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"The Renoir. New Orleans. Joe Romano. A woman named Tracy Whitney was convicted and sentenced to fifteen years. The painting hasn't been recovered."
The son of a bitch,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! Reynolds thought. If it were anyone else, I'd think he was showing off. "That's right,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," Reynolds acknowledged grudgingly. "The Whitney woman has stashed that painting away somewhere,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and we want it back. Go to it."
Cooper turned and left the office without a word. Watching him leave,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], J. J. Reynolds thought, not for the first time, Someday I'm going to find out what makes that bastard tick.
Cooper walked through the office, where fifty employees were working side by side, programming computers, typing reports,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], answering telephones. It was bedlam.
As Cooper passed a desk, a colleague said, "I hear you got the Romano assignment. Lucky you. New Orleans is---"
Cooper walked by without replying. Why couldn't they leave him alone? That was all he asked of anybody,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but they were always pestering him with their nosy overtures.
It had become a game in the office. They were determined to break through his mysterious reserve and find out who he really was.
"What are you doing for dinner Friday night, Dan...?"
"If you're not married, Sarah and I know a wonderful girl,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Dan...?"
Couldn't they see he did not need any of them--- didn't want any of them?
"Come on,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], it's only for a drink...."
But Daniel Cooper knew what that could lead to. An innocent drink could lead to dinner,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and a dinner could start friendships, and friendships could lead to confidences. Too dangerous.

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