The Fifth Profession Read Free

her eyes), a Cartier watch, and a diamond pendant with matching earrings (their glint further emphasizing her eyes as well as her sun-bleached hair).
    She paused before Savage, then studied the remaining bodyguard, her gaze dismissive. “Thank you.”
    The burly man left, reluctant not to hear the conversation.
    “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she said, stepping nearer, permitting Savage to inhale her subtle perfume. Her voice was husky, her handshake firm.
    “Five minutes? No need to apologize.” Savage shrugged. “In my profession, I'm used to waiting a great deal longer. Besides, I had time to admire your collection.” He gestured toward the glass-enclosed display of vases. “At least, I assume it's your collection. I doubt any hotel, even the Georges Roi II, provides its clients with priceless artworks.”
    “I take them with me when I travel. A touch of home. Do you appreciate Chinese ceramics?”
    “Appreciate? Yes, though I don't know anything about them. However, I do enjoy beauty, Your Highness. Including—if you'll forgive the compliment—yourself. It's an honor to meet you.”
    “As royalty, or because I'm a former film personality?”
    “Former
actress.
”
    A flick of the eyes, a nod of the head. “You're very kind. Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if we dispensed with formalities. Please call me by my former name. Joyce Stone.”
    Savage imitated her gracious nod. “Miss Stone.”
    “Your eyes are green.”
    “That's not so remarkable,” Savage said.
    “On the contrary.
Quite
remarkable. A chameleon's color. Your eyes blend with your clothes. Gray jacket. Blue shirt. An inattentive observer would describe your eyes as—”
    “Grayish blue but not green. You're perceptive.”
    “And
you
understand the tricks of light. You're adaptable.”
    “It's useful in my work.” Savage turned toward the paintings. “Superb. If I'm not mistaken, the Van Gogh
Cypresses
were recently purchased at a Sotheby auction. An unknown buyer paid an impressive amount.”
    “Do you recall how much?”
    “Fifteen million dollars.”
    “And now you know the mysterious buyer.”
    “Miss Stone, I deal with privileged information. I'd be out of business tomorrow if I didn't keep a secret. Your remarks to me are confession. I'm like a priest.”
    “Confession? I hope that doesn't mean I can't offer you a drink.”
    “As long as I'm not working for you.”
    “But I assumed that's why you're here.”
    “To discuss your problem,” Savage said. “I haven't been hired yet.”
    “With your credentials? I've already decided to hire you.”
    “Forgive me, Miss Stone, but I accepted your invitation to find out if I wanted
you
to hire
me.
”
    The sensuous woman studied him. “My, my.” Her intense gaze persisted. “People are usually eager to work for me.”
    “I meant no offense.”
    “Of course not.” She stepped toward a sofa.
    “But if you wouldn't mind, Miss Stone.”
    She raised her eyebrows.
    “I'd prefer that you used this chair over here. That sofa's too close to the window.”
    “Window?”
    “Or else let me close the draperies.”
    “Ah, yes, now I understand.” She sounded amused. “Since I enjoy the sunlight, I'll sit where you suggest. Tell me, are you always this protective of people you haven't decided to work for?”
    “A force of habit.”
    “An
intriguing
habit, Mr. … I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.”
    Savage doubted that. She seemed the type who remembered everything. “It doesn't matter. The name I provided isn't mine. I normally use a pseudonym.”
    “Then how should I introduce you?”
    “You don't. If we reach an agreement, never draw attention to me.”
    “In public. But what if I have to summon you in private?”
    “Savage.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “A nickname. The way I'm identified in my business.”
    “And did you acquire it when you were in the SEALs?” Savage hid his surprise.
    “Your former unit's name is an acronym, correct? Sea, air,