D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“Yeah, I think about that a lot. It’s just that . . . well, it’s like not being hungry at dinnertime. I just don’t have an appetite.”

Dino turned and watched as a very pretty brunette in a short skirt came through the door and took a seat at the bar, crossing her long legs. “Doesn’t that do anything for you?”

“Sort of,” Stone replied. “I mean, I remember what it was like, the way you remember how you roller-skated when you were a kid, but it just isn’t all thamil’t alt appealing.”

Dino felt for Stone’s pulse and looked at his watch. “Your vital signs seem normal.”

“That’s something, I guess.”

“Look who’s here,” Dino said, nodding toward the door.

Stone turned in time to see a tall redhead in a well-cut pantsuit enter the restaurant. She headed for their table and sat down. “Hello, sailors,” she said, leering a little.

Stone leaned over and kissed her. “Hello, Holly. What brings you to town?”

Dino kissed her, too. “Same question here.”

“Agency business,” Holly Barker replied. She was an assistant deputy director for the CIA. “I hope you guys remember that you’re still under contract to us as consultants.”

“How could we forget?” Stone asked. “Lance keeps reminding us.” Lance Cabot was Holly’s boss, deputy director for operations, or DDO.

“Well, fellas, you’re about to get the call again.”

Stone slumped. “Now what?”

“I can’t tell you,” Holly replied.

“Can’t tell us what?” Dino asked.

“That’s what I can’t tell you, dummy,” she said.

“What kind of deal is this?” Stone asked.

“Here’s the deal: you get the daily rate specified in your contract and five hundred per diem.”

“For how long?” Dino asked.

“That depends on how good you are,” she said.

“Who can live on five hundred a day?” Stone asked.

“Clearly, you’ve been living too well,” Holly replied. “If you stay at a Holiday Inn Express, and eat at McDonald’s, you can make money on that. Would you like my office to book you in?”

“Thanks,” Stone said. “I’ll make my own arrangements.”

“He’ll make mine, too,” Dino said. “He’s a regular travel agent.”

“As you wish,” Holly said.

“Come on, give us a hint.”

“Here’s the only hint you’re going to get,” Holly said. “I’ll have a car left for you at the Manassas, Virginia, airport. There’ll be an envelope locked in the glove compartment containing your credentials.”

“Credentials?” Dino asked. “You think we don’t know who we are?”

“Sure,” Holly said, “but nobody in Washington does. You’ll have to prove it, especially at the White House.”

“Which White House is that?” Stone asked.