Free Stone - 25 - Collateral Damage by Stuart Woods Page A

weren’t trying?”
    “I’ve got my famous meat loaf in the oven. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes or so.”
    “I’ll just suck up bourbon until then,” she said. “Maybe even another one after this.”
    “You won’t get an argument from me,” Jim said. “I know how much fun you are with a couple of drinks in you.”
    She squeezed his hand. “You could join me.”
    “I can do that,” Jim said, pouring himself one and sitting next to her on the sofa.
    She leaned close to his ear. “You know that thing I told you about?” she whispered.
    “I know that thing you didn’t tell me about,” he whispered back.
    “I think someone heard me not telling you about it. There’s a tabloid that has a history of bugging Vanity Fair people to get inside info on what stories they’re working on.”
    He leaned back and looked at her closely, but she pulled him back. “Do you know somebody who could come here and look for bugs?” she whispered.
    He kissed her on the ear. “I know somebody who will know somebody who can do that.”
    “Have them do it tomorrow, please.”

Herbie Fisher was at his desk when Jim Rutledge called. “Good morning, Jim. Thanks for taking care of that lighting problem so quickly.”
    “All it took was twenty-seven desk lamps,” Jim replied. “Herb, I need some advice.”
    “Sure. You want to come see me?”
    “No, I just need a name.”
    “What sort of a name?”
    “The sort who can come to my apartment and sweep it thoroughly for bugs.”
    “Do you have some reason to believe you’re being bugged?”
    “My girlfriend told me about something— No, strike that, she didn’t tell me about something, but she intimated that she knew about something that happened in L.A. during the opening of The Arrington, that she couldn’t tell me about. Then, last night, she was on the way home with a bottle of very good Cabernet in her hand when she was almost hit by a black SUV, darkened windows, traveling very fast. Took the wine right out of her hand.”
    “Who is your girlfriend?”
    “Kelli Keane, magazine writer.”
    “Yeah, I remember her being out there.”
    “You were there, too?”
    “Yes, my girl and I got there late, but we had a great time. Is Kelli talking about the three bombs that were intended for The Arrington?”
    “No, that was reported in the press. There must have been something else.”
    “That’s odd,” Herbie said. “I think I was in a position to know if there was some other incident.”
    “Do you know somebody who can sweep the apartment?”
    “As it happens, I do. She’s my girlfriend, name of Harp O’Connor. She’s a PI and does all sorts of security work.”
    “Could she come over? I’ll be home all day, working on a project.”
    “Hang on a minute,” Herbie said, and pressed the hold button. He speed-dialed Harp’s cell.
    “Hey, Herb.”
    “Hi, babe. A friend, architect by the name of James Rutledge, thinks his apartment may have been bugged. Can you do a sweep for him?”
    “Where?”
    Herbie gave her the address. “It’s a loft downtown.”
    “I can be there about four this afternoon,” she said.
    “I’ll tell him. Thanks, babe.” He ended the call and pushed the other button. “Jim?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Harp will be there around four o’clock.”
    “I’ll look forward,” Jim said. “Let’s have dinner some night soon.”
    “Good idea. See ya.” Herbie hung up, thought for a couple of minutes, then called Stone Barrington. Joan put him through.
    “Morning, Herbert.”
    “Hey, Stone. Tell me, did something happen when we were at The Arrington? I mean, apart from the three bombs.”
    Stone was quiet for a moment. “Why do you ask?”
    “I just got a call from Jim Rutledge, the architect, who lives with Kelli Keane.” Herbie told him about her nearly being run down. “She thinks it’s because she told Jim about something that happened at The Arrington.”
    “She told him about something that happened?”
    “Well,