Free Trading Secrets by Jayne Castle Page A

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