Angel in the Shadows Read Free Page B

fingers grazed the smooth surface of the ID and she yanked it free by the black lanyard. With a sheepish grin that was entirely wasted on the man at the door, Madison showed him the white laminated card embossed with her name, photo, and M.P.I.’s logo on the front.
    The doorman glanced at the card, dismissing it quickly, and stepped back.
    Slipping the lanyard over her head, she stepped inside the spacious entryway.
    “Mr. Goldston will see you in the library. Right this way, Ms. Sinclair,” he said in a raspy voice, reminding her of the smokers’ voices on television ads. The ones advising you against the habit. She briefly wondered if he smoked, although there was no aroma surrounding him.
    The elongated hallway was brightly lit and extremely well decorated. Each frame on the cream colored walls held works from highly recognizable artists. Seurat, Gauguin, Greco, Cézanne. By no means an art connoisseur herself, Madison knew enough to realize that these were either excellent reproductions or Vance Goldston must be a man with extensive resources to have such artwork in his personal possession.
    The library was large and decorated as beautifully as the hallway but in more dark, subdued tones. Navy-blue carpet covered the entire length of the room, a perfect contrast to the cherry paneled walls. Tall bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling and were filled to the brim with books. An immense, ornately carved desk occupied the left corner of the room and to her right, a soft leather sofa sat before a crackling fireplace, the distinct smell of burning hickory filling the room.
    “Mr. Goldston will be with you shortly,” the doorman said, turning to leave then closing the door silently behind him.
    Removing her wool coat, she crossed the room, taking a seat on the leather sofa and placing the camera case beside her. Crossing her legs, she leaned back, enjoying the supple material against her bare shoulders. She could definitely get used to this, she thought as she watched the flickering flames of the fire as they danced and twirled on the burning wood to their own silent tune. Mesmerized by the grace and sinuous movement, she barely heard the door open behind her. She stood swiftly, preparing herself to meet one of the country’s richest men.
    Her immediate reaction was one of disbelief. Though she had never seen Vance Goldston before, the man coming toward her was not what she had expected a successful millionaire to look like. Tall and lean, he was somberly dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was combed back neatly and from behind the thin wire-rimmed glasses he wore, pale-brown eyes regarded her coldly. His face was clean-cut but bland and rather ordinary. Almost plain. In fact, he was someone she normally wouldn’t have given more than a passing glance.
    “Ms. Sinclair? I’m Seth Reynolds, Mr. Goldston’s personal assistant.” He extended his hand and Madison gripped it softly. His hand was cool and smooth and totally impersonal. “I’m sorry for your wait. Mr. Goldston is on the phone, something last minute. Can I offer you something while you wait, a drink perhaps?”
    Like his handshake, Seth’s voice was remote and insipid, devoid of any emotion. Perfectly distant. Although his English was excellent, there was a faint accent that she couldn’t immediately identify.
    “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
    “As you wish. I’m sure it will only be a moment, but please, make yourself comfortable.”
    “Thank you.” Madison watched as he turned and disappeared from the room, leaving her alone once more. She felt momentarily anxious but there was no basis for it. Maybe it was just nerves. She had never had a job of this scale before. So far, she had only been trusted with museum art, bridges, parks, and other tourist attractions. If she screwed this up, she was confident that she would be out on her ass by Monday.
    Walking over to a book-laden shelf, she skimmed the titles, forgetting them