Deadly Deals by Fern Michaels Page A

know.” She was so flustered the girls forgot their breakfast as they jumped in with both feet to tease her. Annie’s face turned a deeper shade of pink at their risqué suggestions. The suggestions ran from the sublime to the ridiculous.
    â€œIt’s like riding a bike. It will come back to you.”
    â€œJust look mysterious and blasé at the same time.”
    â€œBe sure to use the word performance as often as you can.”
    â€œCandles, dim light, fragrant sheets are where it’s at.”
    â€œBrush up on your athletic capabilities.”
    â€œYou can find a tutorial on the Internet about hundreds of ways to use your tongue. They even have one for hand and toe usage.”
    Myra had to slap Annie’s back when she started to choke. She was still sputtering, the others giggling, when the door opened. Charles led his guest into the dining room.
    He was tall; his hair, snow-white. He was handsome and tanned. He was built like an athlete and moved with the stealth of a cat. He looked capable and hungry. He appeared to be of an age with Myra and Annie. It was his twinkling eyes that put the girls at ease.
    â€œLadies, your attention please. I’d like to introduce Tobias Tyson.” It was obvious Charles wasn’t going to introduce them by name, and it also looked like the tall stranger standing in front of them understood.
    Tyson shed his white poplin down jacket and took his place at the sideboard. He filled his plate with fruit and muffins. Instead of coffee, he opted for hot tea.
    Conversation consisted of the weather below the mountain, the coming holidays, and the Christmas trees that were going up in New York and Washington.
    Later, all agreed they liked Tyson. He was well spoken on just about any subject. They all liked the fact that he looked whomever he was talking to in the eye. And, Yoko said, he smelled good. She wanted to know what cologne or shaving lotion he used so she could get some for Harry.
    The minute the table and sideboard were cleared and the dishwasher was humming in the background, Charles left them to return to his command center.
    Tyson unzipped the heavy bag at his feet. It took all his strength to lift a heavy door model onto the table. “This,” he said, “is a replica—a scaled-down version—of the safe you will be dealing with.” He pointed to a smaller unit. “This is a replica of a digital safe.” He pulled a small square box out of the bag, powered it up, and said, “This will run through thousands of numeric codes in seconds and will give you the code you need within fifty-seven seconds.” In a businesslike voice, he said, “Put your hands on the table so I can see them. When I tell you to raise your hands, do it and flex your fingers.” He demonstrated how they should do it. “What’s needed here is flexibility and a light touch.”
    The women frowned, openly showing their disapproval as Tyson touched their hands, shaking his head.
    â€œToo short. Stubby isn’t going to work. Knuckles too big. Those nails have to go, and so does the polish. It might chip, and it will be a clue for the authorities to follow. Too much jewelry. It has to go, too. Wrist’s too thick. I’m looking for long, tapered fingers. Piano fingers. The pads of your fingers are too thick. Yours are too fleshy.”
    â€œAren’t we supposed to sandpaper our fingertips?” Nikki all but snarled.
    â€œThat’s only in the movies. This is no movie,” Tyson responded. “I was told that there is a security guard who makes his rounds of the building every twenty to thirty-five minutes. On the second go-round, the guard opens the office and checks the interior. Your window of time is small, so we have to make sure the person cracking the safe knows what she’s doing and can do it with her eyes closed.”
    â€œI don’t remember hearing anything about a security guard,” Yoko