Two-Dollar Bill

40

STONE TOOK his 9mm from the holster on his belt, looked into the hallway, saw no one, then slipped out of his shoes and ran silently up the stairs, two at a time, his heart pounding, steeling himself for more gore. His bedroom door was open. He put his back against one side of the door, listened for a moment, then went in, ready for anything. The bed was empty, its covers mussed. Arrington's shoes were still sitting neatly at one side.

He ran to Peter's room. The door was closed. He put his ear to it and listened, heard a murmur and the squeak of bedsprings. He looked through the keyhole and saw a hand hanging over the side of the bed, then he quietly opened the door and looked in. Peter was sleeping on his stomach, undisturbed. He closed the door quietly and checked Ilsa's room and the rest of the upstairs. Nothing, no one.

Stone started back down the stairs, then stopped. Through the glass pane of the upper door, behind the wrought-iron grillwork, lit from behind by a streetlamp, was the silhouette of a man. The man cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the front door, then moved away.

Stone ran down the stairs, opened the door, and, his weapon at the ready, looked around. The man was now peering through the kitchen window.

"Freeze!" Stone said, not too loudly, as he didn't know if the man was alone. The man straightened up from the window. "Hands on top of your head," Stone said. The man complied. "Turn and face me."

The man turned, and the light from the kitchen window illuminated his face, which was red. So was his hair.

"I'm from Lance," he said. "My name's McGonigle."

"Come here," Stone said, still holding the gun on him.

McGonigle approached, his hands still on his red head.

"Show me some ID."

McGonigle produced a leather wallet with an ID card.

"Inside," Stone said. "You can relax."

McGonigle stepped inside the house, and Stone closed the door behind them.

"What's wrong with the woman in the kitchen?" McGonigle asked.

"Her throat has been cut," Stone said.

McGonigle's voice remained calm. "Anybody else hurt?"

"Arrington Calder has been lifted. Her son, Peter, is still upstairs, asleep. They apparently didn't know he was in the house."

McGonigle nodded. "Have you spoken to Lance?"

"Fifteen minutes ago. I was on my way into the village to pick up some wine when he called."

McGonigle produced a cell phone.

"It won't work here," Stone said. "With the exception of a few spots, Washington is pretty much a dead zone. There's a phone in the kitchen, on the wall, at the end of the counter."

"I think you can put the gun away," McGonigle said. "They're gone."

"Billy Bob won't be happy until he has me, too."

"That's why he took the woman when he didn't find you here. He can take you at his leisure, now. He knows you'll come to him, when he wants you." McGonigle went into the kitchen and used the phone to call Lance. They talked for a minute, then McGonigle called out, "Stone, he wants to talk to you."

Stone went into the kitchen, trying not to look at Ilsa, and took the phone. "Yes, Lance?"

"I'm sorry we were too late," Lance said.

"Thanks for trying."

"Billy Bob didn't know about the boy; that's good."

"Yes."

"First things first. I'll have to notify the local authorities; a civilian is dead. I'll ask them to be discreet. I'll also call the Connecticut, Massachusetts and New York State Police and ask them to put out a bulletin on Arrington."

"Thanks."

"As soon as you're done with the police I want you and the boy to go with McGonigle and his people. We can't leave you there."

"All right."

"Pack some things for both of you."

"All right. You haven't said that we'll get Arrington back."

"I don't have to tell you why."

"No, I guess you don't."

"We'll get you through this," Lance said.

"Goodbye." Stone hung up.

"Why don't you go upstairs and pack," McGonigle said. "I'll call you when the local cops arrive."

"All right." Stone went upstairs and put some clean clothes into a bag, then went to Peter's room and packed for him without waking him. When he came back downstairs, there was a uniformed Connecticut State Trooper sergeant standing in the hall.

"Mr. Barrington? My name's Coll." He offered his hand.

Stone took it. "Sergeant."

"I'm the local law. You want to give me your account of what happened?"

Stone did so, while Coll took notes.

"Thank you, I think that will do it. My people will take over here, now. You can go with Mr. McGonigle."

"Thank you."

"I've got a van out front," McGonigle said.

Stone went back upstairs and thought of waking Peter, but he remembered how he had slept when he was that age. He picked up the boy, wrapped him in a blanket and walked downstairs with him. "Will you get our bags and his coat from upstairs?" Stone asked McGonigle.

"Sure."

He went outside and got into the van. Another man and a woman were already inside.

"I'm Corey, he's Tucci," the woman said. Tucci backed the van into the street and drove away. "We'll be there in ten minutes," Corey said. "It's where we had planned to stay."

Stone held Peter against him, the sleeping boy's head on his shoulder. They drove through the village, in then out, then back, obviously checking for a tail. A few minutes later they turned into a driveway.

"I'm going to get out and open the door," Corey said. "When I've checked out the place, I'll call you, and you get Peter inside quickly." She got out of the van, and a moment later came back.

"All right."

Stone got out of the van and ran to the open door of the house. Inside, he was directed upstairs.

"You can put Peter in the first bedroom," Corey said. "Let's let him sleep."

Stone put the boy to bed and came back into the hallway.

"In here," Corey said.

He walked into a kitchen, and beyond that was a nicely furnished living room. The shades were all drawn. "Where are we?"

"We're in the carriage house of the Rocks, the house next door to you. The owner is away, but he's acquainted with Lance, so we're all right for as long as necessary. We have half a dozen people watching this place and your house, in case they come back for you. We can hope that happens, because it will make it easier for us to find them."

Stone nodded and sat down.

"Have you had anything to eat?" Corey asked.

"I'm not hungry. Peter will be when he wakes up, though."

"We've got some groceries; I'll make some soup." She busied herself in the kitchen.

A moment later, Peter walked into the room, rubbing his eyes. "Where are we?" he asked. "Where are Mom and Ilsa?"

"Come in and sit down," Stone said. "We had a call that someone in Ilsa's family is ill in Sweden, and she had to go home. Your mom has gone with her, to help her."

"That doesn't sound like Mom," Peter said.

"She'll be back next week sometime. In the meantime, you and I are going to stay here."

"Where are we?"

"In the house next door to mine. We had a pipe break over there, and there's water all over the place, so we moved over here, to a friend's house."

Peter looked around. "I don't like this as well as your house."

"Neither do I," Stone said, "but we'll be comfortable here until my house is fixed."

"Hi, Peter," Corey said. "I'm Annie; I'm a friend of Stone's."

"How do you do, Annie?" Peter said. He sat down and began to eat the soup she had put in front of him.

Stone tried to eat, too, and mostly failed. He had never felt so helpless.