Trading Secrets

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Trading Secrets Page 6

by Jayne Castle


  “I can’t imagine anyone bullying you.”

  “My family consists of my father and two brothers. All of whom are large, brilliant, and eminently respectable. I am neither large, brilliant, nor particularly respectable. Especially not after that fiasco in California. But I have finally put my foot down when it comes to living my own life. It took me long enough, and it’s been a constant battle. Dad and the Brothers Grim are all very concerned for me.”

  “Brothers Grim?”

  “Nolan and Jeffrey. I love them both dearly, of course, but they are the spitting image of my father. They’re all convinced that things started going wrong because I moved to California. You know how California is. At first they were all relieved when I moved out of state, but now they’ve decided I’m going from bad to worse in Dallas.” She gave a short laugh. “Maybe they’re right. What about your family?” she continued. “I don’t imagine they approve of your Acapulco lifestyle,” Sabrina went on thoughtfully.

  “My father is career military. A retired colonel. Saw action in World War Two and Korea. My mother is the perfect colonel’s wife. I try not to inflict myself on them any more than is strictly necessary. The mess I made out of my last mission was hard on them.”

  “Was there anyone else for whom it was difficult? A wife?” Sabrina couldn’t stop the question, although she regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth.

  Matt drained the last of his whiskey and contemplated that query. “Being an officer’s wife can be very difficult,” he said neutrally. “I was gone a great deal of the time. My career had to come first. That’s the way it works in the military. Ginny began to feel very frustrated in more ways than one, I guess. She decided to put a little fun back into her life. And that brings me to the explanations I wanted to make tonight,” Matt concluded roughly.

  Sabrina stilled. “Last night is somehow tied up with your ex-wife? I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

  “You said you’d listen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Matt paused, clearly searching for the words. “Ginny’s vision of being an officer’s wife consisted of dinners at the officers’ club, glittering receptions and afternoons at the golf course. But my job kept me away a lot of the time, and when I was home I did a very minimal amount of socializing. I always considered that side of my career a real chore. Eventually Ginny went looking for the kind of fun and excitement I wasn’t giving her. She spent a lot of time doing what you were planning to do last night. When you came over to me in that bar, all I could think about was how I’d feel if you were my woman and I was home in Dallas.” He broke off. “Hell, I told you this was complicated.”

  “Groveling usually is.”

  He shot her a lethal glance. “I guess I’d had one too many whiskeys before you approached me, and then we had a few more drinks. I kept thinking of Ginny, of all the times I was gone and she was out playing around with anything in pants that caught her eye. Then I imagined her first attempt at deliberately picking up a man.”

  Sabrina shivered. “You confused me with your ex-wife, didn’t you?”

  “No. The two of you are as different as night and day. On one level I could see that. Which is why I felt I had to, uh, show you that you weren’t cut out for that kind of life.”

  “Oh, my God.” She groaned. “You’re going to claim that assault was your way of teaching me a lesson?”

  Matt shifted uneasily. “I had some notion of showing you that there’s nothing romantic or exciting or special about that kind of encounter.”

  “Did it occur to you at any point that I was old enough to decide that for myself?” she asked tightly.

  “I wasn’t thinking about your age. I was thinking about you. The way you are. Something in me didn’t want to see you being changed into someone hard and cold like Ginny.”

  “Amazing how brilliant a man’s perception becomes at the bottom of a glass of booze! You realize, of course, that what you were really doing was punishing me for what your ex-wife did?”

  “That’s not true!” He shook his head. “Well, hell, maybe it was in some way. But I was thinking of you, not her. I honestly thought you were married, or at the least seriously involved. I wanted to show you that you’re not cut out for that kind of life. Frankly, she was.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she breathed.

  He stretched out a hand, closing it firmly over hers. The hazel eyes were dark and insistent. “Honey, I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. I never meant it to get out of hand.”

  She lifted her brows in mocking inquiry. “Oh? You didn’t mean to actually carry the little lesson through to the end? You would have stopped before the actual act of rape?”

  She could have sworn a hint of red stained his cheeks. Matt withdrew his hand from hers. “I thought we agreed on a truce this evening. You’re definitely on the attack.”

  “Ummm. So I am. Can’t imagine what provoked me. Well, think of it as an armed truce. What finally happened to Ginny?”

  “I’ll skip over the gory details of my failed marriage. To summarize briefly, Ginny decided eventually that she had to find herself and she couldn’t do it as my wife. She left me officially shortly before I screwed things up on that job in Central America. Ginny always did have a great sense of timing. She’s remarried now. A successful executive type. And she’s got Brad.”

  “Brad?”

  “My son. He’s thirteen,” Matt said shortly.

  Sensing depressing vibrations around that topic, Sabrina found herself going on to another. “And the bookstore? How did you get into that?”

  “I started that when I realized I needed money to keep on eating as well as a job to keep me from spending too much time in these expensive tourist bars. Another drink?”

  “Please.” Sabrina waited while he gave the order. “Do you ever think of going back to the States?”

  “Maybe. Someday. But I like Mexico, and to tell you the truth, you were right about my former career not teaching me a lot of useful skills. Me being out of the country makes things easier on my family, too. Easier for them to pretend the blot on the family escutcheon doesn’t exist.”

  “Families have a way of making one aware of one’s failings, even when they’re trying to be supportive.” Sabrina lifted her fresh Margarita in salute. “Here’s to escutcheon blots and those of us who make them. Think how bored all of our relatives would be without us!”

  Matt grinned suddenly, the first full-fledged wickedly male smile she had yet witnessed from him, and Sabrina found herself downing an oversize swallow of the Margarita. There was something very intriguing about that grin. It was unexpectedly charming, full of unabashedly virile promise and a hint of sheer male challenge. It made her realize just why she had taken the risk of approaching him in the bar last night. He drank to her irreverent toast and then he took her in to dinner.

  The armed truce survived the elegantly prepared seafood dinner. It survived the Mexican-made, coffee-based liqueur Matt insisted Sabrina try. It even survived the drive back to Sabrina’s hotel. Things didn’t get shaky, in fact, until Matt led Sabrina to her door and she have him her hand in a pointedly formal gesture of farewell.

  “Thank you, Matt. All things considered, it was a very pleasant evening.”

  “Sabrina?” He stood unmoving, staring down at her outstretched hand.

  “Were there any further explanations you wanted to make?” she asked politely.

  “No, but I thought we could talk a little more.” He looked down into her eyes, his own gaze clearly reflecting the controlled desire he was feeling.

  “Good night, Matt.”

  “Sabrina … ?” His rough fingertips moved delicately across her wrist.

  “No,” she said gently. “Absolutely, unequivocally, no.”

  “You don’t trust me?” he whispered softly.

  “With my life, perhaps,” she smiled whimsically, “but not in bed. Chalk it up to the lesson you taught me last night. Good night.”
Very firmly she stepped inside the room and shut the door in his face.

  Matt stood there a moment longer and then turned to leave. As he did so his glance fell on the gash his knife had left in the corridor wall on the previous occasion when he had said good-night to Sabrina Chase.

  “You’re improving, August. Things are definitely looking up.” Or were they? It was almost simpler dodging knives than cool, elegant little farewells at the front door. But he had the rest of the week ahead of him, didn’t he? A man had to think positive.

  The problem was, Matt explained to himself as he made his way down to the lobby, he wasn’t accustomed to thinking positive. By definition that meant thinking of the future, and that was something he tended to avoid these days.

  He wouldn’t mind getting his hands on the man who had caused Sabrina all that trouble out in California, though. Now, there was a pleasant, positive sort of thought. He smiled to himself in what he assumed was a pleasant, positive manner and walked toward the hotel lobby doors. The wary expression on the doorman’s face made Matt wonder if perhaps the other man wasn’t used to seeing pleasant, positive smiles on the faces of people.

  Chapter Three

  The short drive back to the small white stucco villa on the cliffs outside of town gave Matt a few minutes to ponder just how he would approach Sabrina in the morning. By the time he had parked the jeep in the drive and let himself into the coolly furnished living room, he knew he was far too restless to go to bed. He wandered over to the small wooden cabinet against the wall and unlocked it with the key in his pocket.

  The cabinet didn’t quite blend with the rest of the room, which was done in a style Matt privately termed Ubiquitous Acapulco Modern: rattan and wicker furniture, sisal matting, a few watercolor impressions of encounters between bulls and matadors. He had rented the place furnished two years ago, and other than the dark wooden cabinet, he hadn’t worried about inflicting any personal touches on the white-walled rooms. He wasn’t sure he even had a personal touch to impart. Lately his whole life had begun to feel rented.

  He reached inside the cabinet. The tray of throwing knives flashed dully in the light of the overhead lamp as he removed it. Almost absently he fingered the various designs he had collected. Kirby had made some of them, probably the best ones, but there were some interesting specimens from other knife makers, too. Most of them Matt had commissioned himself and were done to his precise specifications.

  Handles of wood and brass and leather were attached to blades made of an equally wide variety of alloys. There was one of legendary Damascus steel, and Matt let his hand stray first to it. His fingers curled around the handle with a familiarity that would undoubtedly have disgusted Sabrina.

  He spun around, whipping the perfectly balanced knife toward the target at the far end of the room. It flew in deadly silence, burying itself with a satisfying thunk in the heart of the red circle. A second later the next knife in the tray had followed the first, burying its steel head alongside the Damascus blade.

  “So much for the personal touch,” he murmured, reaching for another knife.

  Methodically Matt went through the selection of throwing knives, letting the discipline of the action calm his restlessness. A night in Sabrina’s bed would have been a far more effective remedy, he decided, but a man learned to make do.

  The sound of the car in the drive outside came just as he was throwing the next to the last knife. The knock on the door occurred when the final blade was sinking into the target. Very thoughtfully Matt walked across the room, removed the knives from the target, and wondered who would be visiting him at this hour.

  The knock came again, but he ignored it while he carefully wiped and replaced the knives. All but the Damascus steel blade. Keeping that one in his right hand, Matt crossed to the door and opened it.

  “Well, shit,” he said as two years fell away in an instant. “Well, shit.”

  “Your vocabulary has grown somewhat limited since we last met,” Rafferty Coyne drawled pleasantly. He glanced at the blade in Matt’s hand. “But I see you make an effort to keep your other communication skills current. Mind if I come in?”

  “What the hell do you want, Coyne?”

  “You. Oh, don’t fret, August. My sexual orientation hasn’t undergone any drastic changes.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a sexual orientation.”

  “My, you are in a fine mood. Let me in, August. I want to talk to you. I have something to say which I think might interest you greatly.”

  “I doubt that.” But Matt stepped back impassively and waited for the older man to enter. He didn’t particularly like Rafferty Coyne, but he had no real cause to dislike him. Silently he motioned the little man to a huge fan-backed rattan chair. He thought it might be amusing to see if Coyne’s short stature would make him look and feel like a small boy once he was seated in the oversize chair.

  But it didn’t. Coyne looked as impressively refined and aristocratic as ever. His five feet, four inches of height were meticulously turned out in a beige tropical suit. The thinning gray hair was trimmed with flair and the perceptive fog-gray eyes were as dispassionate as ever. He carried the same leather briefcase he had been carrying the last time Matt had seen him.

  “I’m impressed, August.” Coyne nodded to himself as he glanced around the cool, neat room. “You haven’t gone to seed yet, have you? I was very much afraid you might be deeply into the tequila by now.”

  “I’m surviving. If you thought you’d have to roll me out of the gutter, why did you bother to come looking for me in the first place?”

  “I took a chance because I’m in the unique position of being able to offer you a job. I didn’t know if you’d be in any condition to accept it, but I thought I’d come and check.”

  “Why?” Matt sank down onto a carved wooden chest and stared at his visitor.

  Coyne shrugged elegantly. “Oh, I suppose because I’ve always felt rather badly about what happened two years ago.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Perhaps not, but I was involved in the planning phase and—”

  “And I screwed things up in the field. Like I said: Not your fault. So why are you here?”

  Coyne expelled a sad sigh. “Such cynicism. I can see that the past two years have embittered you, August. I wondered if that would happen.”

  “I don’t generally go in for extensive analysis sessions at this hour of the night. Say what you have to say and then say goodbye, Coyne.” Matt got to his feet and went to the liquor cabinet. He uncapped the whiskey bottle while he waited.

  “I do hope whiskey didn’t take the place of the tequila I’ve been worrying about,” Rafferty Coyne observed with mild distaste.

  “I told you, I’m surviving. Want some?” The offer was hardly a gracious one and Matt knew it. His guest declined.

  “You don’t like me, do you, August?” Coyne was amused.

  “Nothing personal.” Matt swallowed the whiskey. “It’s just that you bring back some unpleasant memories.” He flexed his hand in an old, unconscious movement, tightening it into a fist and then deliberately stretching out each finger.

  “I’m here to offer you a job that could well go a long way toward wiping out those memories,” Coyne said softly.

  “Doing what?”

  “Working for me.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “I’m putting together a small team, August. A very specialized team. You have some unique talents and I want you in on this.”

  Matt eyed his visitor speculatively. “I gather you’ve advanced a bit through the ranks during the past two years?”

  “I have.” Coyne’s expression was bland. “I have been given considerably more authority than I had the last time we worked together.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “I think it’s time you went back to work, August. And this time around you will be given the free hand and the authority you need to pursue your work properly. You will report only
to me.”

  Matt swirled whiskey around in his glass and smiled down at the amber whirlpool the action created. For the rest of his life the color of whiskey was going to remind him of Sabrina’s hair. “I’m afraid I’m not available for employment at the moment, Coyne.”

  Coyne paused. “May I ask why not?”

  “Sure. I’m not available because I have other things to do. You see, Coyne, I think I’m in love.” Matt smiled whimsically and raised his glass in a careless salute to the other man before taking another swallow of whiskey. “Either that or I’m horny as hell. Amount to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

  ***

  On the morning of her third day in Acapulco, Sabrina sat lounging at the poolside bar, sipping a fruit punch and deciding that Javier Reyes was definitely one of Mexico’s national treasures. The man was blessed with sultry Spanish good looks, all liquid brown eyes, long black lashes, and a matador’s slimness. He had that marvelous Latin quality of being able to make a woman to whom he was talking believe that she was the only woman in the world. Charming. He also spoke excellent English, but that was probably because he managed the hotel in which she was staying.

  “Another punch, senorita?” he asked as she siphoned up the last through her straw.

  “Sounds great. Remember to tell the bartender to leave out the rum, though. It’s a bit early in the morning.” Sabrina smiled. She perched on a padded rattan stool, her bare leg swinging idly beneath the colorful yellow-and-green sundress she wore. Her hair was anchored in its usual casual knot and held with a huge, carved wooden comb that she had picked up in the local market. It was one of those ornaments that would look ridiculous outside of Acapulco and therefore made a perfect souvenir. Tendrils of hair were already fraying lightly around her shoulders. Javier appeared to be mildly fascinated by those fluttering wisps of hair.

  “You aren’t going to swim today?” Javier asked, indicating the huge pool that meandered in an architect’s version of a jungle stream through the thickly landscaped gardens of the hotel.

 

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