by Stuart Woods
“But why would the NYPD want to take pressure off a cop killer?” Holly asked.
“Not the NYPD,” Lance offered. “The FBI.”
“Excuse me,” Holly said, “but this is way too sophisticated for my simple mind.”
“You have an excellent mind, Holly,” Lance said, “but not as devious as that of the collective guile of the Bureau.”
“Holly,” Stone said, “Grant has just told us that Trini’s use to the Bureau is important for only another couple of days.”
“Bingo!” Lance said.
“So they want Trini on the street long enough to complete whatever the FBI wants him to?”
“Bingo again!” Lance said. “And would you like to know what Trini is doing for the Bureau?”
“Yes, please,” Holly replied.
“Now I must remind you that you two are, each in your way, arms of the Agency, and as such, you may not reveal to anyone what I am about to tell you.”
Stone sighed.
“Specifically, you may not reveal it to Dino,” Lance said.
“Why not?” Holly asked.
Stone spoke up. “Because Dino is NYPD, and he would be outraged to learn that the Bureau is messing with the investigation into a cop killing for its own purposes, and he might intervene.”
“Exactly,” Lance said. “Are we all in the tent now?”
Stone and Holly nodded.
“Well,” Lance, said, looking around to make sure he was not being overheard in the crowded restaurant, “it seems that our Trini has somehow convinced the Bureau that there is a financial connection between his mob friends and a certain Middle Eastern terrorist fraternity, the name of which shall not escape my lips.”
Stone shook his head. “The Mafia financing a terrorist organization? Not possible.”
“Stone, you forget that the Mafia is a terrorist organization, in its small way, and that their sympathies become altered when there is money to be made.”
“No, Lance, the mob is—in its small way, as you put it—a bunch of patriotic guys who are very grateful for the opportunities the United States has given them to become rich—stealing, extorting, and killing.”
“You have a point, Stone. Perhaps it is the case that the mob has been let in on the little secret—given an opportunity to do something patriotic.”
“And what would that be?” Holly asked.
“The boys have a great many money-laundering connections that our Middle Eastern foes covet. Since the Treasury Department has cracked down on wire transfers to suspect locales, and since the National Security Agency has greatly increased their surveillance of Middle Eastern cell and satellite phones, not to mention penetration of their websites, it has become much more difficult for them to move money around the world. On the other hand, the increased scrutiny of terrorists has had the happy effect, for the mob, of diverting attention from their own financial transactions.”
“I suppose it makes a kind of weird sense,” Stone said.
“Not to me,” Holly replied.
“Look at it this way, Holly,” Lance said. “Would you be willing to put your pursuit of Trini Rodriguez on hold for a couple of days, if the payoff were to destroy a terrorist money-management cell and confiscate a lot of their available cash?”
Holly looked into her cappuccino. “If I had to, I suppose.”
“Voilà!” Lance exclaimed. “A patriot!”
“And what happens after this little operation is over?” Holly asked.
“Then,” Lance said, “I might be able to help you achieve your objective.”
“You swear?” Holly demanded.
“I swear to try,” Lance said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be content with that.”
“Oh, all right,” Holly said.
23
STONE LET THEM into the house and closed the door behind him. “Pack some things,” he said. “Casual—jeans, et cetera, something you can wear to a good restaurant, but still casual.”
“Where are we going?” Holly asked.
“Away for the weekend. Daisy will love it.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Holly said.
Daisy looked pleased, too, when she heard the news.
Stone had previously backed the car into the garage. Now he pressed the remote, and by the time the door had opened, he had started the car and had it in gear. He pulled across the sidewalk gingerly, then turned toward Third Avenue, driving as quickly as he could and frequently checking the rearview mirror. A touch of the remote closed the door behind him.
“Why are we leaving town?” Holly asked.
“One, it’s a weekend; New Yorkers leave town on weekends. Two, it’s good for Daisy. Three, I need some country air. And four, to keep you out of trouble for the next couple of days.”
“And why do you think I need to be kept out of trouble?”
“I know damned well that if we stay in the city this weekend, you’ll be looking for Trini. You won’t be able to help yourself.”
“I said I wouldn’t interfere for a couple of days. Why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?”
“For safety reasons,” Stone replied. “New Yorkers are very careful drivers.”
“Not from what I’ve seen. Who do you think might be following us?”
“Maybe the two men who were watching the house.”
“What?”
“There were two men in the block: one across the street, wearing a black leather jacket, and one a few buildings up, wearing blue coveralls, looking in a shop window.”
“What’s so odd about a man looking in a shop window?”
“It’s a knitting and sewing shop,” Stone explained.
“Maybe he knits?”
“Maybe he’s FBI, if we’re lucky. Maybe he’s a friend of Trini, if we’re not.”
“How would Trini know where to find us?”
“You do recall chasing him all over Little Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that annoyed him. Maybe a friend of his got the license plate number of my car when you were camped outside La Boheme.”
“Oh.”
Stone turned left on Sixty-fifth Street and, eventually, crossed Central Park. Daisy looked longingly at the trees and grass.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Holly cooed. “We’re going to find you a place to play.” She looked at Stone. “We are, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Stone said. “Lots of grass and trees.”
“How long a drive?”
“An hour and forty-five minutes, if we beat the worst of the traffic. If we don’t, who knows?” He tapped a number into the car phone.
“Mayflower Inn,” a woman’s voice said.
“Hi, this is Stone Barrington. May I have a table for two at eight?”
“Of course, Mr. Barrington. We’ll see you then.”
“We’re going to a country inn?” Holly asked.
“Only for dinner.” He left the park, turned right on Central Park West, then left onto Seventy-second Street.
“Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” Holly asked.
“What’s the matter, don’t you like surprises?”
“I like them if they’re pleasant ones, and when they happen suddenly,” Holly said. “But not when I have to ponder them for an hour and forty-five minutes.”
“Daisy isn’t worried.”
“Yes, she is. She’s just being polite.”
“You be polite.”
“All right, I’ll shut up.” She laid her head against the headrest.
Stone switched on the radio and pushed a button, tuning it to 96.3 FM. Classical music filled the car. “Mozart,” he said.
“I know.”
He turned onto the Henry Hudson Parkway, then reached under the dash and fiddled with something. A loud beeping ensued, accompanied by flashing red lights. Then everything was quiet.
“What was that?”
“That was my super-duper radar detector and laser diffuser.”
She leaned over and looked at the speedometer as he changed lanes and accelerated. “I’d arrest you in Florida,” she said.
“I’ll get arrested in New York, if my detector doesn’t work. Would that make you happy?”
“Very. I like to see justice done.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Soon they were taking the curves of the Saw Mill River Parkway.
“Aren’t radar detectors illegal in New York State?” she asked.
“I’m not going to answer that without a lawyer present.”
“There is a lawyer present.”
“Oh, yeah. My lawyer just advised me not to answer. Anyway, we’re just passing through.”
“You mean, we’re going to another state?”
“Other states are not very far away, when you live in New York City.”
“You ever heard of the Mann Act?”
He laughed. “You think I’m transporting you across a state line for immoral purposes?”
“I certainly hope so,” she replied.
They turned onto an interstate, then, after a few minutes, another. Twenty minutes after that, they were driving along country roads with forest on both sides.
“We’re in Connecticut,” she said.
“You recognize the trees?”
“No, I was tipped off by the sign a few miles back that said, ‘Welcome to Connecticut.’ ”
“No wonder you’re such a good cop.”
“I don’t miss much,” she said.
Holly dozed and woke up as they came to a stop sign. “Where are we?”
“Still in Connecticut; a town called Washington.” He turned left, went up a steep hill, then turned left at a white church. “This is the village green,” he said. A moment later, he turned into a drive and parked before a shingled cottage with a turret.
“Who lives here?” Holly asked.
“I do, when I can.”
They got out of the car, and Daisy immediately bounded into some bushes. Stone got the bags out and unlocked the front door. “Welcome to Washington,” he said.
“It’s lovely,” Holly replied, walking in and looking around. Daisy joined them and seemed to approve. “Who decorated it?”
“I sought various counsel,” Stone said.
“You mean various women.”
“Now I’m going to fix us a drink, then we’ll take Daisy for a walk on the property next door.”
“Will the owner mind?”
“He is not in residence. A writer used to live there, but he sold it to a producer, who never moved in. It’s back on the market.”
“How much?”
“You couldn’t afford it.”
“You forget: I have five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars stashed in a tree.”
“That might do it, but then you couldn’t afford the taxes. This place used to be the gatehouse, but the properties got separated fifty years ago. Bourbon?”
“Good.”
He made her the drink and handed it to her. “Now I want you to take three deep breaths.”
She did.
“Now drink your drink and stop thinking about what’s in New York.”
“Did those guys follow us?”
“I don’t think so. My guess is, they didn’t expect us to drive away.”
“Neither did I,” she said, sipping her bourbon.
24
STONE LED HOLLY and Daisy through an opening in a hedge, and they emerged onto a broad lawn decorated with magnificent old trees before a large, comfortable-looking, American shingle-style house.
Daisy ran here and there, sniffing the ground and poking her nose into bushes.
“I could live here,” Holly said.
“So could I, but I’ll never be that rich.”
“No hope at all?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Can we break a window and see the inside of the house?”
“You’re suggesting breaking and entering? And you a law enforcement officer? As your attorney, I advise against it.”
“Oh, all right.”
Daisy had discovered the large swimming pool and was sniffing the surrounding bushes when a deer rocketed out of the brush and ran across the lawn, sending Daisy fleeing back to Holly.
“She’s never seen a deer before,” Holly laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, patting the dog, “I won’t let the bad deer get you.”
After half an hour’s walk they left Daisy in the house with her dinner and drove to the Mayflower Inn.
“Don’t you lock the door?” Holly asked.
“No need, it’s a peaceable sort of place.”
They drove past a pond and up a steep driveway, emerging from the trees to find a large, shingled building with broad porches on two sides.
“It’s beautiful,” Holly said. “It reminds me of the house we just saw—what was it called?”
“The Rocks. It belonged to an architect named Ehrick Rossiter, who designed twenty-seven houses and public buildings in this little village, twenty-two of which still stand. The Mayflower is one of them, and it’s been gorgeously renovated.”
Stone and Holly sat at a table overlooking the back lawn and garden, which were surrounded by old trees.
“So, is a country house a big part of living in New York?” Holly asked.
“A very big part of it. A lot of people have houses out on the eastern end of Long Island, in the Hamptons, but that’s too expensive and too crowded for me. Washington is just perfect—nice village, maybe the most beautiful in Connecticut, lovely countryside, and interesting people.”
“Nobody in Florida has a country house,” Holly said. “I wonder why?”
“Not enough contrast between first and second houses.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
They dined on salads, veal chops, and a bottle of California Cabernet. The waiter had just brought coffee when Holly suddenly sat up straight. “Something’s wrong,” she said.
“Didn’t you like the food?”
“No, not that. Something’s wrong back at the house.”
“Are you telepathic?”
“No, but Daisy may be. We have to go.”
Stone signed the bill, and they hurried back to the car. “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”
“No, never before, but it’s a very strong feeling. Drive faster.”
Stone did the best he could, and five minutes later they turned into his drive and got out of the car. The door to the cottage stood wide open. “I didn’t leave the door open. Did you?”
“No. Where’s Daisy?”
They arrived at the front door to find Daisy sitting in the front hall, staring at the door. She ran to Holly.
“Hey, baby,” Holly cooed. “What’s wrong?”
Stone reached down and picked up a piece of blue cloth dotted with blood. “Somebody’s missing part of his pants,” he said. “Is my Walther in your purse?”
She dug it out and handed it to him. “I don’t think anybody could still be here, not with Daisy sitting calmly in the hall. Not unless our intruder is dead.”
“He did some bleeding,” Stone said, handing her the spattered piece of cloth. “I just want to be sure.” He left her in the hall with Daisy, looked around, and came back, handing Holly the gun. “All clear.”
“Who do you think belongs to this?” Holly asked, holding up the fabric.
“One of the men outside my house in New York was wearing blue coveralls,” Stone said, fingering the cloth. “This is the same sort of utilitarian fabric.”
“I don’t like this,” Holly said.
“Neither do I,” Stone replied.
Later, in the middle of the night, Stone came awake. He had heard something downstairs. He eased himself out of bed, so as not to wake Holly, rummaged quietly in her handbag until he found the Walther, then tiptoed down the stairs and looked around the rooms. Nothing.
He went back to the entrance hal
l and bent over to pick up the scrap of blue cloth that Holly had apparently left there. As he did, something icy and wet made contact with his bare buttocks. Emitting an involuntary cry, he spun around to find Daisy standing there, looking at him as if he were crazy.
“You have a very cold nose,” he said, rubbing her head.
“What’s going on?” Holly asked from the stairs. She came down to join him, as naked as he in the moonlight filtering through the windows.
“I heard something down here,” Stone said, “and I came to investigate.”
“That would have been Daisy. She tends to patrol during the night.”
“She has a cold nose,” Stone said, rubbing his ass.
Holly laughed. “She certainly does, and she loves sticking it where it shouldn’t be. Don’t worry, there’s no one in the house. Daisy would have let us know.”
Stone looked her up and down. “You look very nice in the moonlight.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “You look pretty good yourself,” she said. “Daisy, guard.”
Daisy went and sat by the door, and Holly took Stone by the hand and led him back upstairs. She took the gun from him and dropped it in her purse, then she went to the bed and pulled Stone on top of her. “As long as we’re awake,” she said, wrapping her long legs around him.
“Funny,” he replied, “I’m not in the least sleepy.”
She reached down and put him inside her. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, thrusting.
25
STONE WOKE TO find Holly sprawled across his chest. Gently, he rolled her over until she was beside him, on her back.
“Am I awake?” Holly asked, her eyes still closed.
“Probably not.”
“I think I am. You must be, too.”
“I think we should go back to the city this morning,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t like the idea of somebody following us up here, especially since I don’t know who or why.”
“Neither do I, come to think of it.”
“I’d feel better in the city. I’m not sure why.”
“I’ll trust your judgment.”
Stone showered, got dressed, and scrambled them some eggs, while Holly took Daisy for her morning walk around the Rocks, next door.
