Sacrifice

by Alexandrea Weis

  I looked once more to the folder on my lap. “If I do this job for you Simon, would you be willing to do something for me? Sort of like an exchange of information. I get what you need and then you get me what I need.”

  Simon smiled. “If you are successful in getting the information I require from Gregory Caston, then I will be happy to help you get whatever it is that you need.”

  “And that’s it? No contract. No paperwork. You hand me this…” I picked up the folder. “And we have a deal?”

  “I’m a very simple man, Nicci, and I never put anything down on paper.” Simon reached for his cane and stood easily from his chair. “Let us just call this little job a test for you. If you are successful with Mr. Caston, then we will need to make further arrangements if you are to continue working for me.”

  I stood and placed the folder on the seat of my chair. “What kind of arrangements?”

  He walked over to me. “Bank accounts in Zurich for starters. And a place for you to live away from New Orleans and Dallas.” He paused and looked over at me raising one eyebrow. “Where will you be staying while this job plays out?” he inquired.

  “I’m at my father’s with Dallas but—”

  Simon waved his hand, silencing me. “I would suggest making other living arrangements. Dallas is a suspicious man and your comings and goings will be questioned. No need to have a jealous lover hanging around to muddle up the assignment.” He walked back to the desk in the corner of the room. “I can arrange for you to have a suite here at the Royal Orleans,” he offered over his shoulder.

  I smiled as I thought of Val’s house in the French Quarter. “I have somewhere else I can stay in the French Quarter.”

  Simon’s butler, Gerard, unexpectedly entered the room. The tall, bald man dressed in his tailored black suit stopped a few feet away from me and then nodded to Simon.

  “Everything has been arranged,” the man said in a deep voice. He turned from Simon and looked over at me. “Hello, Ms. Beauvoir,” he said with an insincere smile.

  I dipped my head politely to the butler. “Gerard, it’s good to see you again.”

  Simon picked up a slip of paper from his desk. “I will be staying on for a time in New Orleans to see how you do. Remember, Nicci, this is only a test. I have no expectations. If it gets to be too much and you want out, then simply walk away. I can bring in another of my specialists later to pick up where you left off.” He walked over to Gerard.

  “That is very generous of you. Do you always give everyone in your organization such an option?”

  Simon frowned as he handed the piece of paper to Gerard. “No. You are a friend and I’m making this offer only once. If you join my little group of specialists, then I will have certain expectations.”

  “And if I do not meet those expectations?” I stared defiantly into his eyes.

  “You will never want to disappoint me, Nicci.”

  I inspected Simon’s face, looking for some hint of emotion, but his countenance was as impenetrable as stone.

  “I guess that’s it then,” I said, stepping toward the entrance to Simon’s suite.

  Simon reached out and held my arm, halting my hasty departure. “There is a black tie benefit in two days for Hurricane Katrina Relief at a gallery in the French Quarter. Gregory Caston will be there, so you and I will be attending. Make your arrangements by then. I will contact you tomorrow with further details.”

  I nodded. “All right, Simon.”

  Simon let go of my arm. “Just one more thing. Mr. Caston thinks himself something of an artist.” He glanced down at his cane. “He will inevitably want to paint you. But I must warn you, he prefers only one style of portraiture.”

  I looked from Gerard to Simon. “Which is?”

  Simon looked up at me and smiled, showing his sharp little white teeth. “He likes to paint nudes.”

  ***

  I returned from meeting with Simon to find Dallas in my father’s study, working on the computer. He was seated behind my father’s massive oak desk, concentrating on the computer screen in front of him.

  “Dallas,” I called out from the door. “Care for some company?”

  “Back to Connecticut?” he said soberly.

  Unsure of what to say to him, I simply stood and watched him from the doorway.

  He shook his head and waved me inside. “Come in, Nicci.” His eyes followed me as I entered the study. “How did meeting go with the graphic designer?” he asked as he sat back in his chair.

  I had concocted a story for Dallas about a last minute meeting, arranged by my publisher, with a local graphic designer to make some changes to the cover of Unfinished Business.

  “Everything went well. I think everyone at Hamper Publishing will be pleased with the new cover,” I reported as I approached the desk. “What are you doing?” I inquired.

  He nodded to the computer screen. “E-mails from my uncle about the boatyard. He wanted me to go over some figures on new boat orders before we start production.”

  I approached his side and took his hand in mine. And for a moment I felt we were as we had been…content. He let go of my hand and went back to his e-mails. I took a seat on the edge of the desk and watched as his slender fingers typed furiously away on the keyboard.

  As I sat on the desk and observed the man who had shared my bed these past few months, I wondered what it was that had attracted me to Dallas. He was a handsome man with his strong jaw and deep blue eyes. He had a lean, muscular frame that he kept in shape by running daily and lifting weights. He was kind, considerate, and a wonderful lover. He had all the qualities that any other woman would have swooned over and spent the rest of her life admiring. I knew I cared for Dallas, but love? Perhaps love was never meant to be part of my design. Perhaps I was fated to have loved once and never to love again. What was wrong with me that I could not move past what I had discovered with David? And then I thought of David, the way he smiled, his laugh, the touch of his hand, all the things that had sent my biochemistry into the stratosphere. If there was ever one true example of divine intervention, then love must be it. Because nothing in the world defied explanation more than the one force that drives two people together. It goes beyond chemistry and psychology, because there is no practical science that can be applied to the impractical nature of love. We are motivated by it, driven mad during it, and long for its presence when we fall out of it. And as I watched Dallas pound the keys on my father’s desktop computer, I felt saddened by my lack of love for him. I should love him, every practical bone in my body told me so, but I didn’t. And never being able to quite love somebody enough is sadder than never having loved anybody at all.

  “You’re a good man, Dallas August,” I stated as I watched his profile. “Did I ever tell you that?”

  Dallas stopped typing and turned to me. He sat back in my father’s old leather chair and probed me with his eyes.

  “The question is why are you telling me this now?” he finally asked.

  “Because I felt you needed to hear it.” I stood up from the desk and gingerly kissed his cheek. “I love you, Dallas,” I whispered to him.

  “But you’re not in love with me, are you, Nicci?” he questioned as I stood back from his chair.

  I stood motionless, feeling my nerve beginning to falter. “I thought those words mattered to you,” I calmly replied.

  “They do. But it’s the delivery that leaves something to be desired.”

  I choked back my anger. “I’m sorry if my delivery was not up to your expectations.” I took a step back from him. “I’ll just go and let my father know I’m home.”

  I hoped to exit the room before he could find the words to cross-examine me.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you finally said it,” he called out from behind me. “So when are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

  I stopped at the entrance to my father’s study and reached out for the doorframe to steady myself. I had to make sure I gave not the
slightest hint of my true inner turmoil to Dallas. I had to be like him. It was my turn to be the cool professional.

  “Why do you always have to interrogate me? Nothing is going on,” I insisted, facing him.

  He was sitting in my father’s chair with his arms folded across his chest. “Old habits die hard. Besides, you’ve never been a very good liar, Nicci.”

  I stared at him but said nothing. I wanted to see what, if anything, he knew.

  “Dora, your pushy little publishing assistant, called the house while you were out. She said she tried your cell phone but it was off.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “So where were you?” he persisted.

  “All right if you must know.”

  He grinned at me. “Oh, I must.”

  I raised my head and took in a deep breath. “I was meeting an old friend of yours at the Royal Orleans about a job,” I reported.

  A moment of tense silence passed between us and then Dallas started shaking his head. “And how is Simon?” He stood from his chair.

  I leaned wearily against the doorframe. “Looking for an art forger. He wants me to help him. Seems someone is putting fake David Alexander’s on the market and Simon wants me to shake down the dealer all the paintings are tied to.”

  Dallas slowly walked up to me. “And who is that, may I ask?”

  “A man named Gregory Caston.”

  Dallas gave me a slight look of surprise. “Caston and Simon hate each other. Did you know that?”

  I nodded. “Simon mentioned something about it.”

  Dallas stopped in front of me “Did Simon mention that Caston runs a rival organization similar to Simon’s? Simon has lost a lot of clients and specialists to his biggest competitor in the past. He has been itching to get rid of Caston for years.”

  I looked nervously into his eyes. “He must have skipped that part.”

  “You can’t do this, Nicci. Caston is a dangerous man.” He paused but kept his eyes riveted to mine. “You’re in over your head,” he softly added.

  I turned away from him. “I’ve already agreed to take the job, Dallas.”

  “So I’m supposed to just go back to Connecticut and leave you here to be used by Simon.” He placed his mouth against my ear and whispered, “Or perhaps you plan on using Simon to help you search for your ghost?”

  I spun around and angrily glared at him. He could always decipher my every mood or predict my every whim. He knew me, sometimes better than I knew myself, and it frustrated the hell out of me.

  He smiled happily. “That’s it, isn’t it, sweet cheeks?”

  “Go back to Connecticut, Dallas. Go back to building your stupid boats! And don’t call me sweet cheeks!”

  He started laughing at me. “You can’t seriously expect me to walk away now. To leave you in New Orleans alone, and mixed up with Simon La Roy, while seeing dead people walking around. Really, Nicci, what kind of fiancé would I be if I just left you to your own devices.”

  “I don’t need your approval and I never said I was—”

  “But you do need my protection,” he stated, cutting me off. “You need to stay one step ahead of Simon and Greg Caston. Both men are extremely good at what they do and you don’t stand a chance against them.” He leaned in closer to me, his lips inches from mine. “You need me, Nicci. And if hanging around and letting you get this out of your system is what has to happen to make you wake up and come back to Connecticut with me, then so be it.”

  “You can’t possibly think…”

  “From now on, Nicci, I’m going to be your Goddamn shadow.” He paused and leaned back from me. “Now tell me everything Simon said. Repeat the entire meeting word for word. And this time don’t leave anything out,” he taunted as he gave me his best knowing grin.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, Dallas sat across from me in one of the old black leather chairs in front of my father’s desk, nodding his head at me. His dark blue eyes were filled with more excitement than I had ever seen in him during the past few months.

  “I have to agree with Simon,” Dallas said when he eventually spoke up. “First thing we need to do is get out of your father’s house. I don’t want him involved and he will ask too many questions.”

  “That’s exactly what Simon said about you. He wanted me to send you back to Connecticut without me,” I admitted.

  “Then I will have to make Simon believe I have left.” Dallas glanced over at me. His cool blue eyes seemingly lit from within. “We’ll need a place to stay in the city that’s closer to the target,” he asserted.

  “I, ah, was thinking of Val’s place in the Quarter. She’s out of town for over three weeks. Should be long enough to find out what we need to learn about Gregory Caston.”

  He scowled. “That’s very good, Nicci. I must be getting rusty. I should have thought of that.”

  “I can call Uncle Lance and offer to take over the house sitting duties. I’ll tell him we want to be alone to work out our issues.”

  Dallas nodded in agreement. “Give your father the same story. Keep everything consistent.” He looked me up and down. “I know Caston. Simon was very cunning in choosing you. Caston would never suspect you and he has a major obsession with David Alexander’s Jenny. You’ll need to take some of the clothes you wore in David’s paintings with you. That black beaded gown for starters. He’ll need to see you in that.”

  I inwardly cringed at the idea of pulling out the gown that had become an iconic symbol of my relationship with David. I had worn the off the shoulder black gown over three years ago to Val’s annual Celebration at the Botanical Gardens in City Park. David and I had run into each other at the event, danced in each other’s arms, and eventually had returned to his cottage in Lakeview. There, he had painted me in that black dress as I reclined on a couch with a bottle of champagne on the floor beside me. It had been the beginning of a wonderful collaboration.

  I pried myself away from the past. “I still have a few formal dresses I left here in New Orleans. I can pack those and bring them with me.”

  “Make sure they are all low cut and fit snuggly. Caston needs to become quickly interested. Go shopping for more tomorrow in case you need them. I’ll return the rental car to the airport and make it look like I caught my flight back to Connecticut. That should convince Simon I’m out of the picture. When is Simon going to contact you again?”

  “Tomorrow.” I paused, remembering something Simon had told me. “There’s a benefit for Hurricane Katrina Relief at a gallery in the French Quarter. Simon wants to take me. He said Gregory Caston would be there.”

  “When is it?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  Dallas took in a breath and let it out slowly between his lips. “Then we better get moving.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning Dallas and I packed up and left my father’s house.

  “You can be alone together here or back in Connecticut,” my father protested as Dallas carried our luggage down the stairs. “No need to go to Val’s,” he implored.

  “Dallas and I want to talk this out and he thinks we would be better off someplace where there are no distractions for either of us,” I explained while repositioning the overnight bag on my shoulder.

  “Is this what you want Nicci?” he asked, his green eyes keen with curiosity.

  “Yes. I want to give us every chance. And a few days in the French Quarter will be like a vacation for us. No boat business, no publishers calling, no hassles, and no worries.”

  “I guess I see your point, but don’t be a stranger. And don’t forget your appointment with Dr. Appell on Monday.”

  “Nicci, Lance is waiting,” Dallas hollered from downstairs.

  “I’ve got to go, Dad.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  My father laughed. “At least I know Val is overjoyed you’re taking over the house sitting duties from Lance.” He shook his head. “God knows what kind of mess she would have come home to with him looking after the place.”


  I gave him one last smile as a car horn blew from outside. He waved me away and I turned and headed down the stairs. I stepped onto the porch and a sudden chill overtook me. I had a horrible feeling that I was never going to see my childhood home again.

  “You OK, kid?” Uncle Lance asked as he came up behind me. He took the overnight bag from my shoulder. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he commented.

  I shook off my morose feelings and smiled at him. “I’m fine, Uncle Lance. No more ghosts,” I affirmed and then turned away from the front door. I quickly headed down the steps and across the shell drive to Dallas, who was waiting by my uncle’s red Jaguar.

  “You all right?” he asked as he held the passenger door open for me.

  “I guess I’m a little nervous,” I told him.

  “You haven’t even started the job yet, Nicci. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  I nodded my head and took in a deep breath. “I have to go through with this, Dallas.”

  Dallas leaned in closer to my ear. “Then stop revealing your emotions to the world. Put a wall up and keep it up until this job is over. And don’t ever let Greg Caston see you as anything other than cool and collected. If you show him any weakness, he will eat you alive.” He leaned back from me and grinned.

  “You two ready to hit the road?” Uncle Lance called out as he walked around to the driver’s side of his red Jaguar.

  “We’re ready, Lance,” Dallas replied, keeping his piercing gaze on me. “Let the fun begin.”

  ***

  Val Easterling’s home was a two story gray Creole cottage built around an oversized courtyard with long shady balconies and a carriage house converted into a two-car garage located in the rear of the property. The residence was fairly large, considering that many of the grander mansions in the French Quarter had been divided up into smaller apartments. Since most of the inhabitants in the Quarter these days came to the Big Easy to pursue dreams of music, art, or to search for vampires, it made little sense to keep the bigger, more expensive, homes in their original condition. Many had suffered the indignity of being sectioned off into efficiency apartments for young renters with little income or furniture.