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“But you would have slapped her around, if she had been slow to catch on?”
“I don’t slap people around, I have people who handle that sort of thing.” She was scrubbing his back, now, then his front. “I see that I have excited your interest,” she said, stroking him to fullness.
“You are very perceptive.”
“Are we clean enough now?”
“I believe we are.”
Holly turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and toweled herself, then she grabbed a dry bath sheet and worked on Stone.
“This is the most fun I’ve had for some time,” Stone said.
“Stick around,” she said, “it’s going to get better.” And she was right.
—
When they had exhausted themselves, then showered off the sweat, Holly sat on the bed, toweling her hair. “Where are we dining?”
“The Four Seasons all right?”
“That seedy old joint? I wish we could go to Elaine’s.”
“So do I, but in the circumstances, the Four Seasons will have to do.”
—
They dined for two hours at one of the world’s most elegant restaurants, then returned to Stone’s house for a repeat performance of their earlier assignation.
“Holly,” Stone said when they had finished, “is something bad going to happen?”
“I and my people work hard every day to see that nothing bad happens, and we’re good at it.”
“I feel so much better,” Stone said, snuggling up to her and falling asleep.
The group convened at the East Side Heliport in time to see the sleek new helicopter set down.
“Wow,” Stone said, “what is that?”
“I know what it is,” Mike Freeman said. “We’ve already ordered one.” Mike was the CEO of Strategic Services, the largest private security firm in the world, and he often knew about things like this before others did.
“Why am I not surprised?” Stone asked.
Holly directed Stone to the left cockpit seat, while she sat in the rear with Dino and Mike.
Stone looked at the instrument panel and controls. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you how all this stuff works,” he said to the pilot.
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“Thanks,” the pilot replied, running through a checklist. “Ever flown a helicopter?”
“Once,” Stone said. “I’d rather not think about it.”
The engines revved, and the chopper leaped off the pad and turned down the East River, gaining altitude quickly. Next thing Stone knew they were over Cape May and turning for Washington.
The pilot was constantly on the radio, and Stone could hear the conversations on his headset. It was obvious that this was no ordinary flight; they were getting special treatment from Air Traffic Control.
“How do I get them to talk to me like that when I’m flying my Citation Mustang?” Stone asked.
