Rhinehart tossed off the rest of his drink and stood up. “I’ve got to get home for supper.”
Stone walked him to the door and thanked him for coming, then returned to the study.
“This case sure is a pisser, ain’t it?” Dino asked.
“It sure is.”
Chapter 23
ARRINGTON WAS wonderfully naked, seated atop Stone, and he was sitting up, so that he could feel her breasts against his chest. They were moving rhythmically, and she was making little noises and contracting her vagina each time she moved. They were both nearly there, just on the brink, when a noise intruded. “Stop that noise!” Arrington panted. “I’m going to come!” Stone woke up in a sitting position, sweating, tumescent and angry about losing the orgasm. He could hear a noise from downstairs. What the hell was going on? He heard the noise again; it seemed louder. He struggled out of bed and into his trousers, picked up the .45 from the bedside table and left the bedroom, pausing on the landing to listen. He heard it again, and it seemed to be coming from the study. He started down the stairs, then stopped. This was what Dick had done, going downstairs in only his trousers, armed, and still he had died.
Stone thought for a moment, then went back into his bedroom, unlocked a window and opened it. Nothing happened; no alarm. Somebody had defeated it, in spite of Hal Rhinehart’s assurances. He picked up the phone to buzz the guest house and wake up Dino, then put it down again. Dino was unarmed, and Stone couldn’t let him walk into this without a gun.
Stone went back to the landing and listened again. Nothing for a moment, then the noise came, but more softly. He flicked off the gun’s safety and began to creep slowly down the stairs, staying close to the wall to avoid squeaks from the steps. He stopped on the landing midway down the stairs to listen again. Nothing.
His heart pounding, Stone contin
ued down the stairs, stopping every step or two to listen. At the bottom, he pressed his back against the wall and listened again. The noise came, as if someone were grinding something. Then, as from a great distance, a phone began to ring. It was faint, so it had to be coming from Dick’s secret office.
Stone took a deep breath, held the gun out in front of him in a combat stance and whipped around the corner, looking for any sign of movement, listening for any noise. The downstairs hallway was empty, but he heard the noise again, coming from the study.
Walking on tiptoe, even though he was barefoot, he went to the open study door and listened again. Nothing. He charged into the room yelling “Freeze, police!” the way he had done hundreds of times before, when he still was the police. Nothing. No one. He walked around the study, checking every corner, until he came to the alarm keypad glowing in the dark, near the door to the terrace. He checked the little screen: “Open window in master BR,” it said. The phone continued to ring. Stone tapped in the alarm code. The phone still rang.
Stone did a quick tour of the downstairs, checking every room, but found nothing. He got out his keys, went to Dick’s secret office door and opened it. The phone stopped ringing. Stone switched on the light in the little office and looked around, half expecting to find somebody there. Then he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. The wall opposite Dick’s desk was lined with cabinets, and one of them, with double doors, had a substantial lock on it.
He went through his keys until he found one that fit, then opened the cabinet. Inside, hanging on pegs, was an array of weapons: a stainless-steel riot gun with an extra-long magazine; a Beretta 9 mm semi-automatic, model 92, which was used by the armed services; a model 1911 Colt .45 officer’s model, with a beautiful mirror-blue finish and ivory grips; and a pair of Colt Government .380s finished identically to the larger pistol. So Dick had been well armed, after all.
The phone in the study started to ring. Stone rushed to answer it, lest it wake someone, then realized he was alone in the house. He picked it up. “Hello?”
“Stone? It’s Lance. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Stone said. “I was sound asleep, and I was wakened by a noise. I got my pants on and started downstairs, then I thought better of it, remembering that’s what Dick did. So I opened a window in my bedroom to set off the alarm, but it didn’t go off.”
“Yes, it did go off,” Lance said. “It’s silent, unless you program it not to be. The signal was transmitted to Operations, at Langley, and they called the house, but you didn’t answer, so they called me. Are you all right? Is someone in the house?”
“I’m all right,” Stone said, “and it appears I’m alone. I heard the phone ringing in Dick’s little office, but by the time I was able to get the door unlocked, it stopped. Then you called.”
“Are you alone up there?”
“Dino’s here, but he’s in the guest house.”
“There’s a manual for the alarm system somewhere in the house, probably in the little office, if you want to change the alarm from silent. It appears to be working properly.”
“Yes, I had the house checked out by an expert, and he says it’s pretty much impenetrable, unless you saw through a wall.”
“What expert?”
“A burglar.”
“What?”
“A guy Dino and I once busted for more than a hundred burglaries in New York. He’s out of prison now and living here. He’s a cabinetmaker.”
“Well, I guess that’s one kind of expert. If you’re all right, I’m going back to bed.”
“Sure, and thanks for calling.” They both hung up.
Suddenly, the front doorbell rang, and there was a hammering on the front door. Stone ran to the door, switched on the front porch light and looked through the peephole. Dino was standing there in his pajamas and robe. Stone opened the door.