Free Trading Secrets by Jayne Castle Page A

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