A Coral Kiss by Jayne Ann Krentz

recently made the decision to open his own brokerage firm in a year or two, and he fully intended to do it in style. As usual, he'd consulted with his old friend from the drug dealing days, Artemus J. Fitzpatrick.
    At Renner's urging, Fitzpatrick had also decided to abandon dealing dope for the highly profitable and socially acceptable business of selling major investments. The investments were seldom either profitable or advantageous tax shelters, but in the financial world no one seemed to mind those two minor drawbacks. Fitzpatrick had discovered—to his endless wonder and delight—that Renner was right: There were any number of people who would put their money into anything rather than give it to the government. Artemus Fitzpatrick took advantage of a seemingly universal human desire to avoid taxes at any cost while Renner concentrated on selling high risk stocks to gamblers who dreamed of hitting it big with the next IBM.
    Renner Securities, Inc., Daniel had explained to Artemus, was not going to be another run-of-the-mill, street-front securities firm. It wouldn't even be located on a street. The very last type of client it would seek to attract was the casual walk-in variety. Who wanted the lobby filled with retirees watching their IBM and General Motors shares moving slowly across the board? That sort of thing was strictly low class.
    Instead, Renner Securities was to be located a discreet thirty stories up in a glass and steel high rise that carried a solid gold address on Wilshire Boulevard. Everything would be first class, from the hand-polished oak furniture to the hand-picked clientele.
    Fitzpatrick was impressed by the plans, but then he'd known Renner since the younger man had discovered the extensive, disposable incomes professional athletes had to expend on recreational drugs.
    Even in those days Daniel Renner had sought a high class clientele. He had never stood on street corners worrying about getting knifed by an irate client. He had kept his operations discreet and by referral only.
    Life hadn't been that easy for Artemus Fitzpatrick. There had been too many occasions when he had had to stand on street corners and worry about what kind of gun the next sleazy client would be carrying.
    Renner had gotten him out of that dangerous world and Fitzpatrick was forever grateful. On the other hand, Fitzpatrick had made contacts and learned a few things from his miserable life on the streets that Renner had never had an opportunity to learn.
    Eight months ago Daniel Renner had discovered a need for that highly practical and specialized knowledge. He'd turned to Fitzpatrick for help. It was the first time the role of benefactor had shifted from Renner to Fitzpatrick. Fitzpatrick had rather enjoyed that shift. It was good to be the one in the know, the one who had the right contacts, the one Renner needed to carry out his plans.
    "Listen, Dan, that damn box, if it exists, has been sitting there for twenty-five years, right? It's not going anywhere, so calm down. You haven't had any choice but to wait and you know it. Don't take it out on me. Eight months ago we thought we were going to get lucky with LePage. Looked like an ideal setup when he hit it off with the daughter. But deals go sour all the time, man, you know that. When that fell through there was nothing else to do except wait for the next chance. Another few days and it's next chance time. So just take it easy, pal."
    "I've been taking it easy for eight months and I've had it." Renner drummed his fingers on the surface of the coffee table in front of him. "It's June already, Artie. I want to get moving."
    "You've got time. The Slaters are scheduled to leave for Europe next week, right? Everything's under control. Once they're off the island, we'll have all the time we need. Stop chewing your nails. Why the hell are you so nervous?"
    "Because things went wrong last time and I've got no guarantee they won't go wrong this time!" Renner exploded. He rose from