us. He came around and opened the rear passenger side door for Simon.

  “As far as I know, he only dabbles in painting, and is not very good at it,” Simon replied as he looked over at me, appearing more annoyed by my question than intrigued by it.

  “He smelled of oil paint. I know that smell, extremely well. I could detect it on his clothes. Should I ask him about it?”

  “Yes, do. He might even want to show off his work to you and in turn you will gain his confidence.” Simon’s beady eyes studied me for a moment. “You’re turning out to be better at this than I had anticipated, Nicci.”

  “Thank you, Simon.” I surveyed the dark French Quarter street. “It’s good to know that my time with Dallas has been of some benefit.”

  “Just remember to keep your distance,” Simon warned.

  I looked back over at Simon. “What if he does not want to keep his distance?”

  “He’ll behave, for a time. Even so, if sleeping with him becomes a necessity, I’m sure you won’t find it that distasteful. Gregory Caston’s prowess in the bedroom is quite legendary.”

  “I was under the impression that sleeping with the man was not part of this job,” I declared, feeling a wave of revulsion roll through me.

  “Sex is always part of the plan for getting anything out of a man, Nicci. You’re a woman who has bedded at least two men I know who have had sizable sexual appetites. Use your experiences with David and Dallas to lure Gregory Caston to give up his secrets. Just get me what I need and don’t let your principles stand in the way. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have any principles anymore.” He took a step toward the car in front of him. “Get in. I will have Gerard take you home,” he directed in a cold tone.

  I took a step back from him. After his previous comments, I had no intention of sharing a car with Simon La Roy. “No, thank you. I’ll walk from here.”

  “It’s late, and this is the French Quarter. Get in, Nicci. It is not safe,” Simon insisted.

  I shook my head. “I’m from New Orleans, Simon. There is no danger for someone who knows these streets.”

  Simon gave me one last glance and then stepped into the car. “As you wish.”

  Gerard shut the car door behind him. “Good night, Miss Beauvoir,” Gerard said as he dipped his head to me.

  The black town car pulled away from the curb and headed down Royal Street. I glanced about the empty street, hoping Dallas had seen me leave the party. I gathered my black shawl about my shoulders and took in a deep breath. The evening had not turned out as I had expected. I thought espionage would be exciting. Tonight had been nothing more than what I had already experienced in my life…powerful people using their influence to manipulate others. Growing up in New Orleans society, I had always known people like Greg Caston. It seemed my world was no different than his. I guess no matter where you go there will always be those who use sex and money to bend others to their will. It’s the method used for attaining such surrender, and not the motive, that separates a criminal from a king.

  Off to the side of the street, I noticed a tall man approaching me. I waited for the man’s face to emerge from the shadows. I was expecting to see Dallas, but as the man closed in, a twinge of disbelief took hold of me. The way he moved, with such an air of confidence, seemed vaguely familiar to me. When his face became illuminated by the surrounding streetlights, I gasped in disbelief.

  My body was overtaken by a paralyzing cold when I saw that face. My heart leapt into my throat and my head started to spin. I could feel my nerves winding up like a tornado inside of me. I wanted to scream, but my voice became paralyzed. As the figure moved closer, I realized that this was not some cloudy mist that filled the night air; the man before me was real and made of flesh and bone. I gawked up into his face as his gray eyes greeted mine.

  “David?” I gasped.

  “Hello, Nicci.”

  Chapter Nine

  I stared up into those warm gray eyes, and my body turned into wet spaghetti. I could not move or even breathe. I hoped I was hallucinating. I tightly closed my eyes and wished the apparition away. But when I opened my eyes, I found myself looking up into the face of a man I had thought lost to me forever.

  His jaw was wide and his pale, smooth skin was pulled taut over high cheekbones. His lips were thin and gave his mouth the look of a constant sarcastic grin. The nose was long, straight, and came to a point. Then, I noticed the thin white scar on his left temple. It was about four inches long and ran from the top of his lower jaw up into his hairline. I stood there transfixed, as I stared at the scar, took in the face, and compared everything before me to the memory of the man he had been. He shifted on his feet, and then I looked into his sparkling gray eyes.

  I closed my eyes again, and whispered, “I’m just tired. That’s all it is.”

  “I’m real, Nicci,” a deep, warm voice said.

  I opened my eyes and realized that this was no stress-induced vision. Suddenly, the air vanished around me and my stomach clenched. My mind filled with a thousand thoughts at once. I was angry, elated, heartbroken, confused, upset…every emotion that has been catalogued in the human psyche burst into my head.

  I started trembling. “But you’re dead!” I croaked. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “Do I look dead, Nicci?” David asked, leaning back from me.

  I reached out and poked him with my finger.

  “Convinced?”

  I immediately pulled my hand away.

  “You’re alive!” I screamed. “You stinking, worthless, lying, son of a bitch.” I slapped him as hard as I could across the face. “Three goddamn years, David Alexander! It’s been three years since you died and now you decide to resurrect yourself. Not a word, not a damned note, a phone call…nothing to let me know that you were alive. Tonight, you just walk up to me, out of the blue, without any warning.”

  David nursed his red cheek. “Jesus Christ, Nicci!”

  “He only took three days to rise from the dead. You’ve taken three goddamn years! Where in the hell have you been? Do you know what I have been through? Do you know what losing you did to me? I thought I meant something to you. You conceited piece
of shit! How could you do that to me?” I punched him, as hard as I could, in the arm.

  Disbelief overtook his features. “Stop hitting me! What the hell is the matter with you?” He rubbed his hand over his left jaw. “Fifteen reconstructive surgeries on my jaw and face, and you hit me right where it hurts.”

  “You’d better start explaining, David. Where in the hell have you been for the past three years?” I screamed.

  “Nicci, would you calm down! Ever since your ex-fiancé shot me and left me for dead on the side of the road, I have been trying to get back to you. There are a lot of reasons why I’ve had to stay away. None of which I can go into right now.”

  Instantly, I became acutely aware of who was standing before me. “This can’t be happening,” I muttered.

  David stepped toward me. “Would slapping my other cheek, convince you that I’m real?”

  “You can’t be real.” I felt my lower lip begin to quiver. “Everyone said you were dead. I identified your body in the morgue. I buried you. I….” My knees gave way. I gasped for breath after breath. “David died. You’re not David…can’t be David…,” I kept mumbling while my body sank to the cold cement beneath my feet.

  Then there was a rush of warmth around me. Arms pulled me close and the familiar scent of someone—once thought gone from my life—filled my senses. I struggled to look up and fought to clear my vision through the cascade of tears.

  “Nicci, I’m David. I’m here,” his deep voice murmured against my cheek.

  The fog before my eyes cleared, and my David came into focus. He was pale and thin but alive, and kneeling beside me. When the light from a nearby street lamp revealed his face, it was then that I got a good look at the damage Michael’s bullet had done.