Stuart Woods: Kisser

“Like it?” she asked.

“It’s gorgeous. How did you do it so fast?”

“A friend of mine is the best theatrical designer in town. I told him to do it fast, with the best stuff he could find on short notice. I had the pictures and some smaller things in storage.”

“It took me two years to get my house to this state,” Stone said.

“As you said, I do things briskly. What time is dinner?”

STONE AND DINO WERE on their second drink, and Carrie still hadn’t arrived. It was nearly nine o’clock.

“She didn’t strike me as the late type,” Dino said.

“She’s had a busy day,” Stone replied, “and she’s just moved into her new apartment; she probably couldn’t find what she wanted to wear in the boxes.” Stone told Dino about the instant furnishing and decoration of the new apartment.

“Here we go,” Dino said, nodding toward the door.

Carrie, dressed in slacks and a sweater, was walking toward the table, limping.

Stone stood and held a chair for her, and it was not until he sat down and looked at her closely that he realized something was wrong. He waved at a waiter, pointed at his drink, then at Carrie.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Carrie said, trembling.

The drink came, and Stone handed it to her. “Big swig,” he said, and she complied.

“Now tell me what’s wrong.”

She gulped. “I was leaving my building, and as I came down the front steps I saw a man coming down the street from the direction of Fifth Avenue.”

Stone waited while she took a couple of deep breaths.

“He was backlit by a streetlight, so his face was in shadow. To get a taxi I had to walk toward Sixth Avenue for a little bit, because the parked cars were so close together that I couldn’t squeeze between them without getting my clothes dirty. As I walked I could hear his footsteps getting quicker and realized he was running toward me. I saw a cab coming from up the street, and without even looking back, I just threw myself over the hood of a parked car and in front of the cab. As soon as I got inside, I screamed at the driver to get out of there, and I locked the door, because I saw the man reaching for the handle. There was a knife in his other hand.”

“Did he hurt you?” Stone asked. “You were limping when you came in.”

She reached down, took off a shoe, and held it up. The heel was missing. “This was the only wound,” she said. Calmer now and breathing more slowly, she took another big swig of the bourbon.

“Describe him,” Dino said.

“Tall, over six feet, athletic-looking, wearing a raincoat and a felt hat.”

“Any distinguishing features?” Dino asked. He was taking notes now.

“Small scar at the corner of the left eye, another scar on the inside of the right wrist-childhood injury-and a broken nose from football that never healed properly.”

“You saw all that?” Stone asked. “How?”

“I’ve known him since college; he’s my ex-husband.”

“Did you ever see his face?”

“No, but I know how he walks. I know his fascination with knives; he has a collection. It was Max.”

“What’s his last name?” Dino asked.

“Long.”

“Address?”

“It used to be on Habersham Road in Atlanta, big house. He’s living in an apartment now. I don’t know where; it’s just what I’ve heard. Maybe one of his own developments.”

“But in Atlanta.”

“Yes. He wouldn’t go any farther from Habersham Road than he had to.” She was perfectly collected now.

Dino produced his cell phone. “I’ll get the precinct looking for him now.”

“No, don’t,” Carrie said, putting her hand over the cell phone. “I can’t have this in the papers.”

“Carrie,” Stone said, “if you know Max was the guy, then we have to get him off the street. He knows where you live.”

“Monday morning I start rehearsals, the biggest break of my life,” she said. “I’ve been all over the papers for two days; they would just love this.”

Stone looked at Dino and shook his head. “Do you have an alarm system in your apartment?” he asked Carrie.

“No.”

“Is there another entrance besides the front door?”

“Yes. There’s a rear door from the kitchen and stairs down to a garden.”

“Excuse me for a minute,” Stone said. He walked into the empty dining room next door and made a call to Bob Cantor, an ex-cop who did many jobs for him.

“Cantor.”

“Bob, it’s Stone.”

“Hey, Stone. What’s up?”

“I need a bodyguard for a woman first thing tomorrow morning at my house. Her name is Carrie Cox; she’s at Elaine’s with me. Are you free right now?”

“Yeah, but I’ll put somebody else on guard duty.”

“She needs a security system: double front door, kitchen door leading to a garden, the usual windows, front and rear.”

“You got a key?”

“You can pick it up here.”

“I’m on it.”

“Listen, on the bodyguard, not too much of a gorilla-she travels in polite circles-but somebody who can handle a man with a knife and deal with an angry ex-husband.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be there in half an hour.” Cantor hung up, and Stone returned to the table.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning there will be somebody with you, and they will be until it’s no longer necessary. Give me the key to your apartment.”

She took a small ring from her purse, took off one of two identical keys, and handed it to him. “What for?”

“My friend is going to install a security system; it’s probably going to take all night, because he does these things right, so you should come home with me tonight.”

“All right.”

Stone handed her a cocktail napkin and his pen. “Make a list of what you need from your apartment for the weekend; my friend will put it together and bring it to you.”

Carrie began writing and filled up one side of the napkin, then the other.

Bob Cantor walked into the restaurant and stood at the front, waiting. Stone waved him over and introduced him to Carrie.

“Hi, Bob,” she said. “Let me explain this list to you, where everything is in the apartment.” She took him through it, item by item, and told him where to find a suitcase.

“Got it,” Cantor said, pocketing the list. “Do you have a photograph of your ex-husband?”

“No, I threw all of them away.”

“What’s his name and address?”

“Max Long, Atlanta. I don’t know his street address.”

“Your protection is named Willie Leahy. He’ll be at your house with his brother Jimmy at nine tomorrow morning. You want them to rent a car? I think it’s best; you can be a target while trying to get a cab.”

“They can use my car,” Stone said.

“Good idea, with the armor and all.”

“You have an armored car?” Carrie asked.

“Lightly armored,” Stone said. “It came that way, and it’ll stop a bullet.”

“You,” Carrie said, putting her hand on his and squeezing, “are the second-best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

CARRIE SLEPT IN STONE’S ARMS for most of the night, and neither of them was much interested in sex. Stone took a handgun out of his safe and kept it in the bedside drawer.

Carrie didn’t wake up when he gently disengaged from her. He put on a robe, went down to the kitchen, and made them bacon and scrambled eggs, English muffins, coffee, and orange juice, then sent it upstairs in the dumbwaiter. He got the Times and went back upstairs to find Carrie sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray in her lap, bare-breasted, which was all right with him.

“Your dumbwaiter woke me,” she said. “A little bell went off.”