George smacked his lips. “I can bring in dessert and coffee.”

“Fine,” Dan said, unwilling to argue. “Do that.”

Grinning, George scooped up the crumb-littered tray in one hand and started for the door. Dan saw that the desktop was sprinkled with crumbs, too. Annoyed, he brushed them to the carpet.

Teresa appeared at the door. “Mr. Martin Humphries,” she announced. She looked tense, Dan thought. Humphries must have really rattled her. Martin Humphries looked quite young. He was on the small side, a couple of centimeters shorter than Teresa, and he seemed soft, with rounded shoulders and a waistline that was already getting thick, despite the careful drape of his burgundy blazer. He seemed to radiate energy, though, as he strode confidently across the office toward Dan’s desk.

Dan got to his feet and extended his hand across the desk.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, making himself smile. Humphries took Dan’s hand in a firm grip. “I understand,” he replied. “I’m sorry to intrude on your grief.”

His eyes told Dan that the words were nothing more than an expected ritual. Martin Humphries’s face was round, almost boyish. But his ryes were diamondhard, cold and gray as the storm-lashed sea outside the window. As they sat down, George re-entered the office bearing a tray of pastries and the same carafe of coffee, with a pair of china cups and saucers alongside it. For all his size, Big George walked with the lightfooted step of a dancer — or a cat burglar. Neither Dan nor Humphries said a word as George deftly deposited the tray on the desk and swiftly, silently left the office.

“I hope I haven’t kept you from your dinner,” Dan said, gesturing to the pastries.

Humphries ignored the tray. “No problem. I enjoyed chatting with your secretary.”

“Did you?” Dan said thinly.

“She’s quite a piece of work. I’d like to hire her away from you.”