“So he hired somebody?”
“Apparently.”
Dino spoke up. “It’s gotta be tough to hire somebody to cut off the head of a six-foot, three-inch woman with a gun.”
“Yeah, and a doctor on the scene said that the killer did it in a fit of rage,” Stone pointed out. “Professional killers don’t do rage.”
“Now that you mention it,” Dierdre said, “I’ve never heard of rage in the case of a pro who was prosecuted. Those guys just walk up to you, put two in your head and walk away. Cold is their trademark.”
“Give us the benefit of your experience, Dierdre,” Dino said. “What does it mean when a guy kills by proxy and there’s rage involved?”
“Well, Daltry has to be enraged in order to go far enough to arrange her death.”
“Yeah, but what about the hiree?”
“I suppose he could have hired a crazy person to do it, somebody who hates women, maybe.”
“He hired somebody to run me down, too,” Stone said. “He had another airtight alibi.”
“An enraged serial killer using a surrogate?” Dierdre asked.
“Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” Dino said. “Serials may be enraged, but they do their own killing.”
“Dino,” Dierdre said, “go to the men’s room and take your time.”
“Okay,” Dino replied. He got up and walked away.
Dierdre leaned into Stone. “Okay, I’ve heard your disclaimer, and I still want you. I have a disclaimer, too.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“This isn’t love, it’s sex. When I get horny, I do something about it, and I’m not talking
about using my hand.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to cling to you, stalk you or make your life miserable. All I want from this relationship is an occasional drink or steak and a spectacular roll in the hay. We clear on that?”
“Perfectly clear.”
“Then let’s get out of here.” She stood up and started for the door.
Stone was right behind her. “Dino will get the check,” he said to Gianni. He kissed Elaine on the cheek as he passed her, and by the time he got outside, she was in a cab with the door open, waiting. Stone took a second to check out the block, then he got in.
“Anybody following us?” she asked, as they drove down Second Avenue.
“We seem to be alone,” Stone replied.
Dierdre undressed him slowly, kissing him here and there, then she shucked off her own clothes, revealing a body that had everything her dress had promised. She ran her fingers over his bruises. “That’s the worst bruising I’ve ever seen on anybody who wasn’t a corpse,” she said. “Poor baby.” She pushed him back onto the bed and began kissing him more purposefully.
Stone was delighted to find that he couldn’t think of anything but what was happening at that moment. He was tumescent and oblivious.
Dierdre helped with that, bringing him to full attention with her lips and tongue. “God, I love porterhouse,” she said.
Stone could make noises, but he couldn’t form words. He put his hands under her ass and lifted her onto him. She supplied the only lubrication necessary.
By the time they allowed themselves to fall asleep, Dierdre had kept every word of the promise she had made at the dinner table.