natured woman with the warm smile, who could strip a bank or brokerage firm’s financial statement to its bones within minutes using her long experience as examiner with the Fed?
Letty had cheered up the financial channel staff and viewers with a rosy forecast of unchanging interest rates and a recommendation to buy three promising small savings and loans in the Midwest. Sleeper stocks, she’d called them. No, she didn’t own them. No, Helmont and Brack had no sort of financial relationship with them. They were simply undervalued stocks with clean financial sheets and solid multiples. Buy ‘em!
All three stocks had gained share price by the time the market closed.
Letty was feeling good as she left Helmont and Brack’s new offices near the former site of the World Trade Center, looking forward to dinner at home and a warm bath before going over the numbers on a prospective New York bank merger.
On the subway ride uptown to her apartment, she studied her reflection in the dark window on the opposite side of the car. There she was, looking back at herself, much as she must have appeared on the TV screen.
What would her father think of her now, she wondered, after his admonitions and cautionary lectures about gambling in the stock market? Her own portfolio was flourishing and well hedged. She was even thinking of moving into another, larger apartment.
That is, if the television appearances worked out, if she struck a spark with viewers. Someone who knew one of the producers told her, in confidence, that ratings more than held up for her announced spots. The viewers liked her. Letty gazed steadily at her framed reflection across the aisle and let herself dream.
She had no idea she’d made a new fan that afternoon, who’d boarded at the same stop and was riding with her in the subway car, watching her watch herself.
“Why don’t you come to bed?” Paula asked Linnert from the bedroom doorway.
He’d been sitting for over an hour at his computer. Paula thought he looked particularly handsome shirtless and in his boxer shorts, seated in his Aeron chair in the soft lamplight and working the keyboard. But she had other ideas about how he could use his nimble fingers.
“Almost with you,” he said, without looking at her. Kind of miffed her.
Another few keystrokes and he turned to smile at her.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Bought some stock on-line.”
“I thought the markets were closed.”
“The main ones are. But there are after-hour markets, or you can place an order anytime that’ll be executed when the markets open the next day.”
Paula grinned. “Are you one of those notorious day traders who lost their shirts? I look at you, I don’t see any shirt.”
“Nope, I’m an investor, not a trader. Done okay, too. How do you think I pay for you, Miss High Postage?”
“With your passionate love.”
“Cheap at the price.” He shut down his computer and stood up from his desk chair.
“What’s the hurry?”
He looked puzzled. “I thought you were madly moist.”
“I am. I mean, why did you have to buy stock tonight instead of waiting till tomorrow morning?”
He shrugged powerful tanned shoulders. “I was in the mood. And an analyst I respect recommended these stocks this afternoon on the financial channel. Small savings and loans. Sleeper stocks in the Midwest.”
“Ah, and you want to get in before it’s too late.”
“Well, as early as possible. This analyst knows her stuff; she moves a stock for more than a day’s pop. She’s a solid researcher.”
Paula’s grin widened. “Come over here,” she said, “and I’ll show you some research.”
Letty stopped at a newsstand a block from her apartment and picked up
Toward the security of home.
42
The uniform with the scar on his face was on duty in the hall when Horn knocked on Anne’s apartment door. He looked over at Horn, gave a little half smile, and nodded. Horn nodded back, not smiling, as Anne opened the door.
“You’ve settled in nicely,” he said, when he entered and looked around. The apartment didn’t look so cold and modern. No cardboard boxes in sight. More pieces of furniture she hadn’t put in storage were in place. Some of the wall hangings were familiar. A framed impressionist print she’d always liked was on the wall over the sofa. Horn felt like someone in a hotel room where he’d stayed before.
Anne looked good. She was wearing a beige blouse, dark brown slacks, and had her hair pulled back in a French braid.
“Going out?” he asked.
She looked at him.
“Never mind.” Horn sat on the sofa and waited. She’d phoned him and asked for this meeting.
She didn’t offer him a drink and didn’t sit down herself. She said, “I’m going nuts here under guard.”
“You’d be nuts not to want to be guarded.”
“I don’t have to be convinced of that. I even appreciate what you’re doing, Thomas. I’m well aware I’m receiving special treatment because of you. I’m also aware of the kind of danger I’m in. I can count on an anonymous heavy-breathing phone call almost every night.”
“I know,” he said. “They’re from public phones around town. The receivers are always wiped clean of prints.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I guess you would know.” She paced a few steps this way and that-like an animal marking off territory-as if trying to locate the best position from which to speak. “I’m going back to work at the hospital, Thomas.”
He didn’t answer immediately, knew she was touchy and couldn’t blame her. “Your old job?”
She nodded. “Finlay was by here today to talk to me. The Vine family’s changed their minds. They’ve rejected any settlement and want more money, claiming the stress of their tragedy and the lawsuit have caused a regression to the severe depression Vine suffered after his military service. The main cause of stress is identified as Kincaid Memorial Hospital.”
“So Finlay wants you back,” Horn said. “All’s forgiven, huh?”
“Not really. Neither of us forgives the other. But I need a job, and the hospital needs me back in my old position in order to mount its best legal defense.”
“You mean they don’t want to risk a whistle-blower out there unaccounted for.”
“I suppose that’s part of it. From my end, I’ll have employment and an excuse to get out of this
