bedroom and found Arrington at her dressing table, applying makeup. "Why are you putting on makeup?" he asked. "I hope you don't think you're going anywhere."
"Why don't we go to Spago for dinner?" she asked archly.
"Do you have any idea how lucky you just were?"
"Don't, Stone; I'm converted. I'm sorry I gave you a bad time." She smiled. "Not very sorry, though. I enjoyed my trip to New York."
"Give me your car keys," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I've got to get it back from the airport. Manolo can drive me."
She dug into her purse. "I took Vance's car," she said. "It's in short-term parking; the ticket is over the sun visor."
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he said, kissing the top of her head.
"Won't you come back for dinner?" she asked, disappointed.
"I'm beat; I hardly got any sleep last night, remember?"
She smiled. "I remember." She stood up and kissed him. "I don't think I'll ever forget."
"Neither will I," he said, kissing her. Then he went to find Manolo, and they headed for LAX.
It was getting dark by the time he got back to the bungalow at Centurion. He checked the answering machine on Betty's desk, saw the red light blinking, and pressed the button.
"Mr. Barrington," Brandy Garcia's voice said, sounding exasperated. "I call here, and the lady says call New York; then I call New York, and the lady says to call here. I've got the item you want, and I'm going to call just one more time."
Then, as Stone stood there, the phone rang. "Hello?"
"Mr. Barrington?"
"Yes. Brandy?"
"Hey, Stone; I found your man."
"Where is he?"
"In Tijuana, of course."
"All right, you found him; now how do I find him?"
"You come to Tijuana."
"When?"
"Tomorrow afternoon; it's not a bad drive, three to four hours, depending on traffic. What kind of car you be in?"
"A Mercedes convertible, black."
"No, no, you don't want to be driving around Tijuana in that. You park your car at the border, and walk across; I'll have somebody meet you."
"All right, what time?"
"Say three o'clock?"
"I'll be there."