Worst Fears Realized (Stone Barrington 5)

“I haven’t decided. I

’m back for a show of my work that will open next week—all the work that I’ve done for the past six years.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Stone said.

“I’ll give you a preview; I promise. Now you know that all I have done these past years is cloister myself in Tuscany and work; bring me up to date on you.”

“I’ll give you the short version. What exactly was I doing the last time we saw each other?”

“You were still on the police force, although I heard through friends that you left, and I remember that you had inherited that lovely old house from an aunt, I believe, and you were doing most of the remodeling work yourself.”

“A great aunt, and yes, I couldn’t afford to hire many people on my cop’s salary.”

“And you had gotten yourself shot and were recovering.”

“Right.”

“Where was it?”

“In the knee.”

“Oh, yes; no place important, then.”

Stone laughed. “So I retired from the force on a full-disability pension—I was nudged in that direction, if the truth be known. I was being awkward about a case I was working on, and somebody decided I shouldn’t be there anymore.”

“You were always the most unlikely policeman.” Sarah laughed.

“That’s pretty much what the NYPD thought.”

“So then what did you do? Live off the fat of the land?”

“I had my law degree, so I boned up and took the bar exam. I’m of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”

“I know that name; a prestigious firm, I believe. What does ‘of counsel’ mean?”

“It means I handle their clients’ more delicate problems. I work out of an office in my home rather than from the firm’s offices.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“It sometimes is.”

“Are you prosperous, then?”

“More so than I had ever dreamed I would be. The house is finished and furnished; I live very nearly in the lap of luxury.”

“You’re certainly dressing better,” she said, stroking his jacket.

“I’d like to think I’m doing everything better,” he said.

“That remains to be seen.” She chuckled, her voice low. She stood up. “Come into the kitchen with me and watch me cook.”

“I’d love to,” he said. “May I make a phone call first? I promised I’d call Dino.”

“Of course; there’s a phone over there.” She pointed.

Stone went to the phone and dialed Dino’s number; he got an answering machine. “Dino, it’s Stone; I’m in Sarah’s apartment.” He repeated the number. “Everything seems all set downstairs; Anderson is running the elevator. Don’t call me unless it’s important.” He hung up, grabbed the champagne bottle, and followed Sarah toward the kitchen.

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