For the better part of the next hour she entertained him in every way that he could have imagined. Finally, when she was ready to climax, she made him ready, too, and they managed a mutual orgasm. When that was complete she rolled off him and lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. “This has been a perfect evening,” she said. “So far.”

“So far?”

“I didn’t tell you this earlier, because I didn’t want to frighten you, but I am what is known as a sex addict, whatever that means.”

“What does it mean to you?” Stone asked, rolling onto his side and looking at her.

“It means that I have to have at least one orgasm a day, sometimes two or three.”

“Give me a few minutes,” Stone said, “and I’ll help.”

“Take your time.”

“Do you ever find your needs inconvenient?”

“Not really. I can postpone it if necessary or just do it myself. I’m good at that.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with being a sex addict?” she asked.

“Tell me.”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Stone laughed.

“My life would be gray and empty without it. Don’t worry, you don’t have to keep up with me. I’ll always be accommodating, but I’ll try not to be demanding.”

“Thank you. I’d hate to fall short of your expectations.”

“I’ve never discussed this with a man before,” she said.

“I’m flattered. How about women?”

“Oh, women can talk about these things without embarrassment. I’ve even found a few who can admit to being addicted, and without embarrassment.”

“Are you attracted to women?”

“Sometimes, but only rarely have I indulged.”

“Was it satisfying?”

“In a way, but not as satisfying as with the right man.” She took him in her hand again and moved her fingers. “And you, sir, are the right man.”

“Thank you.” He rolled over onto her. “My turn to be on top,” he said.

“Wherever you want to be,” she said. “And whatever you want.”

“I want this right now,” he said, and showed her what he meant.

“Oh, yes, that is a good idea.”

“I’m full of ideas.”

“Don’t tell me, show me.”

And he did.

There was a repeat performance before breakfast, then Caroline showered, dressed, and left for work. Stone was slower to move after such exertion. It was nearly ten when he made it to his desk, and he thanked himself for staying fit. On days like this, fitness got him out of bed.

Shortly before noon Pepe Perado called.

“How’s it going?”

“Very well, thank you. My team is here at Marty Winkle’s, burrowing into things. I wanted you to know that the two cops are still with me.”

“Is Mike Freeman’s security team still with you, too?”

“Yes, but I have the feeling those two men are just waiting for an opening.”

“Your security people won’t give them one. If you think it would help, I can have them spoken to.”

“What would be said?”

“Not much. Discouragement can take other forms.”

“I don’t want them beaten up.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that, but you might remember what they were going to do to you. They could very well have put you in the hospital, or worse.”

“Perhaps I should be armed.”

“You should not be. The City of New York takes a very dim view of visitors, even citizens, walking around unlicensed, carrying weapons. Being discovered in that condition can radically alter your favorable opinion of our fair city.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad. I will take steps to discourage your unwanted entourage.”

“Thank you.”

Stone called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services.

“Good morning, Stone.”

“Good morning, Mike.”

“Are my people doing their job?”

“They are, but a bit more needs to be done.”

“I’ve heard that your client is still being troubled by unwanted presences.”

“He is. Could you have these men spoken to?”

“How forcefully?”

“Without violence, if at all possible. My client wants it that way.”

“Stone, I’ve done a little research on the people who employ these ex-cops. Apparently, these two are part of a coterie of enforcers retained by the Messrs. Brubeck and Parisi, who are rather old-fashioned in their methods, both arising from criminal stock. They protect their turf by crude methods and enlarge it the same way.”

“I should have thought that energetic sales would preserve their turf better.”

“Oh, their sales force is buttressed by energetic fellows, too. They really need to be put out of business.”

“Dino is taking a look at that. In the meantime, Pepe Perado is trying to make a business deal, and the unwanted attention is, understandably, making him nervous. He will be a good client, I think, and I don’t want him folding his tent and stealing back to San Antonio.”

“I understand. I employ some men who are artists in the intimidation business. Question is, should they address the two ex-cops or their employers?”

“Good question.”

“It might be more efficient to deal with the root, rather than the branch.”

“You have a point.”

“Leave it with me, then.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

They both hung up.

—

Later that day, Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi left their offices and walked to the garage where their cars were parked. Brubeck lived in New Jersey and Parisi in Corona Park, Queens.

It was Parisi who noticed first that their cars were blocked by cars parked behind them. “Let’s go, Jerry,” he said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.

“Huh? What’s up?”

“Let’s just go.” Parisi turned and propelled his partner toward the elevator, but their way was blocked by two very large men, both with battered faces and unwelcoming visages.

They tried to go the other way, but two other men blocked that, too.

Each of the men held a short black tube in his hand.

Parisi unbuttoned his jacket and came up with a snub-nosed .38 revolver. As he raised it, something hard came down on his wrist, and the gun clattered to the concrete floor. The short tubes the men held had become longer: steel batons. Parisi swore and clasped his wrist. “If it’s broken I’ll have you taken out,” he said to the man who had struck him.

“Shut up and listen,” the man said. “You are paying unwanted attention to a gentleman visiting from Texas. This will stop now.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Parisi said.

“We know exactly who we’re dealing with,” the man replied. “You are the ignorant one. You’re in over your head, and if you persist, bad things will happen to you.”

“To you, not me,” Parisi said.

The man swung his baton and connected with a knee, and Parisi went down. “Would you like me to use it on your face?”

“No!” Brubeck said, suddenly coming alive. “We get the message, so back off.”

“We’ll do that,” the man said. “But just this one time. Don’t make it necessary for us to come back.” The four men got into their two cars and drove down the garage ramp at a leisurely pace.

Brubeck helped Parisi to his feet. “You want a hospital, Gino?”

“They’re the ones gonna want a hospital,” Parisi replied, dusting himself off and rubbing his wrist.

“Gino, we don’t want a war,” Brubeck said. “Wars cost too much.”

“You think I’m going to let Perado get away with that?”

“I think it’s best if we forget about Perado.”