L.A. Dead (Stone Barrington 6)

He undressed, got into bed, and tried to watch the late news, but finally turned it off. He was still loggy from the sleep upset of taking the redeye, and the conversation at dinner had depressed him.

He drifted off immediately and then was in a deep sleep. He dreamed, and something was out of place in his dream-a high-pitched squeal, as if from a great distance. Then the squeal stopped.

Stone sat straight up in bed, wide awake. The squeal was the sound the security system made to warn that it was about to go off; it stopped only when the proper four-digit code was entered, and it had stopped. Then he remembered that Dolce knew the code.

He got out of bed as silently as he could and rearranged the pillows under the duvet, to give the impression he was still in bed, then he picked up Dino's pistol, tiptoed to his dressing room, and stood just inside the door. There was enough light coming through the windows to let him see the bed.

He heard the light footsteps on the stairs, which were now bare of the carpet runner. They approached slowly, quietly, until they reached the bedroom, where they stopped. She was letting her eyes become accustomed to the nearly dark room. Then she began to move forward again, and she came into Stone's view.

She was wearing a black raincoat with the hood up, so her face was still in darkness, and Stone thought she looked like the angel of death; she carried a short, thick club in her right hand. She reached the bed and stopped, then, holding the club at her side, she reached out with her left hand and began to pull back the covers.

"Freeze!" Stone said. "There's a gun pointed at your head."

She turned slowly to face him, but the shadow of the hood still obscured her face.

"Drop what's in your hand," he said.

She released the club, and it fell to the bare wood floor with a soft thud.

"Now, reach behind you and turn on the lamp, and keep your hands where I can see them."

She turned away a

nd switched on the lamp, then turned back toward him, brushing off the hood. Instead of the black, Sicilian coif Stone had expected, honey-colored hair fell around her shoulders.

"Why are you pointing a gun at me, Stone?" she asked.

Stone's mouth fell open. "Arrington! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Could you point the gun somewhere else before we continue this conversation?"

Stone put the pistol on the dressing room chest of drawers and turned back to her.

She looked down, amused. "You're still pointing something at me," she said, unbuckling her belt and shucking off the raincoat. She was wearing black slacks and a soft, gray cashmere sweater. At her feet, on the floor, was the folding umbrella she had dropped.

Stone grabbed a cotton robe from the dressing room and slipped into it.

"Aw," she said, disappointed, "I liked you as you were. Don't I get a kiss?"

Stone crossed the room and gave her a small kiss, then held her at arm's length. "I'll ask you again: What the hell are you doing here?"

"Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Of course not! You've jumped bail, for God's sake, don't you understand that? The judge confined you to your house!"

"Don't worry, he'll never miss me."

"Arrington, let me explain this to you. As of this moment, you've forfeited two million dollars in bail."

"It's worth it to see you," she said. "I missed you."

"You could be arrested at any moment, and if you are, you won't get bail again; you'll have to stay in jail until the trial."

"Nobody's going to arrest me," she said. "Nobody knows I'm out of the house, except Manolo and Isabel, and certainly nobody knows I'm in New York. Manolo has instructions to tell anyone who calls that I'm not feeling well, and to take a message. I can return any calls from here."

Stone sat down on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands. "I'm an officer of the court," he moaned. "I'm supposed to call the police or arrest you myself."

"Oooooo, arrest me," she purred.