Free Trading Secrets by Jayne Castle

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