He stormed over to his bed. He picked up a book from the pile on the floor and flung it across the room at me.
The book landed at my feet. I looked down to see my picture on the back cover of Painting Jenny.
“I thought you loved me! Or so I read. Is what you wrote about me the truth or just creative license? I have to wonder if I ever meant anything to you in the first place since I was so easily replaced.”
Tears of anger filled my eyes. “You son of a bitch!” I shouted. “I was devastated when you were killed.” I pointed to the book on floor in front of me. “I wrote that book for us. You told me once you wanted to be remembered for eternity with me. My writing and your paintings standing side by side, telling the world what we had meant to each other. And now you turn on me as if I betrayed you!”
He marched across the room. His face was red and his gray eyes were bulging. “Do you know what it was like for me to sit here and listen to Dallas talk about the two of you? To picture him holding you at night in his arms, caressing your body, and making love to you!” He threw his hands in the air. “I feel like I’m being ripped apart!” He placed his hand on his hip and shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he shouted.
I felt my anger coil up inside of me like a rattlesnake about to strike. “No, David, I don’t know how much you love me. Why don’t you just paint me a Goddamn picture?”
I spun around and headed toward the spiral staircase. David came up behind me and wrapped his long arms around my waist.
“You’re not walking out of here until we resolve this,” he said, pulling my body to his.
I wriggled out of his arms and faced him. “Resolve what? I don’t think you and I have anything left to discuss.”
“We have plenty left to discuss. Don’t just shut me out, Nicci. Not now,” he grumbled as he leaned away from me.
“Perhaps it is better if we end this,” I suggested as I turned to go.
He sighed behind me. “Nicci, don’t go. I’m frustrated and…knowing about you and him…thinking about the two of you together…I’ve been stewing about it ever since Dallas left.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I stood paralyzed by my emotions. I did not want to stay, but I was not yet ready to walk away.
“How do I know you won’t spend the rest of our lives throwing Dallas in my face? You never did that with Michael,” I eventually said over my shoulder.
“You never loved Michael. Dallas on the other hand…” He gently turned me around to face him. “Knowing there has been another man that has found a place in your heart infuriates me. Maybe if it had been someone other than him, I could have handled it a little better than I have. I shared so much about you with him and I feel like he used everything I said to manipulate you into caring for him.”
“He didn’t manipulate me,” I scoffed.
David raised one skeptical eyebrow at me. “Are you sure about that? The Nicci Beauvoir I remember would never have given an abrasive man like Dallas August a second thought.”
“It’s your fault. You brought us together,” I insisted as I pointed an accusing finger at him. “You painted that Jenny for him and you asked him to take care of me in case anything happened to you.” I watched for his reaction. “Why did you do that?”
David ran his hand through his hair and lowered his head for a moment as if thinking of his reply. When he looked up, his eyes appeared cold and distant.
“After you discovered the reason why Sammy hired me, I returned to New York. I missed you and needed someone to talk to about everything that had happened between us. Dallas was there. I ended up telling him a great deal about you.”
I nodded. “He told me that.”
“And did he happen to mention that he was in love with you long before you two ever met?” David paused and waited for my response. I had none. “I didn’t think so,” he asserted. “It soon became apparent to me that he had fallen in love with the Nicci that I had gone on and on about. And then he asked me to paint him a picture of Jenny before I returned to New Orleans. He was my friend and I felt obligated to paint the portrait for him. But I would never have given him the damned thing if I had known you two would end up together.”
“What about asking him to take care of me?”
“I never asked him to do that!” David refuted. “He told me if I should ever need him to look after you, if I ever had to go away, then he said he would make sure you were kept safe.”
“But why would Dallas lie to me about saying that?” I persisted.
“I don’t know! Maybe he wanted to make it appear as if I was giving your relationship my blessing. He probably thought it would help ease your guilt about being with him.”
I looked warily at David. “That doesn’t sound like something Dallas would do.”
“Dallas is a master manipulator, Nicci. He can read people like a book and knows what to say to get them to do his bidding. Worked on you, didn’t it?”
I said nothing and let a few moments of edgy silence click by. I felt the tension in my body ease.
“It’s good to see you painting again,” I said casually, wanting to close the emotional gap between us. “I missed watching you paint,” I admitted.
He walked to where my book had landed on the floor. He picked it up and gently wiped the cover with his hand. “And how is the writing going?” he asked in a calmer voice.
I shrugged. “My new book comes out next month.”
He raised his eyebrows “Am I in it?”
“No, it’s about hunting for your killer in post Katrina New Orleans.”
He frowned. “Is Dallas in it?”
I nodded. “I based the main character on him.”
David snickered. “Then I’m sure I’ll hate it.”
He walked across the room and placed his copy of Painting Jenny on top of his bed.
I moved closer to him. “After Dallas came to see you yesterday, Greg Caston dropped by for a visit.”
He placed his hand on his hip as his eyes explored mine. “You need to be careful around Caston, Nicci. He was always a back stabbing son of a bitch who would have sold out his own mother to get ahead.”
“How do you know so much about him?”
“He used to work for Simon. I was just a kid when he was there, but I remember how cruel he was. Caston went to a few of Simon’s big client’s and got backing to start his own organization. Simon has never forgiven him. That was around the same time he started grooming me to take over. I guess he figured I was young enough to mold into someone he could depend on to run his organization.” He paused and nodded his head at me. “So what did Caston say to you?”
I shrugged. “That he wanted to get to know me.”
“He was testing you,” David said smiling.
“What do you mean, testing me?”
He waved his hand casually about in the air. “When you’re going after a target you need to appear unexpectedly in places to gauge their reaction. Surprised individuals are usually easier to manipulate than those who are suspicious and resentful of such an encounter. It’s a method often used for evaluating how receptive a target will be to your advances.”
I shook my head. “Honestly, David, the more I hear about your past and your business with Simon the more—”
“You hate me,” he inserted.
“No, the more I wonder how a man like you ever got tangled up in all of that.”
He furrowed his brow. “A man like me?”
I gazed into his eyes and felt the anger flow out of me like a retreating tide from a sandy shore.
“You were a wonderful, warm, genuine man with so much talent. How could you have stayed with a petty, cruel creature like Simon La Roy?”
His gray eyes glared at me. “What do you mean were? You don’t think I’m still wonderful?”
“Not at this particular moment.”
“Then perhaps I should refresh your memory.” He stepped forward an
d pulled me into his arms.
I struggled to free myself of his embrace. “Don’t do this, David.”
“Why? Because of Dallas?” He lowered his head to mine. “Give me this, just once, Nicci. And then I will walk away forever,” he whispered.
He kissed me. His lips pressed against mine with such urgency, such an overpowering hunger, that I was instantly transported back in time to our first kiss in the darkness of the Botanical Gardens of City Park. Passion, so long buried beneath the weight of my memories, rose inside of me like boiling water erupting from a geyser. I felt the blood surging through me as my mouth opened to accept his and my body began molding to him. With every passing breath, I could feel us conforming to each other, becoming intimately familiar again. And for a moment, it was as if the nightmares of the past had never happened.
He was the first to pull away. He released me from his arms and took a step back.
“I can’t do this,” he mumbled.
I looked up into his face, trying to understand why he had pushed me away. I took a step toward him, but he backed away from me.
“You’re not mine to take,” he said softly. “I thought when you came here it was for me, but I don’t know any more if it is because of your pity for me, or your guilt, that you’re standing here.”
I shook my head. “What are you talking about, David?”
“What do I mean to you, Nicci? Right now. Today. Not the David I used to be. That man died when Michael shot him. I need to know that you can accept me as I am. And I need to know that I’m the only one. I won’t share you with another.”
All the intimacy between us instantly washed away. He was a stranger again; a man who looked like my David, but acted like someone I had never met.
“I’d better go,” I said and I turned back to the spiral staircase.
I quickly headed down the stairs and out the front door, wanting to put as much space as I could between us. As I made my way across the courtyard, I wiped the tears from my eyes. That was the problems with dreams coming true. We think every fulfilled dream will only bring us happiness. But every dream has a price, because when dreams do come true, they never quite turn out the way the dreamer intended.
Chapter Fourteen
When I returned to Val’s house, Dallas was waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast table, and nursing a drink in his hands.
“I didn’t think you would be back so soon,” he said.
I went to Val’s liquor cabinet, located next to the built-in refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of vodka.
“Yeah, well, we didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to say to each other,” I angrily stated as I pulled a glass from the cabinet above the kitchen sink.
I poured a measure of vodka into my glass and went to the refrigerator to get the orange juice.
“And is that why you need a drink?” he inquired behind me. “Or did something else happen between you two?”
I spun around and glared at him. “What are you asking, Dallas?”
Dallas sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Did you sleep with him?”
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. “Is that what you think? I ran over there to have sex with David? Did it ever occur to you that maybe he and I have a lot of things to discuss?”
“Like what?” he asked, raising his voice slightly. “I find it hard to believe that you could open up to David any more than you could open up to me. I know you Nicci, and you don’t share your feelings with anyone.”
I forced back the barrage of words I wanted to spray at him. Instead, I poured my drink and returned the orange juice to the fridge, slamming the refrigerator door closed with all my might.
“Perhaps it would be better for all major appliances if you told either David, or me, how you feel?” Dallas pursued. “Sooner or later, Nicci, you’re going to have to tell somebody what is rambling around in that heart of yours. You’ve always kept so much locked away inside of you.”
I looked over at him. “Funny, I always thought the same about you.” I picked up my cocktail and took a long sip.
“But you already know how I feel.” Dallas got up from the chair. “And you don’t need that,” he insisted as he took the drink from my hand. “You need to be sharp for your date with Caston tonight.”
I sighed as I thought about the evening ahead of me.
“Despite what you may think of David or me, you still have a job to do.” He went to the sink and poured out my drink. “Wear that green velvet dress I gave you last December for Val’s party. You need to be the center of attention tonight.”
“If it makes you feel any better I didn’t sleep with him,” I admitted as I stared into his face.
“I know,” Dallas assured me. “If you had, you wouldn’t have needed the drink.”
***
Gregory Caston arrived at precisely seven thirty. I was in my bedroom, putting the last touches of make up on my face, when I heard the doorbell. As I quickly checked my reflection in the mirror once more, I ran my hand over my green velvet beaded gown.
“Prompt little shit, isn’t he?” Dallas commented from the bedroom door.
I turned to see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest. “Do you want me to answer it?” he asked, raising his dark eyebrows tauntingly. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo. His expensive stainless steel watch gleamed on his wrist as the smell of his spicy cologne wafted into my room. There were times when his good looks took me off guard.
I hurriedly grabbed my handbag, “No, I’ll get it, you…” I stopped myself and looked over at him. “What are you going to do tonight?” I asked warily.
He grinned. “I’ll be shadowing you at the party.”
“Are you sure you should take that chance? This is a big event and there will be a lot of people there and probably a lot of security as well.”
“Nicci, I know how to do my job. You just worry about Caston tonight. Remember, if things get to be too much don’t panic. You’re at a public event surrounded by lots of witnesses. You can simply leave the party and come back here.”
“And what if Greg wants to be alone with me?”
“You’re going to have to go with him. Refusing him might look suspicious. You’re supposed to be gaining his confidence, not pushing him away.” The doorbell rang again. “You’d better go,” he said.
I made it to the living room in time to hear the doorbell ringing yet again. I took a deep breath and tried to settle the hornet’s nest that was burning inside of my stomach.
“I just know dealing with all of these men has got to be giving me an ulcer,” I mumbled as I reached for the doorknob.
***
Greg’s gallery was located in the Warehouse District of downtown New Orleans not far from the docks scattered along the Mississippi River. The entrance to the three-story old brick building was bustling with people dressed in haute couture and arriving in long limousines. Greeting the guests at the curb were black tie waiters with silver trays filled with flutes of champagne. As Greg exited our limousine, a flash went off. He reached inside the back of the car for me, and when I stepped onto the curb a photographer snapped my picture.
Greg smiled at the photographer as he tugged at my hand. “I’m known for my charity events and The Times-Picayune likes to add highlights of me, as well as my guests, on the society page. It helps with donations.”
I smiled at him. “It’s good to know that the philanthropist side of you is being recognized by the local media.”
Greg laughed as he eased me away from the curb. “Yes, but the same media takes their shots at me too, Nicci. They like telling lies about me and setting other local business owners against me.”
“Why would they do that, Greg?” I asked as he took my elbow. “I’m sure you have nothing to hide.”
Greg glared at me with his intense eyes. “Your friend Simon La Roy doesn’t think so. He’s been telling lies about me for years.”
; “What kind of lies?”
Greg took in the guests gathering outside of the entrance to his gallery. “I don’t think that matters. I hired extra security to make sure he does not surprise us tonight. Let’s not mention his name any more this evening.”
We stepped through the front doors to find the entrance hallway of the gallery filled with a line of receiving tables. Guests were signing in and showing invitations to pretty girls in short, black dresses. Greg stopped and chatted casually with a few of the people standing in line. Once inside the central portion of the main gallery, Greg stopped a waiter, who was passing by with a loaded down silver tray of champagne, and grabbed two flutes. He handed me a glass and smiled.
“All they will be serving tonight is Dom Perignon. But I can have one of my staff run out and get you whatever you wish to drink.”
I took the glass from his hand, frowning slightly. “That’s all right. But Dom Perignon is not one of my favorites. I prefer La Grande Dame to most champagne.”
“You’re quite right, Nicci. La Grande Dame is a much better champagne, but among the socially empowered but culturally inept individuals here tonight, Dom Perignon means money. And to make money with this crowd you must first cater to their wishes, no matter how unpalatable they may be.”
I nodded my head and refrained from smirking. “Yes, not everyone can be expected to meet such dizzying standards.”
He laughed. “You’re a snob, Ms. Beauvoir.”
I raised my head, proudly. “But of course, Mr. Caston. Do you disapprove?”
“Not at all. I like a woman who knows her worth.”
“And does Ms. Ryan know her worth?” I asked not being able to resist the opportunity to mention the woman I was trying to usurp.
He raised his eyebrows looking thoroughly amused. “Jenny? A pleasant diversion, but she means nothing to me. She originally came to New Orleans with a man of underworld repute and I won her in a poker game.”
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