6 Stone Barrington Novels (42 page)

 

“Woods delivers a marvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern, old-fashioned read.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

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Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a G. P. Putnam's Sons edition.

First Signet Printing, April 2002

Copyright © Stuart Woods, 2001

Excerpt from
The Short Fovever
copyright © Stuart Woods, 2002

All rights reserved

eISBN : 978-1-101-10012-7

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Table of Contents

 

 

E
LAINE'S, LATE.

Stone Barrington finished his osso buco as Elaine wandered over from another table and sat down.

“So?” she asked.

“ ‘So?' What kind of question is that?”

“It means, ‘tell me everything.'”

Stone looked up to see Dino struggling to shut the front door behind him. Dino was his former partner, now a lieutenant, head of the detective squad at the 19th Precinct.

Dino came over, sloughing off a heavy topcoat. “Jesus,” he said, hanging up his coat, muffler and hat. “There's already six inches of snow out there, and there's at least thirty knots of wind.”

“How are we going to get home?” Stone wondered aloud.

“Don't worry. My driver's out there now, putting the chains on the car.” Dino now rated a car and driver from the NYPD.

Stone shook his head. “Poor bastard. It's tough enough being a cop without drawing you for a boss.”

“What do you mean?” Dino demanded, offended. “The kid's getting an education working for me. They don't teach this stuff at the academy.”

“What, how to put chains on a lieutenant's car?”

“All he has to do is watch me, and he learns.”

Stone rolled his eyes, but let this pass. They drank their champagne in silence for a moment.

“So?” Dino asked, finally.

“That's what I just asked him,” Elaine said.

“So, I'm back.” Stone had returned from an extended stay in LA a few days before.

“I knew that,” Dino said. “So?”

“Can't either of you speak in complete sentences?”

“So,” Dino said, “how's Mrs. Barrington?”

“Dino,” Stone said, “if you're going to start calling her that, I'm going to start carrying a gun.”

“I heard,” Elaine said.

“I'm not surprised,” Stone replied. “Dino has a big mouth.”

“So, how is she?” Dino demanded.

“I talked to Eduardo today,” Stone said. “Her shrink doesn't want me to see her. Not for a while.”

“That's convenient,” Dino said.

“You bet it is,” Stone agreed.

“You feeling guilty, Stone?” Elaine asked.

“Sure he is,” Dino said. “If he had just taken my advice . . .”

“Mine, too,” Elaine echoed.

“All right, all right,” Stone said. “If I had only taken your advice.”

“Arrington is for you,” Elaine said.

“Arrington isn't exactly speaking to me,” Stone said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if I call her, she's civil, but if I try to reason with her, she excuses herself and hangs up.”

“How's the boy?” Dino asked.

“Peter's fine.”

“Does he know who his father is yet?”

“Look, Dino, I don't know who his father is. It could just as well have been Vance as me. Not even Arrington knows. Nobody will, until we do the DNA testing.”

“And when does that happen?”

“Arrington won't discuss it.”

“Keep after her.”

“I don't know if it's worth it,” Stone said wearily. “I'm not sure it would make any difference.”

“Give her time,” Dino said. “She'll come around.”

“You're a font of wisdom, Dino. Know any other relationship clichés?”

“Every eligible man in the country is going to be after her,” Elaine said.

“What?” Stone asked.

“She's Vance Calder's widow, dummy, and as such, she's very, very rich. Not to mention gorgeous. You'd better get your ass down to Virginia and win her back.”

“She knows where to find me,” Stone said.

Elaine rolled her eyes.

Another blast of frigid air blew into the room as the front door opened again.

“It's your pal Eggers,” Dino said, nodding toward the door.

Bill Eggers came over to the table. He didn't unbutton his coat. “Hi, Elaine, hi, Dino,” he said, then he turned to Stone. “I've been calling you all evening. I should have known I'd find you here.” Bill Eggers was the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, the extremely prestigious law firm with which Stone was associated, in a very quiet way.

“My home away from home,” Stone said. “What's up?”

“I've got a client in the car that you have to see tomorrow morning.”

“Bring him in. I'll buy him a drink.”

“He won't come in.”

“Who is he?”

“No names, for the moment.”

“You have secrets from us, Bill?” Elaine asked.

“You bet I do,” Eggers replied. “Ten o'clock sharp, Stone?”

“Ten o'clock is fine; sharp depends on the snow. Your office?”

“Penthouse One, at the Four Seasons. He doesn't want to be seen with you.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Stone said.

“Stone,” Eggers said, “get this thing done and get it done right, and you could end up a rich man.”

“Ten o'clock,
sharp
,” Stone said.

S
TONE LEFT HIS HOUSE IN TURTLE BAY EARLY. EIGHTEEN inches of snow had fallen the night before, and the city was a mess. Cabs were few, and he would have to hoof it to 57th Street and the Four Seasons Hotel.

He was clad in a sheepskin coat, cashmere-lined gloves, a soft, felt hat and rubber boots over his shoes. The sidewalks on his block had not been cleared, but the street had been plowed, and he walked up the middle of it all the way to Park Avenue, unmolested by any traffic. The city was peculiarly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the occasional blast of a taxi's horn and, twice, the sound of car striking car. He made it to the Four Seasons ten minutes early.

It was said to be the most expensive hotel in the city, a soaring, very modern skyscraper set on the broad, crosstown street between Madison and Park. A gust of wind propelled him into the lobby, and he was immediately too warm. He found a checkroom and unburdened himself of his outer clothing, and shortly, the elevator deposited him on a high floor. He rang the bell beside the double doors and, immediately, a uniformed butler opened the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“My name is Barrington. I'm expected.”

“Of course, sir, please come in.”

Stone was ushered through a foyer into a huge living room with a spectacular view of the city looking south, or what would have been a spectacular view if not for the clouds enveloping the tops of the taller buildings.

Bill Eggers came off a sofa by the windows and shook his hand. “Sit down,” he said, “and let me brief you.”

Stone sat down, and immediately he heard another man's voice coming from an adjoining room through an open door. “Bill?” the voice said. “Come on in.”

Eggers stood up. “I'm sorry,” he said to Stone, “but there's no time. Just listen a lot and follow my lead. Say yes to anything he says.”

“Not if he propositions me,” Stone said, but Eggers was already leading the way into the next room. Stone followed, and a very tall, very slender man in his mid-thirties came around a desk and shook Eggers's hand. “How are you, Bill?”

“Very well, Thad,” Eggers replied. “Let me introduce a colleague of mine. This is Stone Barrington. Stone, this is Thad Shames.”

“How do you do?” Stone said, shaking the man's hand. He knew just enough about him to know who he was, but no more than that. Software came into the equation, and multimillions. Stone didn't follow finance or business very closely.

“Good to meet you, Stone,” Shames said. “Bill says you can solve my problem?”

Stone glanced at Eggers. “Yes,” he said, more confidently than he felt. Shames was dressed in a nicely cut dark suit, but his shirt seemed to have been laundered but not pressed. His tie was loose, and the button-down collar's tips were not buttoned. Shames waved them both to a pair of facing sofas and, as he sat down and crossed his legs, revealed that he was also wearing a battered pair of suede Mephisto's, a French athletic shoe. His blond, nearly pink hair was curly and tousled and had not been cut for months. He was clean-shaven, but Stone doubted that he could raise a beard.