Chapter 24

Stone and Monica returned from a relaxing weekend in Taos to the Lees' place at lunchtime. The only hiccups in their time away were Monica not yet hearing back from Tristan Williams, and Dino reporting that the Santa Fe police still considered Joshua Paskota's death an accident.

Stone had several messages from Joan and spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with work.

When he finally finished, the sun was setting. He could hear Monica swimming laps outside, so he donned his swimsuit and went out to join her.

"I was beginning to think you'd never show up," she said, after he dove in.

"Won't happen again."

"Promise?" she asked impishly.

He turned his attention to the sky. "My, what a lovely sunset."

She splashed him. "I thought as much."

In retaliation, he dove under, grabbed one of her feet, and pulled her down with him. They tussled playfully before resurfacing, their bodies tight to each other.

"This would be a lot more fun without bathing suits," she said.

"I'm game if you are. As long as you don't mind giving the Secret Service a show."

"Tempting, but I'll pass."

They kissed with the passion of lovers who truly enjoyed each other's company, then leaned their foreheads against each other.

Nearly out of breath, she whispered, "Maybe we should put on a show."

"If you insist."

As he moved to kiss her again, Martha appeared poolside. "Mr. Barrington, Miss Reyes, dinner is almost ready. Would you like it inside or out here?"

"Here?" Stone said to Monica.

"Please."

"Outside," he told Martha.

"Very good." She retreated into the house.

Monica sighed. "It looks like we don't have any time for—"

Stone slipped a hand under the back side of her bikini bottom. "Are you sure about that?"

As if it took every ounce of strength, she pushed him away and swam for the stairs.

They dined on a meal of chicken mole and grilled peppers paired with a bottle of Marian's Vineyard Old Vine Zinfandel from California.

When they finished, Martha asked if they would like dessert.

"I don't think I could eat another bite," Monica said. "I haven't had mole that good in years. It was just like my abuela's."

Martha smiled in pleasure.

"I agree with Monica," Stone said. "Though I can't comment on her grandmother's version."

Martha's grin doubled. "May I take your plates?"

"Please."

As she began gathering the dishes, a phone buzzed on one of the deck chairs.

"That's me," Monica said. She retrieved her phone and looked at the screen. "It's Tristan Williams." She accepted the call. "Hello?…Yes, this is she…Hi, Tristan. Thank you for calling me back." She turned on the speaker and retook her seat.

The voice that came out of the phone was male and guarded. "What can I help you with?"

"I was given your number by someone who thought you could help me."

"Who's that?"

"Joshua Paskota."

Silence on the other end, then, "He's dead."

"I'm aware. He was helping me with an investigation."

"What kind of investigation?"

Monica eyed Stone before she responded, "I work for an insurance company, and am looking into several potential art thefts."

They heard movement on the line and then three beeps.

"He hung up," Monica said.

"Try him again."

She did, but instead of ringing, she was sent straight to voicemail.

After the beep, she said, "This is Monica Reyes again. Please call me back. I really need to talk to you." She hung up. "He must have turned off his phone. If he doesn't return my call…"

"Wait here." Stone went into the house and retrieved his phone. After retaking his seat, he said, "What's Tristan's number?"

Monica brought Tristan's info up on her phone.

Stone called his friend Bob Cantor. Bob was a former NYPD officer who'd made a lucrative post-force career as a security technology expert and private investigator.

"Hello?"

"Bob, it's Stone."

"Hi, Stone. Long time no talk."

"Sorry about that. I've been a little busy lately."

"I heard about the mess with the Russians. Glad you came out of it okay."

"You and me both. Listen, I need your help with a phone number. I don't know if it's a cell or a landline, but I'd like to know where it's located."

"Sure. Give it to me."

Stone did so.

"L.A. area code," Bob said. "Of course, that doesn't mean that's where he is."

"Is this something you can look into right away?"

"I was just about to settle in with the new season of OnlyMurders in the Building, but that can wait."

"I appreciate it. How long do you think this will take?"

"Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Also, if it's a burner, chances are whoever you're trying to find will have already dumped it."

"Do what you can, Bob, and call me when you have something. Don't worry about the time."

"Consider me on the job."

Stone hung up and lifted the wine bottle. "Another glass?"

"How about a shower and change of clothes first. It's getting a little chilly."

They relocated to the guest suite, where they did more than merely soap each other's backs.

After toweling off, Stone checked his phone. He had a missed call and a text from Bob, the latter reading: Call me.

Stone did so.

"The number is for a cell phone that belongs to someone named Tristan Williams," Bob said. "I have an address for him in Echo Park. That's near downtown, next to Dodger Stadium."

"Were you able to get a location on the actual phone?"

"The most recent location I could get was from an hour ago, on Melrose Avenue in the Fairfax District."

Stone knew the area. It was near West Hollywood and was a fifteen-minute drive from the Arrington, depending on traffic.

"I'll text his home address and where I got the hit," Bob said. "The latter won't be exact, mind you, but should be close."

"Thanks, Bob. Please send an invoice to Joan."

"I already have."

Stone hung up and told Monica what he'd learned.

"Well, I guess I know where I'm heading next," she said.

"When would you leave?"

"Too late to get a plane out tonight, so tomorrow." She opened her phone and began scrolling for flights.

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"I need to be in Los Angeles in a few days, but I can just as easily leave tomorrow. Why don't you fly with me?"

"You have a plane?"

"I do."

"It's not one of those little prop planes, is it? If so, thank you very much for the offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

"You have an issue with prop planes?"

"My first and last experience in one involved a thunderstorm and a very hard landing."

"That sounds more like your pilot was unprepared than a problem with the plane itself."

"True. The pilot was my boyfriend when we took off and my ex the moment my feet were back on the ground."

"Then I understand your reluctance, but to ease your mind, my plane is a Gulfstream G-500 jet."

She crossed her arms and reappraised him. "Have I told you how handy you are to have around?"

They arrived at the Santa Fe airport at nine a.m. and found Faith performing her preflight inspection.

"How was Roswell?" Stone asked.

"Paradise, if you believe in aliens."

Stone introduced her to Monica, and the two women shook hands.

"Will you be wanting the left seat for takeoff?" Faith asked Stone.

"If you don't mind."

"Why don't you two get on board. I'll have Dean take care of your luggage."

"Dean?" Stone asked.

"He's our flight attendant today."

Faith oversaw the hiring of whatever crew was needed.

Once Stone and Monica were inside the aircraft, Monica said, "What was all that about the left seat?"

"The pilot sits in the left seat, and the copilot sits in the right."

"You're going to be piloting the flight?"

"Just the takeoff and landing. Faith will handle the in-between. And before you ask, I have been flying for many years, and have more than the required hours doing so in this very aircraft."

"All the same, I'm beginning to wonder if I made a mistake accepting your offer."

Just then, a trim young man in a blue suit entered.

"You must be Dean," Stone said.

"I am."

Stone gestured to Monica. "This is my friend, Monica Reyes. She'll probably want a glass of champagne before we take off."

"Make that two," Monica said.

Stone rejoined Monica in the cabin shortly after takeoff.

"That was very smooth," she said. "I should never have doubted you."

"I'll forgive you this once, on the grounds of your previous experience."

"You have my gratitude."

Dean brought them an array of cheeses and fruits, and two glasses of champagne.

"Do you know where I'll find the Hertz counter at LAX? I've arranged for a rental."

"That's going to be a problem. We're not going to LAX."

She sat up. "I thought you said we were."

"I said we were going to Los Angeles, and we are. Just not LAX."

"Then where?"

"Van Nuys Airport. It caters to private jets. I used to use Santa Monica Airport, but they've shortened the runway and are planning on closing the airport entirely in a few years."

"Doesn't LAX allow jets like yours?"

"They do, but they are also one of the busiest airports in the world. We could find ourselves endlessly circling the city as we wait for clearance to land."

"I wonder if I can transfer my reservation to Van Nuys. Does Hertz even have an office there?"

"Whether they do or not is of no matter. A driver will pick us up."

"That's very kind, but I don't want to put you out."

"Where do you want to go?"

"I have a friend who lives in Altadena. I was going to stay with her."

"You know, you're welcome to stay at the Arrington with me."

"You're not tired of me yet?"

"Not even close." He leaned over and kissed her.

"Good. Keep it that way." She returned his affection.