He pressed his forehead to the glass and counted to five, then stood upright again. Done. Finished.
Pity party over.
Time to get back to work.
He returned to his desk, pulled his personal laptop and Wi-Fi hotspot out of his briefcase and set them both in front of him. Then he swiveled his chair so that he could reach the control panel on the credenza behind him, and pressed the button to lock his door.
He fired up the computer, then shot the team a quick summary of his meeting with Stark. After that, he pulled up the most recent reports from his men, pleased to see that the card key he'd cloned to access the Lopez property had worked perfectly and that early that morning the team had breached Ortega's security at the weak point and then accessed the residence.
That was good news, yes, but nothing more than what he'd already anticipated. And since the report was in progress and didn't say what the team had found, he pulled out his phone and dialed Liam.
"What did you find?" he demanded when Liam answered.
"Just writing that up. The place was mostly a shell--we're looking for the real base he used right now--but we found a hidden safe and it had a netbook in it."
"Anything useful?"
"Potentially useful. That's where you come in."
"Tell me."
"The hard drive's encrypted, so we're still working through it, but we found a name--Peter Crowley. You know him?"
"I do." Dallas frowned, thinking of the forty-something real estate developer he'd worked with once or twice before. The man was married with a roving eye and enough money to support at least two mistresses at a time.
He also threw a cocktail party in his Fifth Avenue apartment at least once each month. Ostensibly to meet and greet potential clients. In reality, Dallas was certain he was scouting his next lay.
"Are you telling me he's in bed with Ortega?"
"Undetermined. Ortega leaned toward kidnapping and white slavery, with an occasional side trip to drug trafficking. That sound like the kind of thing Crowley would be into?"
"Not on the surface," Dallas said. "But you and I both know that no one's who they appear to be."
"Yeah, well, Crowley might be squeaky clean. Ortega's vineyard was a viable enterprise, with clients around the globe including restaurants and individuals. Crowley could be in the system as a legitimate client. Until we hack the drive, we can't know, and the encryption is protected. A wrong move, and the data's erased. So we're taking it slow. In the meantime, we'll take a look at Crowley the old-fashioned way."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Get into his house and drop a bug or two. We'll listen. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Dallas chuckled. "And here I thought you were going to hand me a challenge."
Since Liam and his mother were both attending Poppy's birthday celebration, he promised to bring the listening devices to Dallas on the island. They ended the call, and Dallas drew a breath, hating the thought that Crowley, a man he'd done a few real estate deals with could have a hand in that kind of shit. With a frown, he buzzed Gin and unlocked the door.
A moment later she opened his door and popped her head in. "I was away from my desk. Did you need something?"
"Peter Crowley. Have we received any invitations from him lately?"
"There is an endless stream." A smile touched her lips. "I've been regretfully declining. Isn't that what you asked?"
"It was. I've changed my mind. Could you RSVP yes for the next one?"
He thought he saw a flicker of disapproval in her eyes, but she said nothing. Gin Kramer used to be his father's assistant. She'd known Dallas for much of his life, and though she was far too professional to comment, he knew that she disapproved of his extracurricular escapades. With anyone else, Dallas wouldn't care. But he liked Gin, and so he tried to play down the role of womanizing, spendthrift fuckup when he was at the office.
Sometimes, though, it was hard to avoid the reminders.
"Will there be anything else?"
"No. Thanks. Just let me know the date and time."