“I suppose you could look at it that way,” she said. “How soon will you be able to do it again?”
“Not until I’m out of the car,” Stone said, “and indoors.”
“Don’t you like sex outdoors?”
“I prefer beds or bearskin rugs before fires.”
“Does your house have a bearskin rug before a fire?”
“It has a fireplace.”
She sighed. “Well, I guess that will just have to do.”
31
Stone kept checking his mirror, looking for the black Cayenne, and once, near Bedford, he turned off the Sawmill River Parkway and stopped for gas, while telling Carla to keep down. He saw no pursuer during the six-minute stop, so when they were back on the Sawmill, he gave Carla the all clear again.
She sat up. “I think I’m beginning to like it down there,” she said. “I was almost asleep.”
Stone continued up I-684 to I-84, after which they were on country roads. He stopped occasionally to check for a tail but saw only weekenders with New York plates, their cars stuffed with pumpkins and overpriced antiques, wending their way back to their very expensive cottages.
Finally, they arrived in Washington and drove down little streets choked with gold and red leaves to his own cottage. He pulled into the driveway and behind the hedge, now concealed from the road. “Stay here for just a minute while I check the house,” he said.
“Oh, all right,” she replied, “but very soon I’m going to want
a drink.”
“Very soon,” he said, getting out of the car and unlocking the front door. The alarm system beeped at him, and he entered his code. Alarmingly, it continued to beep. He reentered the code, the only code he had ever had for this house, and without so much as taking another breath, a loud, electronic beep began screeching, and an even louder siren began to wail. He stepped outside the door and yelled to Carla. “It’s all right; just wait a minute.” He stepped back inside to hear the phone ringing and picked it up.
“Hello.”
“This is Litchfield Security. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Stone Barrington.” He gave the man the cancellation code, and a moment later, the noise stopped. “My code didn’t work,” he said.
“What code are you using?”
Stone told him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington, but that is not the code programmed into your system.”
“Then somebody has changed it, because I’ve never had another code for this system.”
“No one here has changed your code, sir.”
“Well, please change it back.”
“What was the original code?”
Stone told him.
“You wish to use that?”
“Yes, please.”
“May I have your social security number and your mother’s maiden name for identification purposes?”
Stone gave them to him.