A Safe House

43

Stone called Mike Freeman, at Strategic Services, and explained the situation.

“How should I handle this, Mike?”

“Well, Quince is not wanted for any crime in Connecticut, and he has no arrest record there. Any action you take would be outrageously illegal, and you could be charged with a crime. Listen, you’re the lawyer here. Why am I having to tell you this?”

“I just thought you might have an idea.”

“Shooting him in the head is an effective action. Kidnapping less so, but no less illegal. Are you seeing my point?”

“I am, Mike.”

“Are you in communication with Jenna?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that sometimes she won’t talk or listen to me. Also, the cell service is spotty up there.”

“I suggest that you call her on the hotel’s landline, explain the situation, and tell her my people are on the way, with arrival in about three hours. I’ll wait to hear from you on that last one.”

“All right, Mike, thanks for your help.” Stone called the hotel and asked for Jenna.

“What?” she said sleepily.

“It’s Stone. Harley Quince, or someone very like him, has followed you to Connecticut on a motorcycle and intends to do you harm. I can dispatch guards from Strategic Services and have them on station in about three hours. How would you like to proceed?”

“I have already loaded and cocked my weapon and can use it at a moment’s notice.”

“Jenna, have you ever shot anyone?”

“Just once, but not to kill.”

“Do you think you can just point your weapon at a man and squeeze off a round?”

“I don’t know, but if what you’re telling me is true, it’s time to find out. It would be self-defense, wouldn’t it?”

“Jenna, I think I may have said this to you before, but to be sure you understand, I’ll say it again. In a situation like this the worst possible thing you can do is shoot someone. Even if you don’t kill him, your life will change forever and for the worse. You will be arrested, charged, and required to put up a very high bail. By the time you’re free, every media outlet in three states will be waiting for you outside the jail, to photograph you in your worst state: dirty, unkempt, wrinkled, and looking as if you slept the previous night on a park bench. Those pictures will be lurking in computers worldwide, waiting for the moment you do something you wouldn’t ordinarily do. You won’t be able to so much as buy a new pair of shoes without being swamped with photographers. Are you getting the picture?”

“I think so.”

“The best possible thing you can do for yourself right now is to unload your weapon, lock your door, and take a three-hour nap. By that time professionals will be dealing with all this.”

“Oh, all right!” She slammed down the phone.

Stone called back Mike Freeman.

“Yes, Stone?”

“I read her the riot act, and she may have acquiesced. Send your men, and look out for a big black BMW motorcycle in the parking lot or woods around the inn.”

“All right, then what?”

“Sit on her. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Maybe I can talk her off the ledge again.”

“We’ll count on that,” Mike said, then hung up.

Stone called the manager of the Mayflower and brought him up to date, then he called Bill Eggers.

“Hello.”

“Bill, it’s Stone. I need a favor?”

“How much?”

“Not that kind of favor. I need to borrow your house for two or three days.”

“And where should I reside during this visit?”

“Not the Greenwich house, the Washington house.”

“I don’t have a house in Washington, but you do.”

“Your house in Washington, Connecticut, remember? The one I sold you?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the gutters.”

“Bill, the time to speak about the gutters was before closing, during the inspection period, remember?”

“Well, if we’re going to stand on ceremony...”

“Bill, we’re going to stand on Connecticut real estate law. Now listen to me: My client, Jenna Jacoby — your client, too, the one with a net worth of a couple of hundred million dollars?”

“Oh, yes. I remember her.”

“Her life is in danger. An assassin is hunting her. She’s at the Mayflower Inn, in Washington, and I need to get her out of there and into a safe place. I need to borrow your house.”

“Sure, anything for a client with that much money. The key’s under the flowerpot, but I’m not sure which one.”

“Bill, when you moved in, did you change or rekey the locks?”

“No, it cost too much.”

“Then my old key will work.”

“I guess so.”

“If anybody but me calls you about Jenna, deny all knowledge, got it?”

“Got it. Good luck.”

Stone hung up. “Joan!” he shouted. “Roust Fred to bring around the Bentley!” He went upstairs to pack a few clothes.