Bel-Air Dead (Stone Barrington 20)

“Because you hold shares committed to Rick, too. I don’t think you’re going to be safe until this whole thing with Centurion and Terrence Prince is resolved.”

“Excuse me a minute,” Charlene said. She went to a telephone and dialed a number. “Hello? This is Charlene Joiner; who’s this? Hello, Jerry, listen carefully: I want a team at my house, right now, and 24/7, until further notice, got that? Good. Yes, I anticipate a threat. Goodbye.” She hung up and took Stone’s hand. “Let’s go cook dinner,” she said.

Stone followed her into the kitchen, where Dino had mixed Hetty a drink from another bar, and Charlene turned on the grill. “How do you like your steaks?” she asked.

Stone marveled at how cool she was, given the circumstances.

15

Stone woke up the following morning, sprawled across Charlene’s bed, naked. The scent of bacon cooking wafted up from the kitchen. He showered and shaved and went downstairs.

Dino and Hetty were seated at the kitchen table, looking rested and fresh, while Charlene was dishing up scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. They all sat down, and Stone found a Los Angeles Times on the table. A story just above the fold caught his eye: DEATH OF MOVIE

HEIRESS WAS MURDER.

Stone held up the paper for the others. “Did you see this?”

“We were talking about it when you were still asleep,” Dino said. “I wonder who let the press know?”

“I don’t think it was Prince,” Stone said. “Somebody who knows a reporter, I guess.”

“Maybe Rick Barron?” Dino offered.

“Could be,” Stone replied. “Charlene, I think this takes the heat off you, at least a little. The opposition can’t afford two murders in the papers.”

“I’ll stick with my security people for a while,” Charlene replied. “Better safe than dead.”

Stone’s cell phone hummed on his belt. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, getting up and walking out of the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.”

“Good morning, Bill.”

“It’s afternoon here.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I spoke to Rex Champion early this morning, offered him thirty-six million. He ranted for a while, then accepted. I’m sending him a deal memo; the price is contingent on our due diligence turning up nothing untoward and on his putting an immediate stop to selling blood stock.”

“That’s great news, Bill.”

“Closing is a week from today.”

“What?”

“I know, I know, but Rex is hard up and needs the cash immediately.”

“How are we going to raise the cash for Arrington that fast?”

“Look, Stone, I know you’re not accustomed to dealing with billionaires, but Woodman amp; Weld is. When one of our clients needs a loan, he doesn’t fill out an application and wait for word from the loan committee. Call Arrington, tell her to instruct Chase to deal with us, and we’ll have it wrapped up in a day or two. And send me her financial statemen

t, so I’ll know what I’m dealing with.”

“You’re dealing with a billion two in investments with Chase; that’s all you need to know.”

“You’re right, it is. I need a letter from Arrington appointing us as her attorneys and authorizing us to act for her. Can you get that faxed to me right away?”