Fresh Disasters (Stone Barrington 13)

In the middle of the night, Stone got up to go to the john, and on the way back he walked to the front windows and looked down into the street. A black sedan sat, idling, a couple of doors up the block. The reflection from a street lamp on the windshield made it impossible to see who was inside.

“Stoooone,” Dierdre cooed from the bed.

“Coming,” he said, returning to her.

“Soon,” she said, holding the sheet back for him.

He settled into her as if she were a bear rug, and they started all over again.

After daybreak, he checked the street again. The black sedan was gone.

46

Stone sat in his office, his cheek pressed against the smooth, walnut desktop, snoring slightly. A voice came from afar.

“Rough night, huh?”

“Mmmmff,” he replied.

The voice came close to his ear. “Here’s coffee, very strong.”

“Bllllfff,” he replied.

“Wake up!” Joan shouted.

Stone sat straight up, blinking. Joan nudged the steaming cup of coffee closer.

“Either drink this and start making money, or go upstairs and go back to bed. You’re no good to me asleep at your desk,” she said.

“Right,” Stone said. He picked up the coffee cup and sipped it, burning his tongue. Down the hall the doorbell rang, the outside office door.

“I’m awake,” he said.

“We’ll see. Drink more coffee.”

Stone blew on it and sipped again. “I swear I’m awake. See who’s at the door.”

Joan sauntered down the hall toward the outside door. She was back in a flash. “Call Dino,” she said.

“Why?”

“There’s a box on the doorstep and nobody outside.”

“What kind of box?”

“Pretty big box,” she said, holding out her arms to indicate the size. “No return address or shipping form that I can see. Looks like it was hand delivered.”

Stone picked up the phone and pressed a speed-dial button.

“Bacchetti.”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, rough night?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Everything I heard from you and Dierdre last night leads me to believe that you both had a rough night. Or was that just a lot of talk?”