Recovery (9 page)

Chapter 11

Christmas morning I went downstairs early, still dressed
in my robe and pajamas, to find Dallas, Uncle Lance, and my father sitting around the kitchen table with their heads together, whispering.

“You guys look cozy.”

All three pairs of eyes looked up at me.

I walked over to the kitchen cabinet and took out a mug. “So what are the three of you scheming?” I asked as I reached for the coffee pot.

“How to get the moron to go to BeBe’s party,” Uncle Lance answered. “Personally, I think we can pass on the moron and Eddie.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we please stop calling Michael the moron?”

“My money is on Silicone Sammy,” Uncle Lance continued.

“I think Eddie did it,” my father added.

I almost started laughing. “What, are we starting a pool now?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Uncle Lance replied.

“Please!” I joined them at the table. When I sat down, I saw the gun on the table in front of Dallas. “Where did you get that?” I asked him.

Dallas nodded to my uncle as he picked up his coffee mug. “He gave it to me this morning.”

“Sig Sauer P226,” Uncle Lance said. “Good gun. Standard issue for the CIA and FBI.”

Dallas smiled behind his coffee mug. “So I’ve heard.”

“The serial numbers have been burned off with acid,” Uncle Lance explained as he pointed to the gun, “so it’s clean. No one will be able to trace it.”

I gawked at my uncle. “Should I even ask where you got that?”

Uncle Lance smiled. “Your Uncle Carl Bordonaro.”

Dallas almost choked on his coffee. His eyes grew in size as he stared at my uncle. “Carl Bordonaro, the mafia kingpin?”

Uncle Lance laughed. “You know him?”

Dallas cleared his throat nervously. “Oh, I’ve heard about him. He’s wanted by the feds and half the states east of the Mississippi.”

“He’s an old friend,” Uncle Lance boasted, folding his arms across his chest. “Nicci’s known him all her life. He was even at her christening.”

I peered down into my coffee and tried not to laugh. My uncle’s “old friends” would read like a who’s who of Mafia folklore. I was sure Dallas would be interrogating me in detail about that subject later on.

My father stood up and frowned at his brother. “Lance, now is not the time to discuss your underworld connections. Perhaps we should get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Uncle Lance agreed. “I was just telling Dallas that I can get BeBe to invite Michael to her party.” He paused and grinned at Dallas. “BeBe and I go way back.”

I raised my eyebrows at my uncle. “You and BeBe Comeaux? When did this happen?”

Uncle Lance picked up his coffee mug from the table. “Years ago. Between wife number three and four,” he frowned, “I think.”

At times, I still found it hard to believe my father and uncle were even related. One brother was so exuberant in the way he embraced life and the other seemed to be almost hiding from it. Sometimes I felt the only common bond they shared was their love for me.

“Perhaps, Lance, you should say as little as possible to the Hoover sisters today about Nicci’s relationship with Dallas. We all know they’re the biggest gossips in town and you are lousy at keeping secrets. You might let something slip. So just play dumb.” My father patted his brother on the shoulder. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Uncle Lance frowned. “Very funny, Billy.”

Dallas leaned over to me. “Hoover sisters?”

“The sound of Aunt Hattie and my cousin Colleen’s laughter reminds my father of the vacuum cleaner,” I explained. “He has called them that for years.”

My father smiled at Dallas. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

After breakfast, I went upstairs to quickly change into a comfortable pair of slacks and casual shirt. As Dallas came into my room, I made a hasty retreat down the stairs in hopes of avoiding him by hiding away in the kitchen.

Two hours later, I was busy starting on the oyster stuffing for the holiday meal when Val walked into the kitchen. She sauntered past me to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of champagne. She searched until she found a towel, opened the bottle, poured out two highball glasses full of the gold liquid, and then put one of the glasses on the counter in front of me.

“You need this,” she said, nodding to the champagne.

“Val, it’s not even ten thirty,” I stated as I eyed the clock on the wall. “It’s a bit early.”

“Drink,” she ordered, shoving the glass toward me.

I took a sip of the champagne, glared at her, and then placed the glass back on the counter.

She raised her gray eyebrows at me. “So care to tell me what’s going on with you and the man with the fine ass?” She frowned and took a long sip from her glass before she spoke. “You’ve been in here all morning and he’s been out there.” She nodded to the kitchen door. “You’re avoiding Dallas. Why?”

I shrugged as I stirred my oyster stuffing. “It’s just a spat. Last night he said some harsh things to me and I just don’t want to talk to him right now.”

Val came closer to me, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. “What did he say?”

I put down my spoon and looked over at Val, unsure if I wanted to rehash the entire unpleasantness. I picked up the glass of champagne from the counter and took a big sip. “He told me I still belonged to David,” I softly said as I placed my glass back down on the counter.

“That’s it?” She frowned. “I thought you were going to tell me something good. But I can see his point. You do still belong to David.”

I furrowed my brow and then picked up my spoon again. “But why would he say something like that?”

Val put her glass down on the counter. “Because it’s the truth. Nicci, you’ve been holding on to everything that reminds you of David. The house in Hammond, the paintings, hell, you only took off the engagement ring David bought you a few months ago and he’s been gone for over two years now.” She paused as she placed her hand on her hip and watched me for a moment. “Grief is a funny thing, Nicci. One day it’s there like a fifty-pound weight sitting on your heart, the next, nothing. When I lost my Dan, well,” she shook her head, “I thought the world had ended, but it didn’t. When Katrina came and took everything I owned I thought the world had ended then too, but I’m still here. If Katrina taught me anything, it’s that nothing is permanent, nothing lasts, but at least we can look back and say, yeah, I had that, and damn, it was grand. You had something great with David, and now you have another chance for something else with Dallas.”

“Dallas?” I rebelled at the notion. “I can’t figure him out. I don’t know what is real and what is not with him.”

She picked up her drink. “Could be a whole lot of fun finding out one way or the other.”

“Hey there!” Dallas called out as he stuck his head through the kitchen door. “Can I do anything?”

“Why don’t you come in here and help this poor girl out.” Val waved him into the room. “I’ll just go and see what the dynamic duo is up to.” She walked toward the kitchen door, turned one more time to me, and winked before she departed.

“So, ah,” Dallas glanced around the kitchen, “what can I do?”

“I don’t know. Can you do anything?”

“I could make dessert. How does chocolate mousse sound?”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You can make that?”

He leered at me. “Sweet cheeks, you would be amazed at what I can do in the kitchen.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I rolled my eyes and then went over to my oyster dressing on the counter by the stove and turned my back to him.

I could hear him behind me rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator muttering, but I did not offer any assistance. I figured the less we said to each other, the better.

“You’re very quiet,” he commented, disrupting the peace in the kitchen.

I looked over into his frosty eyes and my heart fell to my knees. Suddenly every breath from him felt as if it would unhinge me, and the smell of his cologne sent my stomach into knots. Why was I reacting like this? Why was he starting to eat away at me like some voracious flesh-eating bacteria? I concentrated on keeping my face free of any hint as to the upheaval raging inside of me.

“Am I?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’m just preoccupied with all this cooking.”

“No,” he pressed as he came around the counter and stood next to me. “You’re nervous about something.” He paused as his eyes inspected my face. “Is it perhaps…me?”

“Very funny. I still belong to someone else, remember?” I threw my spoon on the counter, picked up my bowl, and turned toward the stove.

Dallas stood leaning on the edge of the counter for what seemed like an eternity, grinning at me.

“What?” I yelled, unable to take his probing eyes anymore.

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “It got to you, didn’t it? What I said last night about David. You’ve been thinking about it all morning, haven’t you, and you’ve realized I was right.”

I frowned at him. “You’re wrong, Dallas. I know that may be something of a blow to your ego, considering you think you’re right about everything.”

He cocked his head slightly to the side as he thought for a moment. “So if that isn’t it, then what is bothering you?” He moved in closer to me. “I’ve got all day, Nicci.”

I slammed my bowl of oyster stuffing down on the stove but said nothing to him.

He gave a frustrated sigh and uncrossed his arms. “Things would go a lot easier for both of us if you would stop fighting with me at every opportunity and try to relax. And next time I reach for you in front of people, try not to recoil like I have the plague.”

And I thought I had been doing such a good job of keeping my emotions in check. “Have I been doing that?” I asked innocently.

“Not so much with your body but,” he paused, “definitely with your eyes. Maybe if you tell me why you’re acting like this we could come up with a solution.”

He was standing at my kitchen counter seeming completely at ease. But I knew that was an illusion. That was what he wanted everyone to see.

“I don’t get you. One minute you’re kind and caring when we’re putting on a show for everyone and then when we’re alone, you’re as cold as winter in New York.” I took a breath. “Which one is the real you?”

He lowered his gaze to the floor and took a few moments before he responded. “Sometimes I don’t even know where the job ends and I begin. Too many years of working undercover will do that to a person, or so I’ve been told.”

I took a step toward him. “Perhaps it’s time for you to reconsider your career choice.”

He moved away from me and walked over to pick up a pot from the stove. “I promise to do better.” He turned back to me. “If you promise to try to relax. All right?” He smiled and the mood in the kitchen suddenly brightened. He set the control knob on the stovetop to high and the gas burner exploded with a blue flame. He gave an enthusiastic clap of his hands and declared, “Now let’s get this dinner started.”

Dallas and I were working away together in the kitchen when suddenly I heard the most familiar squeal.

I gasped aloud. “Oh, no!”

Dallas glanced up from his mousse. “What?”

I didn’t answer him and headed straight for the kitchen door, but before I could reach the exit, the door swung open before me. There standing in the entrance was my Aunt Hattie.

She was dressed in a red and green skirt and top that accentuated her round figure. Her brown hair was teased atop her head in a style that harkened back to the sixties. But the bowl-like coif did little to enhance her plain, pale features and big brown eyes.

“Aunt Hattie,” I said as I went over to greet her. “How nice you, ah, smell,” I added, noting the heavy aroma of gardenias suddenly filling the kitchen.

“Hello, Nicci, dear,” Aunt Hattie stated as she walked briskly past me. She stopped a few feet away from Dallas. “So you’re the architect?” She looked him up and down like a used car salesman sizing up a customer. “Valie just told me about the two of you. I think it’s wonderful my niece has finally met a nice guy.” She spun around to me and smiled. “Not that the gigolo wasn’t a nice man, Nicci, but an architect…” She turned her attention back to Dallas. “I set her up with a doctor once, but that didn’t work out.” She paused and studied Dallas again. “You don’t look like an architect.”

Dallas laughed as he patted his flour-covered hands together. “What do I look like?”

“Another gigolo.”

“Aunt Hattie!” I yelled.

Aunt Hattie just shrugged. “Well, it’s true, Nicci. He is too good looking to be an architect.”

Dallas grinned as he folded his arms over his chest. “So you’ve had a great deal of experience with architects?”

Aunt Hattie spied the food on the counter and shrugged. “No.”

“Then how about with gigolos?” Dallas asked.

My aunt just stared at him.

At this point, I figured I was beyond humiliation.

Then Aunt Hattie started laughing, sucking in large gasps of air and snorting loudly.

I saw Dallas place his hand discreetly over his mouth, trying to hide his laughter.