Stuart Woods - Dead In The Water

"You bet."

"He's divorced, with two teenage kids; he lives in Lynn, Massachusetts that's near Boston-his wife got house and nearly everything else, and he makes the million-dollar roundtable every year. I believe that, too: I told him I was getting a divorce, hoping that would him off the subject of insurance, and he had ten ready why a born-again bachelor would need coverage!"

"I owe you two drinks," Stone said.

"You owe me dinner," Forrester replied.

"Okay, okay; probably not tonight, but before we leave."

"I want to debrief you after the trial anyway; maybe that over dinner."

Kramer spoke up."Only if I can be there, too."

Forrester laughed. "It's a good thing you and I aren't direct competitors."

"Jim," Stone said. "Does Stendahl remind you of anybody?"

Forrester looked toward the bar. "Remind me Of anybody?"

"Maybe of Paul Manning, a little?"

Forrester looked thoughtful. "Well, they're about the same size and build, but apart from that they don't really look alike."

"Even taking the absence of a beard into account?"

Forrester shook his head. "Very different in manner and accent, and not at all the same face, even without the beard. What, did you think he might not be dead after all?"

"It crossed my mind for a fleeting moment. My life certainly be a lot simpler if Paul Manning walked in here and sat down at the bar."

"Well, put your mind at rest, pal; I mean, maybe Manning's out there swimming around somewhere, but that ain't him at the bar."

"And you're the only one here who knew him," Stone said, sighing.

"Allison knew him; give her a look at Stendahl and see what she has to say."

Stone shook his head. "I wouldn't put her through that."

Forrester looked sympathetic. "That would solve a lot of problems for you, wouldn't it? I mean, if Stendahl were Manning."

"It certainly would," Stone agreed.

Kramer spoke up. "It would get Allison off, but Stendahl would sure be in a lot of trouble."

"Yes, he would," Stone said. "Although I'm not sure what they might charge him with in St. Marks."

Forrester laughed. "It would be funny, wouldn't it? Stendahl/Manning stands up in court and says, "I am the deceased; let my wife go!" I can just see Sir Winston's face."

They all had a good laugh.

It was their last night before the trial. "Want to go to dinner at the inn?" Stone asked.

She shook her head. "I don't want to be on display. I would much rather cook dinner for you aboard."

"Why don't I cook dinner for you instead?" he asked.

"No, that would have too much of the condemned's last meal about it."

"Come on, I don't want you to worry about the trial."

"I am serene," she said, and she certainly seemed way. "I'd just rather do something normal, like cooking. In fact, I've already thawed a chateaubriand in anticipation."

"Sounds wonderful. Can I make a Caesar salad?"

"Oh, all right, but just the salad. There's some romaine lettuce in the supplies Thomas sent down."

"And I need fresh eggs, olive oil, garlic, some Dijon mustard, and a can of anchovies."

"All in the galley. I'll get the meat started and make some bearnaise sauce first. You can make me a martini."

"Pfft! You're a martini!"

She groaned.

"One martini, coming up." Stone mixed the drink, shook it, dropped an olive in, strained the crystal liquid into a large martini glass, and set it on the galley counter.

She sipped it. "Mmmm. Just right."

Stone mixed himself a rum and tonic and watched as she unwrapped the beef, the center of the tenderloin, pounded it to about an inch and a half of thickness with a meat mallet, dusted it liberally with salt and pepper, and laid it on the gas grill. Then she diced some shallots and sauteed them with some tarragon, vinegar, and white wine. While this mixture was reducing she separated half a dozen egg yolks, heated some butter, then put the yolks into the Cuisinart, turned it on, and poured hot butter into the chute. Moments later she had hollandaise, which, when mixed with the reduced shallots and tarragon, became bearnaise. She dipped a finger into the sauce and held it up for Stone to taste.

"Wow!" Stone said. "You made that look easy."

"It is easy," she replied, turning over the beef. "Now you can make your salad.

Stone rinsed the romaine leaves and left them to drain. He crushed a couple of garlic cloves and some anchovies into the wooden salad bowl, then separated two egg yolks and dropped them into the bowl as well. Then he whipped the mixture with a whisk while adding oil until the consistency was perfect. He added a of mustard and a little vinegar, some salt and gave her a fingerful to taste.

"Absolutely perfect," she crowed, hoisting the meat a cutting board and slicing it deftly with a sharp knife.

Stone put the lettuce into the bowl with the dressing tossed it until each leaf was thinly coated, then set on the saloon table alongside the beef.

Allison dug out a bottle of red wine. "You do the honors," she said, holding it out with the corkscrew for him.

"Opus One,'89," he said, reading the label. "I'm impressed."

"It's the best bottle on the boat."

"And it will need decanting. You have a seat." He the wine gently into a decanter, watching for the sediment to creep up the bottle's neck, stopping when it he sat down and poured them both some.

Allison raised her glass. "To the best last meal a girl had," she said.

Stone raised his glass. "To the last meal's arriving abouut seventy years from now."

She laughed. "I'll drink to that."

They ate hungrily, wolfing down the tender beef taking the marvelous wine in large sips, then served themselves seconds of everything.

"I won't have room for dessert," Stone said.

"I'm dessert," she replied. "And you'd better have room."

They lay together in the aft cabin, kissing and stroking each other tenderly. They both had things to forget, Stone thought-he, Arrington; she, that he might be the last man she'd ever have. There was a moon filtering through the portholes, and in its light, with her fair hair and skin, she was as white as marble. Stone bent over her and his tongue found its way through the soft, blond pubic hair into the warm sweetness beneath. He was gentle, not pressing her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, encouraging and directing him until she shuddered and came quietly.

Then she reversed their positions, taking him into her mouth, caressing him with her tongue and fingers, drawing him to his fullest-teasing, tempting, but never allowing him to climax. Finally, when he was nearly mad, she mounted him and pulled him into a sitting position. They were mouth to mouth, nipple to nipple, he deeply into her. She brought her feet behind him so that she could pull him even farther inside her.

They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, then Allison began moving more rapidly. Stone moved with her, and, locked tightly together, they came noisily, finally toppling over onto the sheets.

"If that has to be my last time," she panted, "I won't have any complaints as to how well it went. I honestly don't think sex can be any better than that."

"You won't get an argument from me," Stone panted back.

They lay in each other's arms for a while, then she surprised him by bounding out of bed. "Come with me!" she cried.

He followed her into the saloon, then up the companionway and into the cockpit, oblivious of the two guards on the dock. She flung herself over the lifelines and into English Harbour, with Stone right her, matching her stroke for stroke.

She stopped and treaded water. "Do you think they I'm making a break for it?" she asked.

"I think they're too astonished to think," Stone laughing.

They swam out into the harbor, the moon sparkling an their wake, then back to the yacht, climbing aboard gain. Then they went back to bed and started over.