“Harlan may be having us followed.”

“So you want his people to catch us like this?” She bit him on the thigh.

“Ouch!” He put the car in gear. “I just don’t want anyone who’s watching to see you in the car.”

She bit him again, higher up. “Or doing this.”

“Exactly,” he said, “and that hurt.”

“It was supposed to.”

Stone got over to Fifth Avenue, then down to Sixty-sixth Street and turned into the park, checking his rearview mirror. “Just another minute, until I’m sure there’s no one on our tail.”

“Oh, take your time,” she said, biting him again. “I’m enjoying this.”

Stone reached the other side of the park and turned up Central Park West, then left on Seventy-second. “Okay, you can sit up now; I think we’re tailless.”

“Speak for yourself,” she said, biting him again.

“Carla, I’m going to have teeth marks from my knee to my crotch.”

“Closer to your crotch, but who’s mapping?” She sat up. “What a beautiful Sunday afternoon! I hadn’t seen it until now.”

Stone turned onto the West Side Highway and accelerated past a dozen cars, then settled in the right lane and watched his mirrors.

“Why do you think Harlan is having us followed?” Carla asked.

“Because Bill Eggers called me half an hour ago and said Harlan thought I had stolen you from him.”

“Who’s Bill Eggers?”

“Harlan’s lawyer.”

“I thought you were Harlan’s lawyer.”

“I was, ah, sort of on special assignment.”

“You didn’t perform very well, did you?”

“What do you mean? I got the prenup signed, didn’t I?”

“Among other things. But you did steal me from Harlan.”

“You had already made the decision to leave him,” Stone said.

“Well, that’s what I told you. I had to take your ethical considerations into account, didn’t I?”

Stone checked the mirror again and saw a black SUV barreling up the passing lane. “Duck,” he said, pulling her down into his lap again. She promptly unzipped his zipper and began extracting him. The SUV abruptly pulled alongside and paced him. Stone looked left and saw two beefy men through the open window: one driving, the other eyeing him suspiciously. The Hudson River flashed on the other side of the pursuing car.

Carla had achieved her objective and was entertaining Stone.

Stone was able to make small noises but couldn’t speak, because the thug in the car next to him would see his lips move and know he was talking to someone.

The black SUV suddenly accelerated and pulled ahead of him. “Now they’re checking us out in their mirrors,” he said, attempting ventriloquism.

She stopped for a moment. “Who cares?” she asked, then resumed.

Stone tried to focus on the rear of the SUV. It was a Porsche Cayenne Turbo; no wonder it was so quick. Then, without much warning, he climaxed.

Carla kept going for a minute, then pulled back and dabbed at him with a tissue. “There, dear, is that better?”

“It is incomparably better,” Stone said, panting, “but you still have to keep down.”

Then the Cayenne accelerated as if shot from a cannon and flew off at the next exit.

“I think we’re safe, now,” Stone said. “You can come up for air.”

Carla rezipped him, sat up and checked herself in the vanity mirror, dabbing at her lipstick. “You owe me one,” she said.

Stone patted her on the knee. “And you shall be repaid in full, my dear.”

“And in kind, I hope.”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

“We’re not talking about my heart.”

“Whatever the relevant part of you desires.”

“That’s more like it.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t drive into the Hudson,” Stone said. “In fact, I’m still a little woozy.”

“Oh, I knew you’d maintain control of yourself.”

“I don’t think I would have described myself as in control.”

“It’s wonderful how men can do it anywhere, like dogs.”

“You were doing the doing; I was just hanging on for dear life.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way,” she said. “How soon will you be able to do it again?”

“Not until I’m out of the car,” Stone said, “and indoors.”

“Don’t you like sex outdoors?”

“I prefer beds or bearskin rugs before fires.”

“Does your house have a bearskin rug before a fire?”

“It has a fireplace.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess that will just have to do.”

31

Stone kept checking his mirror, looking for the black Cayenne, and once, near Bedford, he turned off the Sawmill River Parkway and stopped for gas, while telling Carla to keep down. He saw no pursuer during the six-minute stop, so when they were back on the Sawmill, he gave Carla the all clear again.

She sat up. “I think I’m beginning to like it down there,” she said. “I was almost asleep.”

Stone continued up I-684 to I-84, after which they were on country roads. He stopped occasionally to check for a tail but saw only weekenders with New York plates, their cars stuffed with pumpkins and overpriced antiques, wending their way back to their very expensive cottages.

Finally, they arrived in Washington and drove down little streets choked with gold and red leaves to his own cottage. He pulled into the driveway and behind the hedge, now concealed from the road. “Stay here for just a minute while I check the house,” he said.

“Oh, all right,” she replied, “but very soon I’m going to want a drink.”

“Very soon,” he said, getting out of the car and unlocking the front door. The alarm system beeped at him, and he entered his code. Alarmingly, it continued to beep. He reentered the code, the only code he had ever had for this house, and without so much as taking another breath, a loud, electronic beep began screeching, and an even louder siren began to wail. He stepped outside the door and yelled to Carla. “It’s all right; just wait a minute.” He stepped back inside to hear the phone ringing and picked it up.

“Hello.”

“This is Litchfield Security. To whom am I speaking?”

“This is Stone Barrington.” He gave the man the cancellation code, and a moment later, the noise stopped. “My code didn’t work,” he said.

“What code are you using?”

Stone told him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barrington, but that is not the code programmed into your system.”

“Then somebody has changed it, because I’ve never had another code for this system.”

“No one here has changed your code, sir.”

“Well, please change it back.”

“What was the original code?”

Stone told him.

“You wish to use that?”

“Yes, please.”

“May I have your social security number and your mother’s maiden name for identification purposes?”

Stone gave them to him.

“One moment, please.”

Stone stood waiting, tapping his foot.

“Mr. Barrington, your code has been reinstated. I’m sorry for the difficulty.”

“But you have no idea how it got changed?”

“No, sir. It can be changed from your keypad, but that requires the original code.”

“Thank you,” Stone said, then hung up. He stepped outside the door. “Okay, Carla, we’re all right now,” he called. He opened the trunk with his key and brought their bags inside. “Here we are.”

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Now can I have a drink? That bourbon you like, perhaps?”

Stone poured her a drink, then took their bags upstairs and returned to pour himself one.

Carla was sitting on the living room sofa. “It’s very pretty, fresh flowers and all.”

“The housekeeper,” Stone said. “Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?”

“Of course not, as long as it’s not for phone sex.”

Stone laughed, sat down beside her, picked up the phone and called Bob Cantor.

“Cantor.”

“Bob, I’ve just arrived at the Connecticut house, and my alarm code didn’t work. Somehow, it had been changed. Do you have any idea how that could have happened? I mean, you installed the system, after all.”