Dark Perception: The Corde Noire Series Page 11

  He wrinkled his forehead while staring at her. “Are you happy, Maddie?”

  She patted his rumpled T-shirt. “I’m where I want to be, Jack.”

  Melinda made her way down Chartres Street, and as she reached the corner, she fought the urge to glance back to see if Jack was still standing by their table. Instead, she moved forward. Her new life was ahead of her, and the man she wanted was waiting for her to come to him.

  * * *

  The following evening, Melinda was pacing in front of her living room windows that overlooked the lights along the darkened Mississippi River. The snug, forest green strapless gown Ellie had selected made a swishing noise as she walked back and forth across the room. She played with a curled tendril of red hair while considering a drink to calm her nerves.

  A light tap at her front door sent a quiver through her. Crossing the living room, she placed her hand on the doorknob, and then took a moment to settle down. She wasn’t sure what scared her more, the idea of a party full of wealthy social climbers or her after party plans for Nathan.

  “That is what I call a dress,” Nathan exclaimed after she opened the door.

  His tuxedo accentuated his long legs and wide chest, making Melinda’s already overcharged libido rev into high gear. Opting not to wear the customary black tie, Nathan had left the top button on his pressed white shirt open. He had slicked back his thick brown hair and applied a different, but equally intoxicating, citrus cologne. The effect was devastating.

  “You look quite … handsome,” she voiced, maintaining her composure.

  Nathan lightly chuckled, and the pleasing sound resonated deep within her bones. “Handsome is what you tell a boy on the way to his first prom.”

  “Why? Did your mother say that to you at your first prom?”

  “Yes, and I’ve never quite forgiven her for that.” He stepped inside her apartment.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “In DC with my father. He’s serving out his last term in Congress.”

  “He’s a congressman?” Her eyebrows rose on her forehead. “You’ve never mentioned that to me before.”

  Nathan came up to her. “He’s been in the House of Representatives for twenty years. I never mentioned it before because I don’t like to tell very many people about my father.”

  She smiled, heartened that he trusted her with such information. “I’m glad you told me.”

  His eyes dropped to her gown. “I’m not sure if I like the idea of taking you to a party in that dress.”

  Melinda anxiously patted her gown. “You don’t like it. I knew I shouldn’t have let—”

  “I love it,” he quickly reassured her. “But I’m not going to like it when the other men at the party are constantly staring at you. I might get jealous,” he added with a wink.

  “I think I would like that.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Melinda. I’m a very possessive man.” He held out his arm to her. “Are you ready to rub elbows with the rich and notorious?”

  Melinda retrieved her black-beaded purse from the sofa and then took his arm. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Just remember tonight is our opportunity to reel in a very big fish. Our hostess, Denise Becnel, is a respected businesswoman in this town, and if she signs on with me, many other investors are sure to follow. Find out what she is feeling about the Market Street project. I need something to lock her in.”

  “I’ll do my best, Nathan,” Melinda vowed as they walked toward her door.

  “After the party, I was thinking you could play for me.” He ushered her through the doorway. “I still haven’t heard you play.” He closed her front door behind him.

  A gush of guilt swirled in her stomach. “I haven’t put my hands on my keyboard since I moved in.” She feigned a smile. “I guess I’ve been busy.”

  “I don’t want to keep you from your music, Melinda. Have I been working you too hard?”

  “No, I’ve just been busy … getting settled in.” She gazed into his eyes as she remembered what Ellie had told her. “But I would love to play for you tonight after the party. Perhaps we could open a bottle of wine and make an evening of it.”

  A knowing smile eased its way across his lips, highlighting the curve of his square jaw. “We could do that.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  He placed his arm around her waist. “But first we have some work to do.”

  “Yes, boss,” she joked.

  Nathan laughed as he guided her toward the elevator. “Boss. I like the sound of that.”

  Chapter 11

  Denise Becnel lived along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain in a very wealthy section of the city. Bold mansions on ornately landscaped lots, rebuilt after the tidal surge of Katrina, rose along the reinforced shoreline. As their black Mercedes headed down Lakeshore Drive with the dark waters of the lake shining beneath a waxing moon, Melinda gently rubbed her hand across her jittery belly.

  Nathan must have noted the gesture and casually rested his hand on her forearm. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like a farm girl from Mississippi than at this moment.”

  “These people are not any different than you, Melinda. Having money or political clout doesn’t make them better.”

  “Easy for you to say … you’re a congressman’s son.”

  “I’m a congressman’s stepson. My real father took off when I was one. My mother met Mark Cole when I was two, and by the time I made three, they married and he adopted me.”

  “What about your real father?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Never met him, and never care to. My adopted father has made my mother very happy.”

  Melinda wistfully sighed. “I can imagine. Being able to attend concerts, tour museums, meet dignitaries, drink champagne every night … must be wonderful.” Melinda’s green eyes grew wide. “Almost sounds like the life of a princess.”

  Nathan sat back, studying her. “You would want that kind of life?”

  Melinda lowered her head as she reined in her enthusiasm. “I’m from rural Mississippi. That’s the kind of life a girl like me dreams of, but never gets.”

  “What if I could give you that kind of life? Would you like that, Melinda?”

  She admired the way the light from the passing streetlamps shone in his eyes. “Very much.”

  “If we seal the deal with old lady Becnel tonight, I will get you all of it, and more.”

  Melinda took in a shaky breath. “Nothing like a little added pressure, Nathan.”

  He eyed Bob in the driver’s seat. “I’ll text you when we’re ready to go, Bob, but I don’t plan on staying too long.”

  “I’ll be standing by outside, Mr. Cole.”

  “No, Bob. Go and get a bite to eat while we’re at the party. I don’t want you waiting around.”

  Bob glanced back at Nathan and Melinda in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Mr. Cole.”

  Melinda turned to the luxurious homes outside her window. As their car began to slow, she spotted a three-story mansion just up ahead with a mass of cars assembled out front.

  Built on piers, the house seemed more appropriate for a beach resort than the streets of New Orleans. The façade resembled an antebellum mansion, with white Corinthian columns that rose from the first floor to the second. Classic french doors and windows were along the first floor gallery, with smaller windows on the second story. Double winding steps from the ground up to the first floor entrance gave the home a flair of Southern ambiance, but the collection of tall palm trees planted on either side of the stairways almost made one feel as if they were in the middle of the Caribbean.

  A curved driveway had a short line of cars dropping off guests, while attendants in black stood by and waited for their keys. Melinda watched as the formally attired men and women sashayed beneath the high piers of the home and headed toward the back garden.

  “Mrs. Becnel rebuilt her home fifteen feet off t
he ground to avoid any future storm surges from the lake,” Nathan explained behind her. “She’s old New Orleans. Born and raised in the Garden District, educated at Dominican College, and was queen of the Rex parade in 1970. She married Lawrence Becnel, a wealthy investment broker, right after her first husband died in a boating accident. Becnel died several years ago, leaving Denise a small empire to run. She only has one son, who apparently stays away from the family business of making money.”

  Melinda noted the long gowns of the women and hoped hers looked just as elegant. “How do you know so much about her?”

  “Research,” he answered. “I always do research on people I’m interested in.”

  She turned to him. “Just like you did research on me.”

  The car came to a stop in the middle of the driveway.

  “You were different,” he stated, reaching for the door.

  An attendant opened the door for Melinda. When she stepped from the car, she waited for Nathan to come around to her side.

  “How was I different?” she inquired, taking his arm.

  Nathan’s eyes scanned the slow-moving guests around them heading to the rear of the home. “You’re not an investor, or politician, or someone I can’t trust. Individuals like that I do extensive research on to protect myself. I didn’t need any protection from you … at least I thought I didn’t.”

  Melinda caught sight of his pained smile as they made their way beneath the house. “Do you need protection from me now?”

  He stopped in the shadows, his face hidden from view. “Of all the people gathered at this party tonight, you’re the one I’m most afraid of.”

  Melinda tightened her grip on his arm. “Why, because I can read your thoughts?”

  “No, because you’re always in them.”

  For her, it was that perfect moment, when doubt was replaced by certainty. She knew it was no longer a question of if they would be together, but when.

  He rested his hand over hers and then dipped his head to the party. “Let’s get this over with.”

  When they emerged from the darkness beneath the house, a symphony of lights, strains of Scott Joplin, and scents of roasting meat greeted them. The rear of the home had been decorated to resemble a tropical paradise. There were palm trees filled with colorful lights, squawking macaws, buffet tables that resembled canoes, and bamboo-covered bars serving tall glasses of exotic drinks filled with paper umbrellas and spears of fruit.

  Melinda took in the wait staff outfitted in grass skirts and leis alongside the expensive designer gowns and tuxedos of the guests. At one end of the bricked patio was a whole pig roasting over an open fire. At the other, a jazz quartet in Hawaiian shirts was striking up a familiar Louis Armstrong classic.

  “Not quite what comes to mind when you think of a formal cocktail party,” Nathan mumbled beside her.

  Melinda examined the gray, blow-up sharks floating in the oval swimming pool in the middle of the patio. “Is this usual for these affairs?”

  “Hardly. I think our Mrs. Becnel may be a bit more eccentric than I was led to believe.” He motioned to one of the bamboo-covered bars. “Let’s get a drink and find our hostess, so you can work your magic.”

  At the bar, Melinda settled on soda water, not wanting any alcohol to blunt her ability. Nathan ordered a scotch and soda, and adamantly refused the bartender’s attempt to give him a rum punch stuffed with an oversized paper umbrella.

  They had not even stepped away from the bar when a short, bald man, chomping on an unlit cigar, came toward Nathan.

  “You here to court Denise for that Market Street deal, aren’t ya?” the man grumbled, eyeing Nathan through his thick-lensed, black glasses.

  “Shouldn’t you be hiding from the IRS?” Nathan shook the man’s hand.

  “It’s the FBI, and they’re probably somewhere ‘round here tonight.”

  Nathan waved his hand to Melinda. “Melinda Harris, meet Carl Bordonaro.”

  Melinda’s mouth almost dropped when she heard the man’s name. “Are you … I mean, the Carl Bordonaro from the newspapers?”

  He removed the cigar from his mouth. “Yeah, but don’t believe nothin’ you read about me. It’s all lies.”

  “No, the truth is invariably worse than what the newspapers print about Carl,” Nathan joked.

  “There’re a lot worse things than that, Nate, and you know it.” Carl veered his brown eyes to Melinda. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Harris.”

  Instantly, Melinda was enveloped by the energy from the short man, but there were no visions about the individual she knew to be New Orleans’ most notorious mafia figure clouding her mind. What she received were feelings. Determination and an extreme sense of cunning accompanied Carl Bordonaro, but there was an element of fairness blended in. He was very good to his friends and very protective of them; she could sense it.

  “Sal Cuccina has his eyes on that Market Street property. He might not take too kindly to you beatin’ him to the punch,” Carl said, nodding to Nathan.

  Nathan peered down at the drink in his hand. “What do you think Sal might do if I did beat him to the punch?”

  “Might make it real hard for you to get permits with the city. He has a lot of friends in City Hall who owe him. I might have a solution to this problem.”

  Nathan tensed and cleared his throat. “I’m sure we wouldn’t be having this conversation unless there already was a solution.”

  Carl returned the unlit cigar to the corner of his mouth. “You’re a smart businessman, Nate. I knew you would be receptive to my solution.”

  “What is your solution, Carl?”

  “Sal’s got a brother who runs a cement company on the West bank. Maybe if Sal thought you would set up contracts with his brother for pourin’ your cement during the construction, he might not mind so much losin’ the Market Street property. He might also be willin’ to forgive and forget your past indiscretions. You know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

  Nathan scowled. “Yes, I remember. I’m surprised Sal is willing to forget about that. Considering everything that happened between us when—”

  “Is that a pompous piece of shit starting trouble?” a grating voice intruded.

  Melinda pivoted to the source of the sound. Tall, wiry, and with a thick head of short gray hair, the older woman was wearing a fitted dark blue gown with a brilliantly beaded red macaw down the front of her wide skirt. Her face was long and her cheekbones delicately curved beneath her creamy white skin.

  “Ah, there she is,” Carl announced. “Our hostess.”

  “What are you up to, Carl? And don’t lie to me. I’ve known you since you ran numbers out of Ed Dugin’s bar on Decatur. I can always tell when you’re lying.”

  Carl Bordonaro roared with laughter. His entire body shook with delight as he removed his glasses and wiped a tear away from his right eye. “Damn, Denise, you were a Grade A pain in the ass back then. Still are. Can’t understand what Doug ever saw in you. The only good thing you two ever did together was give me my godson, Jimmy.”

  “Doug wanted you be James’s godfather, not me, Carl.” She looked to Nathan. “Doug was my first husband and grew up with Carl. He was the love of my life,” she explained with a fleeting smile.

  Melinda noticed the way the woman’s eyes disappeared beneath her cheekbones when she smiled. When her smile fell away, her small, hazel eyes turned to Melinda.

  “You’re not Nathan Cole’s usual type.” The woman’s abrasive voice ruffled Melinda. “You’re not another decorator, I hope.”

  Nathan’s face dropped as he gestured to Melinda. “Denise, I would like you to meet Melinda Harris, my assistant.”

  “She’s too pretty to be an assistant.” Denise inspected Melinda up and down. “What exactly does she assist you with, Nathan?”

  Then a barrage of pictures hit Melinda’s mind. She saw Denise Becnel sitting at a table with a circle of men around her. These were men she was directing, giving orders to, but off to the side
was another man, one who didn’t listen to her. The face was blurry at first, but then the man’s small, hazel eyes came into focus.

  Melinda’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Denise was perplexed by Melinda’s reaction. “You all right, dearie?”

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Becnel.”

  Denise Becnel gave her a resplendent smile and then her cool gaze swerved to Carl Bordonaro. “You want to tell me why you’re throwing Sal in Nathan’s face?”

  “Just havin’ a chat with our boy here about options,” Carl replied.

  “Are these Sal’s options or yours?” Denise pressed.

  Nathan directed a worried countenance to the guests surrounding them. “Perhaps the three of us should talk in private.” He nodded to Melinda. “Why don’t you get something to eat?”

  “You can’t leave such a pretty woman alone at a party, Nathan,” Denise scolded. “You don’t know what kind of deadbeats might try to steal her away from you. We can’t have that happening … again.” Denise grinned at Nathan and then cast her attention across the patio. “I have just the person to keep her company while we talk business.” She waved to someone by the bar.

  A tall man made his way toward their group. His effortless saunter looked familiar to Melinda, and as he drew near, she became mesmerized by the grace of his movements. Suddenly, Melinda was reminded of music.

  “Nathan, I’d like you to meet my son, James,” Denise articulated as Jack Deron came up to her side.

  “Jack!” Nathan gaped at Denise. “He’s your son?” He shifted his focus to Melinda. “Did you know about this?” he demanded in an icy tone.

  Melinda stood silently gawking at Jack. She was angry; no, she was furious that he had kept something like this from her. But as she stared at him in his elegant tuxedo, her anger retreated and a whole new feeling began to stir in the pit of her stomach. He was no longer the gangly man seemingly doomed to an eternity of slacker chic. With his perpetually disheveled hair neatly combed back, his five o’clock shadow gone, and his hazel eyes aglow, Melinda was surprised to discover that her Jack was, in actuality, a devastatingly handsome man.