“What looks good?”

“Pasta,” she said. “I was thinking about the white clam sauce.”

A waiter came over.

“I’ll have the same,” Stone said, after she’d ordered. “And let’s have a bottle of the Frascati.”

“I hope that’s a dry white wine,” she said.

“It is.”

The waiter brought the bottle and poured them each a glass.

Stone raised his glass. “To…” But, to his astonishment, Holly had kicked over her chair and run out of the restaurant. He ran to the front door and looked down the street in time to see her sprinting through the crowds on the sidewalk, her handbag in one hand and his Walther in the other.

STONE RAN A few steps in the direction Holly had taken, but she had disappeared into the crowd. He ran back to the restaurant, left some money on the table, and ran to his car. He executed a lucky U-turn and started down the street, checking both sides for Holly. A couple of blocks down, he found a parking place and got out of the car, searching the street for signs of her. Then he saw her half a block away, walking toward him. He leaned on the car and waited.

“I can’t believe I let the son of a bitch outrun me,” Holly said, though she wasn’t even breathing hard.

“You saw Trini?”

“He walked right past the restaurant. Didn’t you see him?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what he looks like,” Stone said. “You want to give me a description?”

“Six-two or -three, two hundred pounds, looks more Hispanic than Italian. He has black hair with a ponytail; evil face.”

“Evil face? I don’t recall ever having seen that description on a wanted poster.”

“Trust me. What are we doing about lunch?”

Stone looked around. “I’m not giving up this parking spot. Follow me.” He led her a few blocks into Chinatown, to a restaurant called Hong Fat, and soon they were eating noodles.

“So, are you a native New Yorker?” Holly asked.

“Born and bred in Greenwich Village; father was a cabinet and furniture maker, mother, a painter. Went to NYU and NYU law school. My last year I joined a program to ride with the NYPD, became enamored of law enforcement, and, on graduation, joined the department, became a detective three years later, partnered up with Dino, and had a hell of a good time. Put in fourteen years. That’s the nutshell bio.”

She shook her head. “Incomplete. Why’d you leave the force?”

“The force left me. We disagreed on an investigation I was ostensibly running, and they used a knee wound as an excuse to ship me out. I did a cram course on the bar exam, took it, passed, and joined the law firm of Woodman and Weld, courtesy of an old law school buddy. That complete enough?”

“For the moment,” she said.

“How about you?”

“Born in the army, grew up in the army, mother died when I was twelve, joined the army after high school, got a degree in the service, went to OCS, got a commission, and commanded MPs for the rest of my twenty years.”

“Why didn’t you go for thirty?”

“Another female officer and I accused a bird colonel of sexual harassment-rape, in the other girl’s case. We got him court-martialed, but he was acquitted. After that, there was no place to go in the army. He had too many friends in high and low places. Got an offer of the deputy chief’s job in Orchid Beach; the chief got himself killed, and I was bumped up a rung. Met Jackson Oxenhandler, moved in with him, made plans to marry him. You know the rest.”

“How are you living with that?”

“Better than can be expected. I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing things, so I tucked it away in the back of my mind. It comes out once in a while, but less and less often. Jackson, fortunately, had made a will, and he left me well fixed.”

“Seen any men since then?”

“Just one-Grant Early Harrison. We had… well, I guess you’d describe it as a fling, and after he got the AIC’s job in Miami, we cooled down. Before, he’d been an undercover agent, and that was interesting. Now he’s a bureaucrat, and that’s not.”

“Ever thought of getting out of that little town?”

“Listen, so much happens in that little town you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve busted up two major organized crime operations in three years, with all the attendant homicides and other felonies. You’re looking funny-skeptical, maybe. What are you thinking?”

“I was just thinking, the idea of you waltzing into town, looking for some guy in the Witness Protection Program, then going down to Little Italy your first day and spotting him on the street is ludicrous; couldn’t happen.”

“That sort of thing happens to me all the time,” Holly said, laughing. “Either there’s some sort of angel watching over me, or I’m the world’s best cop.”

“Another thing: It’s okay for you to pack my Walther while you’re in town-the NYPD would overlook that, since you’re a serving officer-but if you start shooting at Trini on the street and clip a civilian-well, that’s big trouble. You might keep that in mind.”

“I certainly will,” Holly replied. “I’d take a dim view of something like that happening in my jurisdiction.”

“Good. And if you remember that you’re not in your jurisdiction, that would be a big help. Even if you hit Trini between the eyes with your first shot-that’s a lot of paperwork for the locals, and the New York news media would fall on you from a great height.”

“Okay, okay,” Holly said, raising her hands in surrender. “Lecture heard and understood. You want the Walther back?”

“Keep it,” Stone said, “but make sure the circumstances are dire before you use it.”

“Dire,” she replied. “I promise. So how’s your love life, Stone? Now that we’ve covered mine.”

“Varied,” Stone said.

“I’ll bet that’s a New York City term, meaning ‘nonexistent.’ ”

“You sound like Dino.”

“And I’ve seen you looking at me. You look pretty horny.”

Stone tried to repress a blush. “You’re an attractive girl,” he said, “but don’t get cocky; it’s unbecoming.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to do anything unbecoming.”

“If I put my hand on your knee, is Daisy going to bite it off?”

“She will if I tell her to.”

“Would you tell her to?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t need her help to handle you.”

Stone choked on a noodle.

AFTER LUNCH, STONE drove them back to his house, and Holly and Daisy headed for Central Park and a long walk. Stone called down to his office.

“Good afternoon,” Joan said dryly.

“Sorry I didn’t check in this morning,” he said. “I took my houseguest downtown for lunch.”

“You didn’t tell me you bought a killer dog,” she said. “I went upstairs to find you, and, luckily, I slammed the door before he could tear my arm off.”

“She,” Stone said. “It’s Holly’s dog. Didn’t you meet her when Holly arrived?”

“No, I was on my way out. I just gave her the key and the alarm code and pointed her upstairs. I guess the dog was still in the cab.”

“Anything up this morning?”

“Well, a guy who says he’s an old friend of yours has been waiting for you for more than an hour.”

“Who is he?”

“He won’t say, and he won’t leave. Could you get down here and deal with him, please?”

“I’ll be right there,” Stone said. He got up and went downstairs to his office. As he came down the stairs he could see down the hall to the waiting area, and saw two long legs extended from a chair, with a very fine pair of shoes at the end of them.

“Good afternoon,” Stone said. He couldn’t see the face, but when the man stood up, it was familiar enough.

“Lance Cabot,” he said.

“So that’s his name,” Joan’s voice called from her office.

Lance offered his hand. “I’m sorry, perhaps I was being too cautious. I thought that if you called in and she gave you my name, you might not want to see me.”