Chapter 16

"Tell me a little bit about you," Stone said to Monica, handing her a glass of champagne.

They'd become separated from the others and had been making their way through the gallery at their own pace.

"Me?" Monica said. "Well, let's see. I'm from a little town in—"

"Don't tell me. Georgia, and the town's name is Delano."

"That's oddly specific."

"Let's just say I've met a few people from there."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I've never been to Georgia in my life."

"Oh."

"I'm from a little town called Fillmore in California. Have you heard of it?"

"I don't think so."

"It's in Ventura County, north of Los Angeles. Farm country."

"And were you a farmer?"

"My father was a supervisor at an avocado farm, but we lived in town. No farm work for me, I'm afraid. I was a barista on weekends and can still make a mean latte."

"Is that so? I might have to test you."

"Careful. You'll never want one from anyone else."

After they'd seen everything, Stone led her back to a painting of a young woman riding a horse over a similar background as the one in the portrait of Ivonne's mother. The rider looked a lot like Arrington. On the info card beside the painting was written the title Escape.

"I take it this one's caught your eye," Monica said.

"It has."

"It's stunning."

Stone motioned for a gallery employee to come over.

"How may I help you?" the man asked.

"Has this one been sold yet?"

"One moment, I'll check." The man disappeared into the crowd.

"Are you thinking of buying that for yourself?" Monica asked.

"For my son."

Peter often mentioned having loved watching his mother ride when they lived in Virginia.

"How old is your son?"

"Old enough to have won an Academy Award."

Monica looked confused, then her eyebrows shot upward. "Peter Barrington? The director?"

"That's him."

"I've seen all of his films. I love his work."

"I'll tell him you said so."

The employee returned. "Good news. It's still available."

"Not anymore."

The paperwork was quickly dealt with and arrangements were made to have the painting shipped to Peter in L.A. after the exhibit closed.

"You're very decisive," Monica said.

"In most things."

"Is that so?"

"Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?"

"I see what you mean."

He offered her his arm. "Shall we, then?"

She took it. "Lead the way."

Monica's phone vibrated as Stone drove her to the Lees' house.

She looked at the screen, frowned, and hit reject.

Moments later the cell began ringing again, and once more she declined the call.

"Someone you don't want to talk to?" Stone said.

"You could say that."

The phone rang for a third time.

"Whoever it is seems persistent."

She sighed. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

She accepted the call. "What do you want? I don't care what you said. You have nothing to do with me anymore, remember. What I do is my business." She listened again and then snorted. "Also not your business…Deal with it…Okay, I've heard enough. I'm blocking your number, so don't waste your time calling again."

She hung up without another word and promptly did what she'd promised.

"Boyfriend?" Stone asked.

"Ha. I haven't had one of those in…God, longer than I can remember."

"Husband, then?"

"That, I've never had."

"Glad to hear it."

She remained silent for a few seconds, then said, "A former employer."

"I don't think you've mentioned what you do."

"Finance related. Boring stuff."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the Lees' gate and a Secret Service agent appeared at Stone's window.

"Where did he come from?" Monica asked.

Stone rolled down the window.

"Good evening, Mr. Barrington," the agent said. He looked across at Monica. "Good evening, miss. Could I see an ID, please?"

She glanced at Stone, confused.

"He's just doing his job," Stone assured her.

"Um, okay." She retrieved her driver's license and handed it to Stone, who passed it to the agent.

"One moment." The man disappeared into the dark

"You have a security staff?" Monica asked.

"It's a friend's house."

"That's right. You don't live here. I didn't realize anyone in Santa Fe had this kind of security."

"My friends are a special case."

The agent reappeared and returned the license to Stone. "Everything checks out. Have a good evening."

The gates rolled open and Stone drove in.

As they got out of the car, another agent greeted them.

"Miss Reyes, I'll need to check your bag."

"What do you think I could possibly hide in here?" she asked, touching her small clutch.

"I wouldn't know, miss. That's why I need to check it."

She handed it over, and he jogged around the side of the house, out of sight.

"Where's he going?"

"To run it through the X-ray machine."

She stared at Stone. "X-ray machine? Where the hell have you taken me?"

"Not hell, I assure you." Stone opened the front door. "After you."

She peered into the house without taking a step. "Who lives here? The president?"

"Two of them, actually."

She laughed and stepped inside, then halted a few feet in when her gaze landed on a picture of both Presidents Lee with their son.

"Oh, my God. You weren't joking." She turned to Stone. "This is…this is Kate Lee's house."

"Will might be offended you left him out."

She twirled around, as if expecting to see them.

"They're in Hawaii."

"You're…housesitting?"

"I'm just using their place while I'm in town."

"Wait, the guards. Are they Secret Service?"

"Now you're getting it."

"You actually know Kate and Will Lee."

"More than know. They are dear friends."

She looked at him for a moment longer, then walked deeper into the house.

"Wow. This place is beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me? You said it wasn't your place."

"It was once. I traded it with Will and Kate for their townhouse in D.C."

"Traded houses. With the Lees." She shook her head, as if she couldn't fully comprehend the words. "Next you're going to tell me you know Holly Barker, too."

Deciding it best not to completely overwhelm her, he said, "I may have met her a few times."

"I could use that nightcap now."

"How does a nice port sound?"

"At this point, peppermint schnapps would be fine."

Stone poured two glasses of Taylor Fladgate Vintage Port, gave one to Monica, then sat with her on one of the couches.

She took a fortifying sip, then cocked her head. "Who are you?"

"Exactly who I said I was."

"A New York lawyer who happens to know two presidents."

Stone held up three fingers.

"Right. Three presidents."

He shrugged, conceding the point.

"My friends back home will never believe this."

"In Fillmore?"

"Them, too. But I was thinking of the ones in New York. I live there, too, almost two years now. How long have you been there?"

"My entire life."

"And how long has that been?"

"I still have a few good years left in me, if that's what you're asking."

She looked him up and down. "You definitely do."

He nodded at her empty glass. "Another?"

"Please."

As he refilled their glasses, she said, "I've been wondering something."

"How I know three presidents?"

"That, too, but we can get to that later. In the car earlier, what would you have said if I had told you the person who called me was a boyfriend or husband?"

"It's not so much what I would have said, as what I would have done."

"Which would have been…?"

"To politely escort you home and tell you I had a wonderful evening."

She considered this for a moment, then said, "And now that we've almost finished our nightcap? Are you still planning on escorting me home?"

"I am. But not until after breakfast."