Read Online The Golden Chance by Jayne Ann Krentz - Free Book Online Page A

her decision about what to do with the C&L shares.
    But with her usual perception she sensed that Nicodemus Lightfoot rarely did things for altruistic reasons. He had an angle. She wondered what it was.
    “Why are you doing this, Nick?”
    “I told you.”
    “You mean that garbage about allowing me to put my mind at ease? I don't buy that for one minute. You're looking for a way to get those shares back, aren't you? Until you find one you figure it might be a good idea to keep an eye on me.”
    “It's your decision, Phila.”
    “It would be impossible to get a summer place on the coast at this late date,” Phila said slowly, still thinking it through.
    “You could stay at my family's cottage. Plenty of room.”
    “Not a chance,” Phila answered instantly. She knew he was right about the room. Crissie had described the “cottages” the Lightfoots and Castletons had built side by side in Port Claxton, Washington. From all accounts they qualified as mini-mansions by most standards. Still, she had no intention of taking up residence in either of them.
    Nick paid no attention to her response. He just reached for the phone on the wall. He got directory assistance, obtained the number he requested and then he dialed it.
    “Harry, it's Nick Lightfoot. Yeah. A long time. Listen, Harry, I'm coming to Port Clax for a while and I've got a friend who needs a place to stay. What have you got available?”
    Phila glowered as the conversation continued for a few more minutes. Nick saw her expression, and his brows rose in polite inquiry.
    “The old Gilmarten place sounds fine, Harry. We'll be there on July fourth. Any problem? I didn't think so. Thanks, Harry. See you on the Fourth.” Nick tossed the receiver back into the cradle. “That settles it. You've got a nice little place near the beach. Not far from the family cottages, in fact. Fully furnished. How does that sound?”
    “It sounds too good to be true. What poor soul got evicted?”
    Nick shrugged. “Some couple from Seattle will be given another place when they arrive next week. They'll never know the difference.”
    “I take it good old Harry owed the families a couple of favors?”
    “I've known Harry for years. Dad and I used to go fishing with him.”
    “Sure. So now you can casually pick up the phone, and Harry rearranges his whole schedule of summer rentals. Just like that.”
    Nick smiled blandly. “Not much point in being a Lightfoot if you can't throw your weight around once in a while.”
     
    “'Evenin', sir. I just finished building the martinis. How was the golf game?” There was more than a shade of deepest, darkest Texas in Tec Sherman's accent, but after years of self-discipline it had become overlaid with standard military drawl.
    “Not bad. Won fifty bucks off Fortman.” Reed Lightfoot sauntered over to the small bar where Tec Sherman was using a swizzle stick with crisp authority. A row of large green olives stuffed with pimientos was arranged nearby. Reed tossed ice into a glass and helped himself from the pitcher of martinis. “The poor, benighted fool landed in the goddamn trap on the sixteenth hole, and by the time he got out he was dead meat.”
    “Congratulations, sir.” Tec Sherman paused expectantly.
    Reed took a healthy swallow of his martini and eyed the other man. William Tecumseh Sherman was built like a slab of beef. He was an ex-Marine who managed to give the impression he was still in uniform, even though he habitually dressed in garishly patterned aloha shirts and loose cotton slacks. Sherman was in his mid-forties, bald as a billiard ball, with huge, bushy brows and a chronically pinched expression around the mouth. He had worked for the Lightfoots for years and he was as loyal as the rottweilers that guarded the front gate. Reed would have trusted Tec Sherman with his life.
    “Something wrong, Tec?” Reed finally inquired.
    “No, sir. Just heard the good news, sir. Wanted to tell you I was damned glad. It's about