L.A. Dead

'This is a beautiful house,' Dino said.

'Thank you, Dino; Vance let me redo the place after we were married, so I can take full credit. Stone, where are you and Dolce going to make your home?'

Stone dropped his spoon into his soup bowl, splashing gazpacho over his jacket.

Dolce took up the slack. 'Papa offered to give us his Manhattan place, but Stone has insisted that we live in his house,' she said. 'I'm so looking forward to redecorating the place. It's a little… seedy right now.'

Stone could not suppress a groan. Dolce knew that Arrington had had a big hand in decorating his house. The soup was taken away, before Arrington could throw it at Dolce.

'And how is your father?' Arrington asked solicitously. 'And all those business associates of his? The ones with the broken noses?'

Stone stood up. 'Excuse me.' He left the table.

Arrington caught up with him at the front door. 'Running away, are you? You complete shit! You married that bitch?'

'I have a lot to explain to you,' Stone said. 'Can we have lunch tomorrow?'

'Lunch? I don't ever want to see you again! Not as long as I live!'

'Arrington, you're going to have to listen to me about this.'

'The hell I do!' she hissed, then pushed him out the front door and slammed it behind him.

Stone was already in his car when he saw Dolce in his rearview mirror, coming out of the house. The gates opened for him, and he floored the accelerator.

He made a couple of quick turns, headed nowhere, just trying to be sure that Dolce wasn't following him. He made the freeway, then got off at Santa Monica Boulevard, so he could keep an eye on several blocks behind him. Sweat was pouring off him, and he was breathing rapidly. When he had to stop for a traffic light he took the opportunity to put the car's top down, and the breeze began to cool him. His breathing slowed, and he began to feel nearly normal, except that he was numb between the ears. He did his best to drive both Dolce and Arrington out of his head, tried to think of nothing. For a while he was in a nearly semiconscious state, driving by instinct, uncaring of his direction.

When his head cleared he found himself at a traffic light in

Malibu. He dug his notebook out of his pocket, looked up the number and dialed the hands-free phone.

'Hello?' she said, her voice low and inviting.

'It's Stone; I'm in Malibu. Are you alone?'

'I sure am,' she replied.

'Not for long.' He headed for the Colony.

Chapter 45

Charlene met him at the door, wearing nothing but a short silk robe. Neither of them said a word. He kissed her, then, without stopping, lifted her off her feet.

She climbed him like a tree and locked her legs around him. 'Straight ahead,' she said, removing her lips from his just long enough to speak. 'Hang a right at the end of the hall.'

He followed her directions and came into a large bedroom only steps from the sand. The sliding doors to the beach were open, and a breeze billowed the sheer curtains. She unlocked her legs and dropped to the floor, tearing at his clothes. Together they got him undressed and her robe disappeared. They dived at the bed.

Stone had been erect since she'd answered the phone, and Charlene wasn't interested in foreplay. He was inside her before they were fully on the bed, and she was already wet. They made love hungrily, rolling about on the king-size bed, he on top, then she. There were no words, only sounds-yells, bleats, cries, moans. The breeze from the Pacific blew over their bodies, drying their sweat, keeping them going. She came slowly to a climax, and Stone followed her more swiftly, penetrating her fully. More sounds, followed by gasps for breath, then they were both lying on their backs, sucking in wind.

'Good God!' she managed to say finally. 'I've done a lot of fucking in my time, but I don't think I ever had a running start before.'

'I was in a hurry,' he panted.

'Oh, I'm not complaining, Sugar.'

He turned and reached for her. 'Again,' he said.

She pushed him onto his back. 'Now you take it easy,' she said. 'My call for tomorrow isn't until eleven, and you've got to last until then. I don't want you to leave in an ambulance.'

Stone burst out laughing. 'Oh, I feel wonderful,' he laughed. 'First time in days; I don't know how long.'

'You've been wound a little tight, haven't you?'

'You wouldn't believe how tight.'

'Well, I think I've just had a demonstration, and if it took you that long to start unwinding…'

'I think I may live now, if Dolce doesn't shoot me.'

'Dolce? Is there somebody I don't know about?'

'My wife, God help me.'

'Sugar, I believe we've skipped a part of your bio,' she said, rising onto one elbow and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

'Paper marriage,' he said. 'Piece of paper, nothing more. Trouble is, it's an Italian piece of paper.'

'Baby, you're not making any sense. Did you get drunk in Vegas, or something?'

'Happened in Venice,' he panted. 'The real one, not the Vegas one. Glorious place to get married.'

'Did she Shanghai you?'

'I went voluntarily, I'm afraid. I don't know what I was thinking.'

'So, what's the next level of that relationship?'

'The next level is divorce, and I have a feeling it's not going to be easy, since it has to happen in Italy.'

'I don't understand how… wait a minute; you came out here just to help Arrington, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'Were you in Venice when you heard about Vance?'

'Yes. We'd had the civil ceremony; we were due for the big one, in

St. Mark's, the next day. When I heard about Vance, I dropped everything.'

'Including Dolce?'

'Turned out that way.'

'How did she take it?'

'Badly.'

'And now you think she wants to shoot you?'

'Oh, no; she'd rather have me drawn and quartered and the pieces barbecued.'

'What does she want?'

'Me, dead or alive.'

'You mean she still wants to be married to you?'

'Apparently so. She's been introducing herself to the world as Mrs. Stone Barrington.'

'Oops.'

'Yeah, oops.'

'Who is this girl?'

'Her last name is Bianchi.'

'Wait a minute: at Vance's funeral I saw you talking to…'

'Her father.'

'I've heard a little about him,' she said. 'Sounds like this could be tricky.'

'Well put. Tricky.'