Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(49)

“Pretty good,” Stone said. “I guess I had a good night’s sleep.”

“I can vouch for that,” Dino said.

“Any word on Whitewall Guy?”

“Is that his name?”

“It is, until somebody tells me something better,” Stone said.

“No sign of him,” Dino said.

The plastic surgeon appeared an hour later, this time dressed in a silk blouse and slacks. “How are you feeling?”

“Almost normal,” Stone said.

“I’d say you’re pretty normal,” she replied. “You spent an hour last night looking at my breasts.”

“And a pleasant experience it was.”

She removed his bandage and inspected her handiwork, then she sprayed the wound with something and applied a fresh bandage.

“Thank you,” Stone said.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Neither am I,” she said, placing her business card on his tray table. Stone found his and gave it to her.

“Okay, consider yourself cut loose,” she said. “Try not to bump your head on anything and screw up my work.”

“I’ll do my best,” Stone said, watching her leave.

“That bandage will need to be changed in a few hours,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just screw her right here,” Dino said. “Get dressed.”





39


Stone was checked out of the hospital at mid-afternoon and let Dino drive. He got out his iPhone and began checking his e-mail. There were a dozen political campaigns’ funding requests, it being an election year, and he gave another ten thousand dollars to Holly Barker’s PAC. She was an old friend and a lover, and she was running for president, having resigned the office of secretary of state earlier in the year, in order to run.

“Holly’s looking good in the polls,” Dino said.

“Yeah, I’ve been following her progress. I think she’ll be okay, barring some gaffe or accident or new conspiracy theory about her.”

“She’ll sail through,” Dino said. “You’re the only mistake she’s ever made.”

“You look kind of funny. Are you going to pass out again?”

“No, the wound is to my heart,” Stone replied.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Someplace restful.” As he spoke his phone chimed, signaling a new e-mail. He didn’t read it right away. “Any ideas?”

“How about New York City?”

“How about tomorrow morning,” Stone suggested.

“All right.”

Stone read the e-mail.


This is Jenna Post, your plastic surgeon; I hope you’re feeling better. I’d like to change your bandage, so why don’t you turn up at my house at sixish, and I will apply the healing arts. Oh, and you can stay for drinks and dinner; I cook.

Jenna



Her address was at the bottom; it was on Acequia Madre.

Stone replied:


Jenna

I thought, for about half a minute, of playing hard to get, but I changed my mind. See you sixish, and I’ll bring the wine and the wound. By the way, I want you to go around your house and lock all the windows and doors, and don’t let anybody in, except me. I’ll explain later.



He sent the e-mail.

“Dino,” he said, “take me to a wine shop.”

“Let me guess: the plastic surgeon?”

“She wants to change my bandage.”

“Yeah, and your underwear, as well, I bet.”

“Right. I need to go back to the Eagles’ and change. You can take Ed and Susannah to dinner.”

Dino pulled into a parking spot outside a liquor store. “There you go.”

Stone went in and bought two bottles of Far Niente, a cabernet and a chardonnay, and a bottle of Knob Creek. Then he went back to the Eagles’, changed clothes, and left them a note:

    Sorry to miss dinner, but Dino is taking you out. We’re leaving the house at nine tomorrow morning to fly back to New York, and we’d love to have you two on board. E-mail me your acceptance.



Then he took the rented Suburban and drove to Acequia Madre. Jenna Post’s house was two doors downhill from Sig Larkin’s. He parked in her drive, gathered up the booze, and rang her bell.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Stone Barrington. You’ll recognize me by my bandage.”

She buzzed him in, and met him in the front hall. “Ah, yes, that’s the correct bandage,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the kitchen.

Stone set his shopping bag on the kitchen island. “I didn’t know if you’d want white or red, so I brought both.”

“Oh, good. A drink, in the meantime?”

Stone removed the bottle of Knob Creek from the bag and opened it for her. She poured them each a drink.

“Good. Now that you’re anesthetized, let me have a look at your wound.” She stripped off the bandage, then opened a small black bag that rested on the island.

“You keep a medical kit in the kitchen?”

“It’s where most accidents happen,” she said. She swabbed the area with alcohol, applied an antibiotic cream and rebandaged it, then she removed a small bottle and a disposable syringe from the bag. “Okay, drop trou,” she said.