Montaro Caine Read Online Free PDF Page B

handle it alone,” Caine said.
    “Mr. Caine, Mr. Freich, and Miss Beekman are here now,” a voice breezed through the intercom.
    “Show them in, Nancy,” responded Caine.
    Caine spun the smooth dark object on his desk counterclockwise; then, his index finger teased the blade of a letter opener from east to west. Finally, his thumb glided to the upper-left-hand corner of a neat stack of correspondence to nudge a paper clip from a vertical to an angled position. The ritual completed, he moved around his desk toward the door as Jeffrey exited Caine’s office, making way for Nancy MacDonald, Caine’s longtime secretary. Nancy’s fifty-two years were clearly etched on her face, but she struggled furiously, through creative use of makeup, hairstyle, and affordable, up-to-the-minute fashion, to stay the hand of time. Following Nancy into Caine’s office was a tall, middle-aged man and a stunning young woman with a sense of poise to match her beauty.
    “Miss Colette Beekman and Mr. Herman Freich,” was Nancy’s brief introduction.
    “Good morning, Ms. Beekman,” said Caine, flashing a businesslike smile.
    “Good morning, Mr. Caine,” Colette Beekman returned warmly. She extended her hand in a manner, he felt, meant to put him on notice of some kind. Her handshake was firm, and it seemed to hold within it a promise or a threat.
    “Mr. Freich,” said Caine, looking into the somber, sunken eyes of the nattily dressed man as they pumped hands.
    “Thanks for seeing us,” Freich said.
    Caine politely gestured toward the couches and armchairs in front of his desk and beckoned Freich and Beekman to sit down.
    “Need anything else, Mr. Caine?” Nancy asked.
    “I’m O.K., Nancy,” he said, which was his code to his secretary notto let his appointment run even one second over the half hour he had promised Buchanan. Nancy nodded to her boss before she left the room.
    Colette Beekman sat on the couch next to Herman Freich. She had already cast an appraising eye over the decor of Caine’s office, which had a modern motif interrupted here and there by vagabond pieces of arresting antiques. She admired the Fitzer emblem embossed on the face of the immense crystal tabletop that rested in a sculpted, wrought-iron frame, giving the impression that the company’s emblem was floating free.
    Whenever Colette walked into someone’s office, it was her habit to look for clues. Her experiences had already taught her that to really know a man one must first find out what he’s afraid of. A man’s office, even more than his home, usually revealed the best clues.
    Two portraits, each of a different, beautiful raven-haired woman with classic features stared out at Colette from the wall behind Caine—or was it a woman and a girl? She took into account the bronze sculptures on pedestals, the designer plants in a corner, and the well-stocked bar—the bottle of scotch was nearly empty. Caine was a good man at a crossroads, one that was far from a run-of-the-mill midlife crisis, she figured.
    While Colette Beekman examined Montaro Caine’s office, Montaro examined Colette, reminding himself that corporate raiders could come in all sizes, shapes, and forms, including the stunningly beautiful. Though Caine’s life had seen its share of temptations, he had never strayed from his twenty-year marriage to Cecilia except in his mind, such as now when he gazed upon Colette. Caine guessed her to be about twenty-six years old.
And God, what lovely eyes
, he thought; they actually sparkled.
    Colette placed her briefcase on the table, then looked up at Caine and flashed a smile. Their eyes locked. When Colette felt satisfied that she had held the look between them a beat too long, she let her eyes fall slowly to her briefcase.
    “Mr. Caine,” Herman Freich began, “we represent an investor whose resources are considerable and whose holdings are quite diverse.However, we’ve come to see you for reasons over and above any interests we may have