D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

10

STONE SLOWLY BROUGHT HOLLY TO A CLIMAX, AND CONTINUED his ministrations until she stopped twitching, then he moved up a few inches and rested his cheek on her belly.

Holly’s breathing became normal. “I had forgotten how good you are at that,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“And I had forgotten how good a pillow you are,” Stone replied.

She pulled him up by his ears until his head rested between her breasts. “Have two,” she said.

“Gladly.”

“So what do you make of Dino’s running off with Shelley Bach?” Holly asked. “The word is that she and her boss, Kerry Smith, have been an item since before the last presidential election. Do you know their story?”

“Nope,” Stone sighed.

“They were assigned to find out if Martin Stanton, whom Will Lee had picked as his vice presidential candidate, was actually born in the United States.”

“I remember something about that, but I’m not sure what.”

“They determined that his mother, who was Mexican, gave birth to him in an ambulance shortly after they crossed the border, on the way to a maternity hospital in San Diego.”

“But he had an American father, didn’t he? Would it have mattered on which side of the border he was born?”

“I have no idea,” Holly said, “but you can be sure the Republican right wing would have had a field day with it.”

“I suppose so.”

“Where did you say Dino went with Bach?”

“To a cocktail party at the British Embassy. Why, do you miss them?”

She slapped him lightly on the cheek that was not pressed to her breast. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Listen,” Stone said.

“Listen to what?”

“I think I heard the front door open.”

“And I think I heard Dino’s door close,” Holly said, giggling. “Who knew Dino was such a swordsman?”

“Dino does all right with the ladies,” Stone said.

“Is this going to make for an embarrassing breakfast meeting?” she asked.

“It won’t embarrass me.”

“It might embarrass Shelley, to see me here.”

“So, let’s embarrass her.”

“Where do you stand on your investigation?” Holly asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, you want to talk dirty now, do you?”

She slapped his cheek again. “Just give me your opinion.”

“Well,” Stone said, “we haven’t been able to prove that Brixton Kendrick didn’t murder his wife, and, I must say, it was very unhelpful of him to leave a note taking responsibility for her death. Somehow, you didn’t mention that.”