His main concern now was speed. He had to make his offer before the shrinking share price attracted bigger, badder buyers than Mayberry. Fortunoff, Tiffany, or one of the big American chains, perhaps.

He pushed the breakfast tray aside and looked out his window. A beautiful day: clear skies, plain sailing. Hugh breathed in, deeply. He had the scent of his elusive quarry, and the chase was almost over.

He reminded himself to enjoy it. He would choose not to think too much about the emptiness that almost certainly waited for him on the other side of victory.

The phone rang.

“Hugh Montfort.”

“Good morning, sir,” said the receptionist in impeccable English. “I have a young lady here waiting to see you. Her name is Miss Judy Dean.”

Judy Dean? He didn’t remember any women on Lowell Epstein’s team.

“Ask her what company she’s from,” he said, warily.

“Very good, sir.” There was a brief pause. “She says she works at House Massot.”

Well, well, Montfort thought.

“Ask her to come up,” he said. “And tell the meeting in conference room two I’ve been delayed. They can start without me.”

“Certainly, sir.”

He waited a minute or so, then the knock on his door came, and it was with a most enjoyable curiosity that he said, “Come in.”

Judy forced her heart to slow down. She had removed her sunglasses in the elevator, checked her appearance for a final time. There was no point in being nervous; she was playing a grown-up game, right now.

Montfort would be incredibly grateful. She had to make sure that gratitude translated itself into dollars.

She opened the door. His suite was every bit as sumptuous as she had expected. I want to be rich, Judy thought. I want to be able to stay in places like this, and go first class, and wear important jewels. People made it, all the time. This guy had. Why not her?

He was standing silhouetted against his large window, but he took a step forward, hand outstretched.

“How do you do. I’m Hugh Montfort.”

“Judy Dean,” she said, her voice trembling just a touch.

Oh, forget it, she thought. He was just so attractive. Her eyes took him in, in a split second inventoried him: the urbane, confident face; dark eyes and hair; the supremely muscular body. Judy, the fitness fanatic, could imagine perfectly what it was like. He was that rare creature, she thought, the strong man who would also be fast. She’d read up on Montfort. He had been in the British Army, decorated for valour in the Falklands. The well-cut suit and crisp shirt and tie did nothing, absolutely nothing to hide what was underneath it—an unreconstructed male, a killer.