Free Carnal Curiosity by Stuart Woods

while he turned to other guests.
    Stone ordered and asked the waiter to bring their drinks to the terrace. He guided Ann across the room and out a pair of French doors to take in the view of Central Park just after sunset. They stood by the railing and watched the lights come on along Central Park West.
    “And how do you know the Coulters?” Ann asked.
    “They are my recently gained clients,” Stone replied.
    “And do you ‘fix’—pardon me, resolve for them?”
    “They are the sort of people who don’t require much resolving, just a management of their affairs and a tax and wealth strategy.”
    “Did you draw their wills?”
    “No, the firm has specialists for that.”
    “Do you manage their money?”
    “They have their own investment counselor and accountant.”
    “Then you just strategize for them?”
    “That’s as good a description as any of what I do for them. When they signed on, I produced a strategy document that my firm used to get their lives properly organized.”
    “Perhaps you should organize my life,” Ann said. “Somebody should, anyway.”
    “Are you so disorganized?”
    “I’m afraid so. I’m so busy with the campaign that I have a hard time even writing checks for my monthly bills.”
    “Then what you need is half a Joan.”
    “Half a Joan?”
    “Like my Joan, only you probably need her only part-time. If you can find a really excellent Joan, you will be astonished at how much more smoothly your life proceeds.”
    “What a good idea. Can you recommend someone?”
    “No, but my Joan probably can. Shall I ask her to?”
    “Yes, please. My apartment has an unused maid’s room that could be an office.”
    Their drinks arrived, and they turned their attention back to the falling of night upon the city. Then, quite unexpectedly, Stone heard an all-too-familiar sound. The pianist stopped playing. He took Ann by the elbow and guided—half dragged—her across the terrace to the wall between two sets of French doors and pressed her against it, glancing into the living room as they proceeded.
    “This is so sudden,” she said. “What the hell are you doing?”
    “Not to alarm you unduly,” he half whispered, “but there is at least one man in the living room wearing a mask and a shotgun.”
    “And what are you going to do about it?”
    “Absolutely nothing.”
    “But you’re a former police officer.”
    “Correction: I am an unarmed former police officer, and as such, I do not argue with shotguns. Now, be quiet and give me your necklace and bracelet.”
    She quickly took them off and handed them to him, and he put them into a hip pocket. Then he looked to his left and saw a barrel, supported by a gloved hand, protruding from the living room. A man dressed in black, wearing a black mask, stepped onto the terrace and looked at them, bringing the shotgun to bear.
    “Give me your jewelry,” he said to Ann.
    “I don’t wear jewelry,” she replied.
    “Give me your wristwatch,” he said to Stone.
    “I’m happy to, but you should know that my name is engraved on the back, and it would get you caught. I have less than a hundred dollars in my pocket that you are welcome to.” He moved a hand toward his pocket but was stopped by a negative noise from behind the mask.
    “If you don’t mind, we’ll just stand here quietly and finish our drinks while you do what you came here to do,” Stone said. “Please don’t harm anyone. That would greatly increase your chances of getting caught and doing some very serious time.”
    “Ah, a lawyer,” the man said. “Don’t move.” He went back into the living room, where there was some shouting going on.
    “What are we going to do?” Ann asked.
    “We’re going to stand here quietly and finish our drinks,” Stone said, reaching for his cell phone.

18
    T he phone rang twice before being answered. “What is it, Stone? I’m in the middle of dinner, and I plan to let my wife seduce me when we’re done. Call back after ten