FACETS (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS Book 6) Read online

  Her father’s disapproval — and hypocrisy — only reinforced Maura’s devotion to Alana, who eventually revealed all the details of her captivity and rescue by the dashing former French Legionnaire who soon became the first of the many older lovers that scandalized her family. The story so intrigued Dallas that on a school trip to Paris she duplicated the small Cross of Lorraine Legionnaire tattoo that adorned the base of Alana’s spine. Only Maura’s tattoo was just above her mons veneris.

  Armed with the helpful information supplied by the lawyer, Maura boldly asked her friend, the closest she’d ever had, for sexual advice.

  And it was advice that mandated hands-on training. It was not long before she mastered many of the sexual techniques that would stun her own future lovers, both men and women.

  ***

  The news that Sister Angelina Faggini had been summoned to the Vatican to participate in a month-long synod devoted to reviewing Catholic teachings in the modern world stunned everyone at Notre-dame des Monts, not the least of whom Faggini herself.

  The Mother Superior herself graciously volunteered to take over the departing nun’s theology class.

  And Maura Dallas received an “A”.

  CHAPTER 2 - A FRIEND IN NEED

  Boston

  1995

  “Maura, wait up!”

  Maura Dallas, who was just leaving Austin Hall after participating in a mock trial, turned to see Lindsay, another third-year law student, approaching. A nice kid from Michigan, Lindsay lived in the same apartment complex with Maura and they often studied together. She was accompanied by a good-looking Native American boy who Maura only knew in passing.

  “Hey, Linds, what’s up?”

  “We’re headed into town to grab a bite at the Oyster House and then bar hop. Why don’t you join us? You must be ready to get smashed after the verbal beating that prick Brandeford just gave you. What’s his problem?”

  “He needs a good fuck,” the boy said.

  “That’s your solution to everything,” Lindsay chided.

  “Works for me,” he said.

  “Unfortunately for you, homo sabe, he’s straight.”

  “Nobody is perfect.”

  They all laughed.

  “Besides, they frown at professors boffing students,” Lindsay said, “male or female.”

  “Being objective,” the boy said, “I doubt if Brandi has any problems getting laid. He’s a hunk.”

  “Down, boy.”

  Lindsay turned to Dallas.

  “He seems to hate you, Maura. I thought your arguments in class were fabulous.”

  Lindsay tended to idolize her friend, who was older and more worldly. In fact, most of the third-year law students with whom she came in contact, and plenty of her instructors, seemed in awe of the beautiful and exotic Maura Dallas. Only the acerbic Lucas Brandeford seemed immune to her aura, and singled her out for his particular brand of sarcastic criticism. She seemed unfazed, even contemptuous, of his put-downs, which only increased the respect of her fellow students.

  “Thanks. Don’t worry about me. I’ll live. Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t join you. I have to change. Got a date.”

  “For the weekend?”

  Maura smiled enigmatically. She lived alone in her off-campus apartment, but it was common knowledge that she didn’t always sleep there. No one knew who the lucky guy was — or even if it was a man — since she kept her sexual proclivities private. Most of the males, and a couple of the females, in their class had made a run at her, but she had turned them all down. Whoever her lover was, he or she was widely envied.

  “Don’t stay out too late, children,” Maura mocked, good-naturedly. “We have some tests next week, and I understand there may be a real live Supreme Court Justice auditing our next mock trial.”

  “Oh, God,” the boy muttered. “I hope it’s not the black guy. If he finds out I’m a gay Indian, I’m cooked. He hates minorities and I fill two slots.”

  “Just don’t wear a pink war bonnet,” Lindsay said.

  Maura laughed.

  “Let’s all meet the day before in Gannett House and plot strategy,” she said.

  The Grecian-columned Gannett House, built in 1838, was the oldest building on campus and is home to the Harvard Law Review, the prestigious student-run journal of legal scholarship. An invitation to study there with Maura Dallas, who was on the Review, was a treat.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Maura,” Lindsay said. “You study hard, but we all do, and you are the best-prepared, despite your, uh, extracurricular activities. And you get the highest marks, even from Brandeford.”

  “Lots of coffee,” she said.

  ***

  Maura Dallas was cold. One would have thought that a professor at the Harvard School of Law, who was snoring contently at her side, would know enough to keep the thermostat at a decent temperature in his apartment. But, as she was finding out, Lucas Brandeford was a cheap bastard.

  Not that Maura particularly minded cold weather. After all, she’d spent four years at Notre-Dame des Monts in the French Alps. But that was outdoor cold. Indoors, she liked to be warm, especially when naked.

  The bed covers were strewn on the floor — the sex had been vigorous, probably too vigorous for Brandeford, who looked like he might never wake up — and the single sheet left over just didn’t cut it. She walked over to the thermostat. It was set for 65! And she knew it was colder by the bed, what with the draft through a rickety window frame that did little to keep the chill out.

  She turned the dial on the thermostat to 75, knowing that Brandeford would pitch a fit, and went to a closet to put on one of her lover’s flannel shirts. Then she padded out to the kitchen and made coffee. She looked out the second-floor window down at Commonwealth Avenue, which still had a dusting of snow from the night before. It was Sunday and there was little traffic. Boston looked quite beautiful. She reached under the shirt and touched her left nipple and winced. Lucas was a biter, especially when he came. She smiled. He had his own bite marks to contend with, in a much more sensitive area.

  Maura Dallas didn’t have to screw professors to excel in the law school. After Chamonix, she had graduated magna cum laude at Duke before moving on to Harvard Law. In addition to studying hard, she possessed an almost photographic memory and now spoke four languages fluently. But she had long ago decided not to leave anything to chance. In her first two years at Harvard Law she had reconnoitered the faculty she was likely to get in her third, and final, year. There had been two possibilities for seduction. One was a woman law professor who made no secret of her lesbianism. Maura preferred sleeping with men. But well-trained by Alana Loeb, she enjoyed occasional dalliances with women.

  Alas, the female professor was in a long-term committed relationship. Not that the woman’s lover would have stood a chance if Maura put her mind to it, but Brandeford was between relationships and thus became the low-hanging fruit. A dual threat in the Harvard community — while a Doctor of Law, he also taught English Literature at the university — Brandeford’s academic star was on the rise. It was rumored that he would soon be fast-tracked for tenure.

  Dallas started out by asking him for some help on something she was writing for the Law Review, help she didn’t really need. Then she made it a point to run into him at one of the pubs frequented by professors, where he was sipping scotch in his tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches. He bought her a drink. From there it was easy. Whatever reservations Brandeford might have had about having an affair with a student disappeared after the first blow job.

  Of course, to deflect any suspicion about their affair, he went out of his way to act superior to her in front of others. Hence, his frequent attacks on her in class and the mock trials. That superior attitude disappeared once she took off her clothes. Maura was content. Brandeford was a capable, if not the most-inventive, lover, only a few years older than she. And he was, indeed, a hunk. A narcissist of the first order, he took good care of his body. She provided
all the sexual invention he would ever need, and he was soon in thrall. He even took her away during school holidays. He was almost as good a skier as she was, having grown up in New Hampshire. But on one trip he hurt his knee and began devoting himself to his other passion, scuba diving. Maura did not mind. The occasional trip to the Caribbean was a welcome respite.

  There was a knock on the door. Maura Dallas was startled. Normally people had to be buzzed into the building. It was very early. Perhaps it was one of the neighbors. She opened the door but left the chain on. She immediately recognized the hatchet-faced man standing in the hallway.

  “Maura.”

  She unlatched the chain and the man stepped into the apartment. His eyes briefly took in the woman’s state of undress then quickly shifted around the room. As the chief enforcer for the Dallassio crime syndicate, Vincent Anastasia never entered an unfamiliar enclosed space without looking for a potential threat.

  Had it been anyone else, Maura would have gone to put more clothes on. But although not a blood relation, Anastasia was family. He’d been privy to her peccadilloes for years.

  “Vinnie, what are you doing here?”

  She did not bother asking him how he knew where she’d be. Vincent Anastasia had kept tabs on her since she was a baby. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Your father would like you to come home.” He paused. “It’s Tony.”

  Maura Dallas took a deep breath.

  “What happened.”

  “An accident. He crashed during a test run in Mugello. He is dead. I am sorry.”

  Maura had spoken to her brother earlier that week. He had been excited by the chance to try his Ferrari team’s newest race car in Tuscany prior to the Monaco Grand Prix. It was quite an honor. He thought it would not be long before he was allowed to drive in one of Formula One’s minor races on the circuit. Their father disapproved of his son’s dangerous “hobby”, but could hardly object to such an obvious demonstration of “coraggio virile” in someone destined to run a criminal empire. But he extracted a promise that next year Anthony would return to the States to take more responsibility in the family business. Maura, who loved her brother dearly, was not jealous of his favored status. She was to be insulated from the Dallassio’s criminal operations and had her eyes set on corporate law and Wall Street where, she teased her father, “I can steal money legitimately”. And now the dashing, handsome son that Joseph Dallassio put so much of his hopes in was gone. He would be devastated. Thank God mother is dead, Maura thought.

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my apartment?”

  Maura turned to see Brandeford standing in his underwear. Anastasia gave him a stare only slightly warmer than absolute zero. The professor started to say something, but thought better of it.

  “I have a car outside,” Anastasia said. “Your father would like us to meet the body in New York and escort it back to San Francisco.”

  “Give me 15 minutes,” Maura said.

  She walked past Brandeford without a word.

  ***

  The next week was a blur. Her father was indeed devastated and Maura took on many of the responsibilities of planning the funeral and all the events that went with the death of a mob kingpin’s son. The Dallassios were a powerful family and the media was out in force. Joseph Dallassio pulled himself together enough to put on a brave front with both his friends, and more importantly, his enemies, as all the West Coast crime families sent representatives. Weakness could not be shown.

  Maura could barely hold it together herself as she learned more details of her brother’s horrendous death. He had been so mangled and burned in the crash that the casket had to be closed. Two people helped her get through it all. Vincent Anastasia, who loved both her and her dead brother, was like a rock. He followed her orders to the letter, and made sure everyone else did as well.

  And then there was Alana Loeb. The two girls, women now, had kept in touch after graduating from Notre-Dame des Monts, although with Alana going to college and then law school in Miami, their contacts were limited to phone calls. So when Alana showed up in San Francisco two days before the funeral, Maura Dallas was both surprised and deeply touched. Like Anastasia, Alana rarely left her alone. She was such a help to the family that Joseph Dallassio took her aside.

  “I was wrong about you,” he said. “I hope you will always be Maura’s friend.”

  ***

  Maura went back to Boston to finish law school. But now she had no time for the likes of Dr. Lucas Brandeford. She told him abruptly that their affair was over. He did not take it well. The thought of losing the most accomplished sexual partner of his life reduced the haughty academic to begging like an adolescent.

  “I can’t live without you,” he bleated.

  When she told him to “grow up”, he exploded.

  “You are nothing but a whore, a cunt,” Brandeford screamed. “Where do you get off dumping me? I’ll make your life miserable.”

  And he did. His comments in class became even more biting, and other students noticed real venom behind them. Maura’s grades suffered. Although she suspected that her plans for a “legitimate” life outside the family were probably dashed after Anthony’s death, and law school grades less important, her pride would not stand for Brandeford’s blackmail. And she did not want the son-of-a-bitch preying on any other students.

  She called Vincent Anastasia.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “No,” Maura said quickly. “Not that way. Here is what I want you to do.”

  A few days later, the police, acting on an anonymous tip, discovered a kilo of cocaine taped to the back of Brandeford’s dresser. Despite his frantic denials, he was arrested. The search, instigated by cops on the payroll of a local mob family Anastasia occasionally did business with, was patently illegal. The evidence quickly suppressed. But even with the drug charges dropped, the scandal was enough. Professor Lucas W. Brandeford, rising academic star, was forced to resign from Harvard.

  It was a bit of overkill, Maura Dallas realized. And Brandeford might even realize who was behind his downfall. But she never believed in half measures when it came to enemies. Besides, what could he do?

  So, with her nemesis gone, and a new professor teaching her course, Maura graduated near the top of her Harvard Law School class and moved back home to San Francisco. Where she found out she was pregnant with Brandeford’s child.

  At first, she considered an abortion. Then, she called Alana Loeb.

  “You know that I will never have children,” her friend said. Alana had confided that after her experiences in the brothel, she had her tubes tied. “And given what your responsibilities will be, you may never again have the chance. Go for it, 'ma chérie. I will help see you through it.”

  And she did, flying out to San Francisco for the birth and staying afterwards. Maura’s father, having just lost a son, relished the prospect of a grandchild.

  Maura named the baby Alana Antoinette (after her brother) Dallas. If old Joe was disappointed that he did not get a grandson, he never showed it. To his dying day, he adored the child.

  Maura never considered telling Brandeford the girl existed.

  CHAPTER 3 - TAKEN

  New York City

  2015

  Alana Dallas put the last of her things in the suitcase she planned to take on the plane. She closed the lid and had to sit on it before she could zip it shut. It would have been easier to check a larger bag through on the flight to San Francisco, as her mother constantly suggested. The strong-willed 20-year-old resisted taking just about anyone’s advice, particularly her mother’s. Besides, Alana considered herself a world-class packer and hated waiting at the airport carousel. Everything she needed for her Easter vacation was in the carry-on or at home. Vincent, who would pick her up at the airport, once commented that watching her unpack the bag was like watching all the clowns getting out of a car at the circus. Never having been to a circus, she didn
’t know what that meant until he explained it to her. Vincent explained a lot of things to her. His advice she took seriously. She was looking forward to seeing him.

  Alana knew what Vincent Anastasia was, and what he did to earn his fearsome reputation. Occasionally she fantasized using Vincent when some snotty Barnard or Columbia professor gave her a hard time. Not that she ever would. No one at either school knew about her family.

  Worried she might have forgotten something, Alana looked around the apartment she shared with two other girls on Riverside Drive. It could have been cleaner. She and Neeja were neat freaks, but Mayleen was a bit of a slob, which surprised Alana and Neeja, who thought all Chinese were fastidious. She dressed well and was always clean, but they were always after her to straighten up her stuff. Mayleen always promised she would, and never did. But Alana liked both her roommates, who opened her eyes culturally, so allowances were made. She smiled. Mayleen always left something behind when she went home or on a trip. Not surprising, considering that her pile of junk could have hidden the Space Shuttle.

  Alana looked at her watch. It was just 3 PM. Willet was probably downstairs already. He had assured her that they would have plenty of time, pre-Friday rush hour, to get to JFK for her 6 PM flight. Willet was one of the good ones, as the adjunct teachers tended to be. They did not have their noses up in the air like some of her professors. Of course, Willet was not a real professor and only taught a couple of courses over at nearby Columbia University, where Alana and many other Barnard girls took some classes.

  Against her advice, Neej and May had left the previous day for Spring Break in Panama City, Florida. Alana was not a Spring Break type. She thought that anyone who needed more excitement in his or her life when going to school in New York City was nuts. And she missed San Francisco and the family getaway compound in Santa Rosa, an hour north of the city in the wine country of Sonoma County. So when Willet offered to drive her to the airport, she gladly accepted. He told her that he was catching a later flight for a short vacation in the Caribbean. Alana looked forward to sitting by the pool in Santa Rosa and just chilling, hopefully alone. She wondered if she would even see much of her mother, who was usually too busy.