Dallas flashed his most charming smile. “If I’d known you were in New York, I would have invited you. There were quite a few single women who I’m sure would have been very interested in meeting a well-placed attorney.” He studied Bill’s face. “Or are you seeing someone.”
“No,” Bill said. “No one special.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is Jane?” As soon as he said the words, it was obvious he regretted them. He waved his hand, as if trying to call them back. “Sorry. That’s not why I came. Besides, I know you two don’t talk much. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject for either of us.”
“Not a problem,” Dallas said. He turned away, then went to the sideboard and began to pour himself a glass of juice. “I don’t think she’s seeing anyone in particular,” he said, hating every word. “But I thought you two kept in touch. Wouldn’t she have told you?”
He turned back in time to see Bill’s bemused expression. “Strangely enough, ex-wives tend not to discuss their dating lives with their former husbands. Continuing friendship not withstanding.”
“I suppose not,” Dallas agreed. “Did you come here to talk about my sister?”
“No. No, of course not.” He gestured to the juice. “Do you mind?”
Dallas poured Bill a glass then passed it to him before taking a seat on the small divan across from the armchair that Bill had returned to.
“Thanks.” He swallowed half the juice in one gulp. “Honestly, I’m not sure how to begin.”
“I’d suggest the beginning,” Dallas said, leaning back and extending his feet even while keeping his eyes on the other man. “But that’s just me.”
“Are you familiar with the name Silas Ortega?”
Dallas sat up straighter. Apparently when Bill decided to cut to the chase, he went right to the heart of it. “I am. Jane told me about him.” That much was true. What he didn’t tell Bill—and what Bill certainly didn’t know—was that Deliverance had learned about Ortega as well.
“I told her she could,” Bill said. “His incarceration was classified, but considering the information he provided—”
“A Sykes kidnapping,” Dallas said coldly. “Yeah. I heard about that, too.”
“Dallas, we can find who did that to you.”
To you. Dallas drew in a relieved breath. Jane had once told him that she’d never revealed anything about her kidnapping to Bill. Apparently, that still hadn’t changed. As far as Bill knew, Jane wasn’t taken at all.
“Dallas,” Bill urged. “We can help.” Bill’s voice was soft. Soothing. And Dallas wanted to smash his face in.
“I haven’t asked you to do that.” Dallas tried to sit still. To keep his hands on the arms of the chair and just sit calmly.
To hell with that.
He got up, paced the length of the room and back. “I haven’t asked it,” he repeated. “And I don’t want you to.”
“It’s not your call,” Bill said, his voice irritatingly level. “It’s not even Eli’s call,” he added, referring to Dallas and Jane’s father. “Although I’m going to talk to him, too. Professional courtesy. Family courtesy, too.”
“Courtesy? You think it’s courtesy to insert yourself where you don’t belong? It’s been seventeen years, and Ortega—” He snapped his mouth shut before he jammed his foot right into it. Dallas knew damn well that Ortega had been killed in custody—and that his death had been labeled a suicide. He also knew damn well that the government was keeping the death quiet. It was locked up tight and classified, sealed with a nice shiny bow.
Which meant that the playboy department store heir Dallas Sykes couldn’t know about it. And Bill couldn’t know about Dallas Sykes, the founder of Deliverance, who had his own means of obtaining that kind of information.
“What about Ortega?” Bill pressed.
“Just that—you have him in custody. He’s going to say whatever he thinks you want to hear,” Dallas improvised. “And since it’s been seventeen years, the odds are pretty damn good he doesn’t know anything useful. But he can make all sorts of shit up and send you on a wild goose chase. And that may keep your agents earning their paychecks, but it’s going to wreak hell with me and my family.” He took a beat to calm down. “Just let it go, Bill. I have.”
He closed his eyes, thinking that every single word was a lie. A deception. And that he damn sure hoped that it worked.
“You’re right that it’s a risk,” Bill agreed. “Ortega might not have anything relevant to reveal. But I think he does.”
Dallas narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out Bill’s angle. The man knew Ortega was dead, so what kind of game was he playing?
He debated between feigned disinterest and another plea for Bill to just drop the issue on the one hand, and a request to know exactly what information the supposedly still alive Ortega might have on the other.
He knew he should try to push the topic of the investigation away. But he was too damn curious. “What? What do you think he knows?”