Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(16)

“Gee, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to frisk him and get his driver’s license.”

“That would be appreciated next time.”

“You think there’ll be a next time?”

“I can’t think of a reason why he might stop, can you?”

“No,” Stone admitted.

“Question is: When he finds you unavailable next time, will he wait for you to return or just go on killing the others?”

“What’s your best guess?” Stone asked.

“I think he’ll go after the others. I think he’s enjoying himself too much to stop.”

“Why?”

“Well, he doesn’t have a business reason, does he? Like insurance policies on everybody?”

“I guess not.”

“I don’t think he’s out for revenge. There are too many people on the list.”

“Maybe they were mean to him in high school,” Stone suggested.

“We thought of that. They all went to different high schools.”

“Do you think he travels? Like, to England?”

“Airline tickets are cheap, if you don’t mind flying steerage.”

“What a comforting thought,” Stone said. “Now it’s time for my nap.” He moved back across the aisle.





13


Major Bugg, the property manager, met them on the ramp with the Range Rover and drove them up, past some cottages, to the main house.

“The pilots and the security people will stay in a couple of the cottages, and here we are at Windward Hall,” Stone said. The car came to a stop in front of a large Georgian house, and the staff took charge of distributing the luggage. Stone walked Vanessa around the main floor of the house, finishing up in the study. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked her.

“I’d like to go upstairs and become unconscious right away,” she said. “I hate jet lag.”

“I’m afraid Gulfstream hasn’t quite solved that problem, except we get to choose our takeoff times.” He took her upstairs in the elevator to the master suite, where their clothes had been unpacked and put away in their respective dressing rooms.

Vanessa began stripping off clothes, leaving a puddle of them on the bedroom floor, then she kissed Stone and crawled under the covers. Stone was right behind.



* * *



—

They slept straight through until the following morning, when Stone pulled back the curtains and let sunshine pour into the room.

“What’s happening?” Vanessa said.

“You have completed your spaceflight and are now on the plant Urg. Enjoy the sunshine. It may not last long.”

Vanessa sat up in bed and looked out the window. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

“Didn’t I tell you it would be?”

“No.”

“I should have, but it could rain at any moment.”

As he spoke, it began to rain, hard.

“Is there a little man behind the curtain pulling levers to make that happen?”

“Nature requires no assistance.” He looked out the window. “It will stop by the time you’re ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to get out of bed?”

“No, I’ll have breakfast brought up, that’s my usual practice.” He picked up the phone and ordered. By the time it had arrived, the sun was out again. Stone checked the radar on his iPhone. “I think that will last the rest of the day,” he said.

“I feel wonderfully rested,” she said.

“Twelve hours of sleep will do that for you.”

“Do you have horses?”

“For plowing or riding?”

“Riding, please.”

“I do, but finish your breakfast and digest it for a while first.”

Stone looked out the window and saw a Gulfstream 600 turning onto its final approach. “Here comes Viv and Mike Freeman,” he said. The two had met up in Singapore, and from there they flew together to England. He called Major Bugg and asked him to have the airplane met and refueled. “I expect they’ll stay at least overnight,” Stone said to him. “The crew will need to rest.” A few minutes later, Bugg called back. “Everyone is tucked in. I don’t expect you’ll hear from them until dinnertime. I’ll let the cook know the numbers.”

Stone hung up and finished his breakfast. Vanessa, he noticed, was sound asleep again.



* * *



—

They loped south from the house, across the meadow. “You up for jumping a stone wall?” he asked her. “Or we can go around and take the road.”

“I’m up for it,” she replied.

They sailed over the wall, now on the property of Arrington House, the country hotel that Stone and his French partner, Marcel du Bois, had made from a huge country house. The car park was full, he noticed.

They cantered past the airstrip, now sporting two Gulfstreams, his in the hangar, then down to a bend in the Beaulieu River, where they dismounted. Stone produced lunch from his saddlebag, and they sat down under a tree to smoked salmon sandwiches and half a bottle of champagne.

“I feel wonderful.” Vanessa sighed.