D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“I’m experiencing that,” Stone said, “and I feel guilty about it.”

“So did I, and all I can tell you is don’t worry about it. It takes care of itself, eventually.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“The other thing I remember vividly was how—you should excuse the expression—horny I was. I thought about sex with Jackson every time I lay down to go to sleep. After a few weeks, it surprised me that I thought about sex with you.”

“That does surprise me.n se”

“I know, we’d only just met, but some reptilian part of my brain began to distinguish between a dead lover and a potential lover who was out there, alive. So, when we finally had the opportunity, I was ready for you. And I’ve enjoyed every moment in bed with you since then, when we had the opportunity.”

“And I with you. When you walked into Elaine’s last night, I felt . . . as the song says, ‘that old feeling.’”

“Good. That means you’re alive and well, and you’re about where I was at this stage. Do you want me now?”

Stone stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Oh, yes. And I feel guilty about that, too.”

“Don’t,” she said, taking his hand and leading him toward the open bedroom door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

And she was. She undressed them both and lay in Stone’s arms, caressing and kissing various parts of him. When she was ready—and when he was ready—she took him inside her, and for an hour, maybe more, they did the things they had always done with each other.

STONE WAS AWAKENED BY sunlight coming into his room. The curtains were open, and he could hear the shower running. He joined Holly, and they soaped and scrubbed each other, then they made love again.

Finally, they got into robes and went into the living room, where Dino was sitting in a comfortable chair, reading the Washington Post. “Good morning,” he said. “I’ve ordered breakfast for us.”

“How considerate of you, Dino,” Holly said, kissing him on the forehead. She sat on the sofa and poured herself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from a pitcher already delivered by room service. “Tell me, Dino, do you have a girl these days?”

“One or two,” Dino replied.

“Why don’t you invite one of them down here to join you? I’m going to be taking up a lot of Stone’s evenings, and I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected.”

Dino looked over the top of his newspaper. “That’s a very good idea,” he said. “Does she get per diem, too?”

“From you, not from the Agency.”

“I’ll make a call after breakfast.”

The doorbell rang, and room service wheeled in a large cart containing bagels, smoked salmon, sour cream, and a dish of caviar. They arranged themselves about the table and pitched in.

“I’ll bet you read the files last night, didn’t you?” Holly said to Dino.

“I did.”

“Any conclusions?”

“I found them carefully crafted to leave no alternative to Brixton Kendrick as the murderer. His suicide must have been an enormous relief to the Bureau.”

“I think you could say that,” Holly agreed. “I think it was an enormous relief to everybody except the people who knew them best, who believe that Brix could never have murdered his wife.”

“Stone,” Dino said, “I want us to go over to the White House today and walk the route from the tennis courts to the parking lot, the one that Mrs. Kendrick took. I want to see where she died.”

“Good idea,” Stone said. “What did the medical examiner’s autopsy report say about the ca siabout tuse of death?”

“Oddly, the ME’s report was missing from the files.”

Holly stopped chewing her bagel. “Really?”

“Really.”