'Tiffany Baldwin is annoyed with you for killing Billy Bob,' Lance said.
'The ungrateful bitch,' Dino muttered.
'She was so looking forward to prosecuting him,' Lance said. 'At least she'll have the pleasure of announcing all his operations that she's rolling up. The Attorney General will like that.'
'And what does the Agency get out of it all?' Stone asked.
'We got thirty-five of thirty-six of the stolen grenades back, plus we nailed the guy in New Mexico who sold them to Billy Bob. Unfortunately, the stolen grenade-launching rifle is at the bottom of the Hudson. We've got divers looking for it.'
'How's Corey?'
'Antsy, because she can't work for a couple of weeks,' Lance said, 'but she's on the mend.'
'I'm sorry about McGonigle.'
'It wasn't your fault; these things happen in my line of work.'
'Is that how you think of it? As a 'line of work'?'
'It's as good a description as any. Oh, by the way, Holly Barker is joining us; I'm expecting her signed contract tomorrow. She drove a hard bargain, though.'
'I'll bet she wouldn't leave the dog behind.'
'Good guess. Daisy will be joining the team, too.' The car pulled up in front of Stone's house, and he got out. 'Lance, what happened to you on the rooftop when Billy Bob showed up?'
'Oh, I happened to see the FBI man take a bullet, so I lay low. By the time it was safe for me to come out, you were already in the chopper, and I felt I shouldn't shoot it down.'
'Thanks,' Stone said drily. 'You fellows want to come in for a drink?'
'Thank you, no,' Lance said. 'I have a very long report to write.'
'Me, too,' Dino said. 'You feel up to dinner at Elaine's tonight?'
'Sure,' Stone said. 'See you at nine.' He turned to go, but the chauffeur spoke.
'Excuse me, Mr. Barrington, but Mrs. Calder asked me to give you this.' He handed Stone a sealed envelope.
Stone went inside and upstairs to his bedroom; he wanted a nap before dinnertime. He sat on his bed and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored stationery.
Stone lay back on the bed and tried not to cry