Collateral Damage (Stone Barrington 25)

“It looks like you folks are having way too much fun,” said a voice from the door to the kitchen. Will Lee came in and pulled up an extra chair.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Stone said.

“It’s just Will in this company,” he replied, accepting a glass of wine.

“Will,” Kate said, “I’ve had a job offer.”

“You already have a job,” he said. “Doesn’t it keep you busy enough?”

“It will until next January,” she said. “Then I’ll be at loose ends.”

“What’s the job?”

“Mike and Stone have asked me to join the board of Strategic Services.”

“Have they, now?” Will said, frowning a little.

“They have, and unless you can cough up some substantive reason why I shouldn’t, I’m going to accept.”

“Well, it’s usually presidents who join boards in the afterlife, but I don’t think there’s any law against a first lady doing the same.”

“Any personal objections?”

“If there were, I wouldn’t air them here.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I have wine taken, and I’m a little giddy.”

“You need to be giddy more often,” Will said.

“In time.”

“Take the offer,” he said, “but all of you, not a word to anyone until we’re well out of office. I think next spring might be a good time for an announcement.”

“May I tell the other members of the board?” Mike asked.

“You may not. It will be a nice surprise for them.” Will turned to his wife. “Well, we have an excuse to keep the apartment at the Carlyle instead of looking for something cheaper.”

“I’ll pick up the maintenance on the place,” Kate said.

“I may take you up on that,” Will said. He raised his glass. “Congratulations to all of you.”

—

A car pulled up in front of a shop in Soho, and Habib got out and rapped on the glass door. It was unlocked by a woman, and Habib went back to the car and opened the door for Jasmine, who ran inside.

“I’ll park the car,” Habib said, then left. “I’ll be back in … how long?”

“That depends on what you wish done,” the woman said. She was of Middle Eastern extraction, tall, with long black hair pulled up in a bun.

“Shampoo, cut, coloring,” Jasmine said.

“Two hours,” the woman said to Habib, who left, closing the door behind him.

“My name is Sheba,” the woman said, locking the door. “Please come through.”

They left the handsome reception room and went into the rear of the building, where hairdressers’ booths were set up, then through a door off the larger room. “This is my private room,” Sheba said, waving her to the chair. “Let’s talk about what you need.” She stood behind Jasmine and looked at her in the mirror while she talked.

“I want it shorter, but not too short,” Jasmine said. “Do you think I have the skin for blond hair?”