Dallas looks at me, his eyes searching. "What was that about?"
"He's concerned about Bill's investigation."
"No." He drags his fingers through his hair. "That's a front story. He's concerned about you and me."
I realize I'm hugging myself and force my hands back to the table. "What makes you say that?"
"Because he's always been concerned." He meets my eyes. "Because he's always had a reason to be."
I feel my cheeks warm. He's right about that.
"He's convinced it's all on me," Dallas says. "That I'm my father's son. That I'm just as much of a fuckup as Donovan was. And that I'm determined to corrupt my sweet, innocent sister."
"I'm not sweet," I say. "And you're sure as hell not Donovan."
Donovan is Dallas's birth father, Eli's brother, who drank and got high and fucked around and eventually drowned in the Pacific.
"No," Dallas says, "I'm not. And it would be nice if my father realized that."
"He does, Dallas." I start to reach for his hand, but he pulls his back with a shake of his head as he glances around the full bar. Shit.
I sit back, determined to change the subject. "We're heading down to Colin's together tomorrow?"
He's quiet for a second, obviously understanding what I'm doing. For a moment, I'm afraid that he's going to keep the subject on our dad. Then he nods. "I figure we'll just use a driver. Easier that way. We'll leave at six?"
"Perfect." I frown, remembering. "Mom said you were asking about all of Colin's ex-girlfriends. What's up with that?"
I see a flash of emotion in his eyes--surprise? confusion?--but it's gone before I can identify it. "Oh, nothing. A ridiculous idea I had for a housewarming present. I've abandoned it. I'm going with a plant. Bamboo. Gin swears that even Colin won't be able to kill it."
"I'm bringing candles," I say. "By the way, the conversation with Darcy went really well." I explain how Darcy heard the name Deliverance, and then relay my understanding of the role Dallas plays. How he pretends to know someone who's used the team before and puts the potential client in touch with them.
"I'm sorry about not running you through it beforehand," he says.
"No, this was good. It kept the interview real. But who's the friend you put him in touch with?"
"Me," Dallas says. "Sometimes the role is played by one of the other guys. We use computer software to alter our voices. Works out well, and keeps me out of the spotlight."
I nod, conceding that it's a solid ploy. I'm about to ask for more details when he checks his watch. "Are we on a timetable?"
"As a matter of fact, we are. There's somewhere we need to be."
I frown. "Now?"
He downs the last of his martini and tosses a hundred dollar bill on the table. Then he grins, wide and boyish. "Come on and I'll show you."
What he has to show me is a one-bedroom apartment in an exclusive building just three blocks from my townhouse.
"You're going to buy it?" I ask as the real estate agent wanders off onto the balcony, obviously giving us a chance to talk.
"I'm thinking about it."
"It's so close. You might as well move in with me."
"That's pretty much the idea."
Ohhh. "Camouflage," I say.
"Something like that. Plus, it's a short sale, so the price is right. I think it'll be a good investment. And ..."