Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“I’m giving him nothing unless I’m convinced he’s who he says he is, and in order to do that, I’ll need to know who he says he is. He’s going to have to prove it to me.”

“You’re throwing in a whole lot of stuff, here,” James said.

“If you’re a lawyer, you’ll know very well that I have to protect my client, just as you have to protect yours. That’s all we’re talking about.”

“I’ll get back to you,” James said and hung up.

“Any progress?” Liz asked.

“By inches,” Stone said. “Manning is being very cautious.”

“He’s got a lot to be cautious about,” Liz replied.

An hour later, Stone’s phone vibrated again. “All right,” James said. “The day after tomorrow at one P.M., at Signature Aviation, Palm Beach International.”

“Fine,” Stone said. “I’ll see you then, but if my concerns are not met, there’ll be no discussion of terms.”

“I understand,” James said.

Stone hung up. “We’re on.”

43

LATE THAT NIGHT, AFTER A BIG DINNER AND MORE WINE than he had intended to drink, Stone fell into bed, exhausted. He had barely fallen asleep, when he was wakened by a knock on the door—at first, softly, then loudly. Annoyed, he got out of bed, put on a robe and went to the door.

“Good evening,” Dolce said. She stood there with two brandy snifters in one hand and a pistol in the other. “May I come in?” she asked, unnecessarily.

Stone looked at the gun and backed into the room. “Of course,” he said.

Dolce kicked the door shut and offered him a snifter. “I brought you a drink,” she said.

“Thanks, but I’ve already had too much to drink this evening,” he replied.

“I said, I brought you a drink,” she said, through clenched teeth.

Stone took the glass.

“Sit on the bed,” she said, “where I can see you.”

Stone sat on the bed.

Dolce lifted her glass. “To many more happy moments like this,” she said.

Stone sipped at his brandy. It had an uncharacteristically bitter taste.

“Drink it!” she said, tossing down her own drink.

Stone tossed down his own. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.

Dolce smiled, revealing her startlingly white teeth against her olive skin. “A pleasure, is it? I had somehow gotten the impression that seeing your wife was no longer such a pleasure. How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Stone said. He felt dreadful; the brandy on top of everything else he had had to drink at dinner was too much. He moved to set down his glass on the bedside table, and to his astonishment, he missed the table entirely. The glass dropped to the floor, missing the rug, shattering into tiny pieces. “I’m drunk,” he said.

“Not exactly,” Dolce replied. “You’re just feeling the first effects of the Thorazine.”

“What’s Thorazine?” Stone asked, and he had to try hard to pronounce the words.

“It’s a little something that an enlightened medical profession has devised to help those of us who are—how shall I put this?—psychiatrically challenged easier to manage. Do you know that one of Papa’s doctors actually said those words to me? Psychiatrically challenged! You have no idea what those of us who do not meet society’s standards of behavior have to endure at the hands of those who wish to make our company more acceptable.” She smiled. “But you’re about to find out.”