Stone Barrington 06-11

Jim Judson, returning your call.”
    Stone briefly explained the circumstances. “Do you think you could admit her to your clinic? Her father will be in touch with her doctor in New York and ask him to come out here.”
    “Of course,” Judson replied. “When can you bring her to the clinic?”
    “I’m not sure,” Stone said. “We have to find her.”
    “Is she likely to be violent?”
    “That’s a possibility, but I don’t really know.”
    “I’ll have my people prepare, then. When you’re ready to bring her here, just call the main number. I’ll alert the front desk. If you need an ambulance or restraints, just let them know.”
    “Thank you, Jim; I’ll be in touch.” Stone hung up and returned to the table. “Dr. Judson will admit her,” he said.
    “But now we have to find her,” Dino said. “Where do we look?”
    Eduardo sighed. “I know where she is,” he said sadly. “She’s at the home of some friends of mine who are out of the country. We’ll go there together.”
    Stone shook his head. “Dino and I can do this, Eduardo. Dolce is already angry with me; let’s not make her angry with you, too.”
    Eduardo nodded. He found a pad, wrote down the address, and handed it to Stone. “I know I don’t have to ask you to be gentle with her.”
    “Of course, I will be.”
    “But be careful,” Eduardo said. “Don’t allow her to endanger you or Dino.”
    Stone nodded and shook Eduardo’s hand. “When this is done,” Eduardo said, “there’s something else I must talk with you about. Please call me.”
    “I’ll call you as soon as we get Dolce to the clinic.” He and Dino left before dessert arrived.

Fifty-seven

    W ITH DINO NAVIGATING, STONE FOUND THE HOUSE. It was on Mulholland Drive, high above the city, a contemporary structure anchored to the mountainside by a cradle of steel beams. The front door was at street level, but the rear deck, Stone noticed, was high above the rocky hillside. The house was dark, but there was a sedan with a Hertz sticker on the bumper parked in the carport.
    Stone parked on the roadside and headed for the front door, but Dino stopped him.
    “Give me a couple of minutes to get around back,” he said.
    “Dino, the back of the house is at least fifty feet off the ground.”
    “Just give me a couple of minutes.”
    Stone stood at the roadside and looked out at what was nearly an aerial view of Los Angeles—a carpet of lights arranged in a neat grid, disappearing into a distant bank of smog, with a new moon hanging overhead. The air seemed clearer up here, he thought, taking a deep breath of mountain air. How had it come to this? he wondered. What had started as a passionate affair and had ripened into something even better was now broken into many pieces, ruined by Dolce’s obsession with him and his own bond with Arrington. He didn’t know where this would all end, but nothing looked promising. He glanced at his watch, then started up the driveway to the house.
    The house’s entry was dark, but as he approached, his feet crunching on gravel, he saw that the front door was ajar. He stopped and listened for a moment. Music was coming from somewhere in the interior of the house—a Mozart symphony, he thought, though he couldn’t place it. Some instinct told him not to ring the doorbell. He pushed the door open a little and stepped inside into a foyer. He could hear the music better now. It seemed to be coming from the living room, beyond. He moved forward. A little moon and starlight came through the sliding-glass doors to the deck, on the other side of the living room. He walked down a couple of steps. He could see the dim outlines of furniture. Then the silence was broken.
    “I knew you’d come, Stone,” Dolce said.
    Stone jumped and looked around, but he couldn’t find her. “Do you mind if we turn on a light?”
    “I prefer the dark,” she said. “It’s better for what I have to do.”
    “You don’t have to do anything, Dolce,” he said. “Just relax; let’s sit down and talk for a little while.”
    “Talking’s over,” she said. “We’re way beyond talk, now.”
    “No, we can always talk.”
    The sound of two light pistol shots cracked the silence, and Stone dove for the floor, but not before the muzzle flash illuminated her, standing with her back to the fireplace, holding the pistol in both hands, combat-style.
    “Stop it, Dolce!” he shouted. “Don’t make things worse.” He crawled behind a sofa, while