Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“I can’t deny that,” Stone said, reaching the gangplank and helping her aboard. “I suppose the main reason is that I wouldn’t want to share you with anybody, not even another beautiful woman.”

“Now, that was the politic thing to say,” she said, smiling at him. “But is there some other reason?”

“Apart from what I’ve already said, it just doesn’t feel right,” he replied.

“Now, that’s the best reason you’ve given me,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

“You never know,” Stone replied.

“I can tell you’re interested,” Callie said.

“How?”

She rubbed the back of her hand across the front of his trousers. “Let’s just say, it shows.”

Stone laughed and pulled her to him. “Think you could be satisfied with just me?”

“I expect so,” she replied, leading him toward his cabin.

20

STONE HAD A LATE BREAKFAST THE FOLLOWING MORNING and was finishing his coffee, when Juanito came aboard from the house with a Federal Express package for Stone. He ripped it open.

Joan wrote in a note: “Bob Berman brought this by for you. He said you’d know what it is.”

Stone lifted a four-inch-thick stack of computer paper out of the box and looked at the first page. It was a computerized registration form for the Brooke Hotel in Manhattan. The fanfold paper opened to reveal what appeared to be the entire guest list for the Brooke on the previous Friday.

Liz came on deck looking fresh and new in a short linen dress. “Good morning,” she said. “What’s that?”

“I had some phone calls from a Manhattan hotel last week; fellow asked for me and wouldn’t leave a number.”

“You think it might have been Paul?”

“Maybe. It would be a big help if you would g

o through these registration forms and see if any of the names seems familiar to you—not just people you know, but names that Paul might have chosen for a new identity.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to.”

“When you’ve done that, I’d like you to take a ride with me.”

“Where?”

“I met a man last night who could possibly be Paul, but I couldn’t be sure. The nose was different, as you said, and that seemed to change everything. Anyway, I haven’t seen him for some years, and I’m not sure how good I’d be at identifying him. I’d like to see if we can spot him around his hotel and let you get a look at him.”

“Okay, and I can tell you that when I saw him in Easthampton he looked very different from his old self. I spotted him as much by his walk and his body language as by his appearance.”

“What sort of hair did he have?”

“His natural dark, going gray; that hadn’t changed.”

“How long?”

“Not too long; longer than yours, though.”

“Does the name Paul Bartlett ring any bells?”

“Just the Paul. But if Paul were hiding out, I don’t think he’d use his real first name. He’s a lot smarter than that.”