He led her outside and got her quickly into the cab. “Take your next left, then left again on Fifth Avenue,” he said to the driver. He positioned himself so that he could see the rearview mirror.

The car with the two men followed.

Celia looked over her shoulder. “It’s the same two men,” she said.

Stone dug in his pocket and handed the cabbie a hundred-dollar bill. “Do you think you can lose the car with the two guys behind us?”

The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror, then grabbed the hundred. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

They were on Fifth Avenue now. “Turn right onto Central Park South, then turn into the park at Sixth Avenue,” Stone said.

The cabbie raced up Central Park South, but there was a red light at the corner of Sixth Avenue.

“Run it,” Stone said, “and turn into the park.”

“The park’s closed,” the cabbie said, pointing. “There’s a sign.”

“We could use a cop right now. Do it, and I’ll square it with the cops.”

The cabbie ran the light and turned into Central Park. The car behind them followed.

“Is there a tire iron in the trunk?” Stone asked.

“There’s a tire iron right here,” the cabbie said, reaching down to the floor and handing Stone the steel tool.

“Brake hard and pull over here,” Stone said. “I’m getting out of the car, and if I whistle loudly, get the hell out of here and find a cop.”

The cabbie stood on the brakes and ran the cab up onto the curb. The car behind followed, nearly rear-ending the cab. Stone got out and, clutching the tire iron, advanced on the car. He yanked the driver’s door open, grabbed the driver and pulled him into the street.

The man’s companion got out the passenger door and leveled a snub-nosed revolver at Stone. “Freeze, police!” he yelled.

Stone flashed his own badge. “Yeah? If you’re on the job, what are you doing harassing an innocent woman for money?”

The driver of the car struggled to his feet. “You just assaulted a police officer, pal.”

Stone put away his badge and took out his cell phone, punching a speed-dial button.

“Bacchetti,” Dino said. “This better be good.”

“Lieutenant? This is Stone Barrington. I’ve got two deadbeat cops here who are moonlighting as muscle for a probable felon, and…” He stopped. The two men were back in their car, backing up very fast, then spinning a hundred and eighty degrees and heading the wrong way up the park drive. “Never mind, Dino,” Stone said.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I was being followed by two off-duty cops who’re working for a former friend of Celia’s trying to give her a hard time.”

“Did you get their names?”

“No, but I will next time.”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Stone hung up, got back in the cab and gave the driver Celia’s temporary Park Avenue address.

“Are they gone for good?” Celia asked.

“I doubt it, but they’re gone for now.” They made their way back to Park Avenue, and the cab stopped. “I want you to go pack enough stuff for a week, jeans and like that; you won’t need a cocktail dress. I’m going to go get my car, and I’ll be back here in half an hour. I want you downstairs with your luggage, waiting, all right?”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain when we’re on the way.”

“All right.” She got out of the cab and ran for the door.

“You did good,” Stone said to the cabbie, then gave him his address.

“That was kind of fun,” the cabbie said. “Who were the two guys?”

“A couple of bad cops working for a bad guy.”

“I hope they didn’t get my cab number.”

“Don’t worry, they weren’t interested in you.”

Stone left Joan a note, saying he’d be back in a day or two, and not to tell anyone but Dino where he’d gone, then he got into his car, drove out of the garage and uptown. He didn’t need to pack a bag. He watched for tails all the way.

The doorman at Celia’s building walked her out of the building and put her luggage in the trunk. She got into the passenger seat. “All right, where are we going?”

“You can’t call anybody,” Stone said.

“I’ll have some appointments to break in the morning.”

“I have a little house in Washington, Connecticut, where you’ll be safe. It’ll take us an hour and forty-five minutes to get there.”

“How long am I going to have to stay there?”

“Until I can get your TRO and do some assessing of the threat.”

“I know the threat; you don’t have to assess it.”

“Have you ever had any help in dealing with Devlin?”

“No, I’ve managed it myself up until now.”

“Then we don’t know how Devlin will react to opposition, do we? The very fact that the law will be involved may be enough to ward him off.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“One thing that surprises me is how quickly he got those two cops on my tail. I had a cab waiting when I talked to him, so they must have been at the opening, and I can’t figure out what two cops were doing at that opening. Does he ever have bodyguards?”

“He has on a couple of occasions that I know about, when he was having disagreements with people: his landlord, once, and a gallery owner another time.”

“Good to know. Why don’t you put the seat back and get some sleep?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, pressing the Recline button.

Stone drove on into the night.

Stone woke with sunlight streaming into the bedroom and the phone ringing. Telemarketer, he thought; nobody knew he was here. He let the machine get it.

Celia never cracked an eye; she snored on, lightly. Stone got up, went downstairs and found a can of coffee in the freezer. Ten minutes later, Celia came down the stairs, almost dressed, in a robe that he kept for guests.

“Good morning,” she said, yawning. “Where are we again?” They had fallen into bed on arrival, both exhausted.

“In Washington, Connecticut, a village in the upper left-hand corner of the state.”

“I’ve never been to Connecticut. You got anything for breakfast?”

Stone looked at the kitchen clock: eleven-ten a.m. “Nope, we’ll have to pick up some things. I’ll buy you lunch, though.”

“Have I got time for a shower?”

“Sure. We’ll go to the Mayflower.”

“The moving company?”

“The country inn, maybe the best in the United States.”

“I’d better look nice, then.” She took her coffee and headed upstairs.

Stone noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone, and he pressed the button.

“Mr. Barrington, this is Seth Hardaway. I noticed you were missing a few shingles after that storm last week, so I replaced them and a section of gutter. I’ll fax the bill to New York.”

Next message: “Stone, it’s Joan. I don’t know if you’re there, but your cell is off. Call me; Herbie Fisher has surfaced.”

Stone erased the messages and called home.

“The Barrington Practice.”

“Good guess,” Stone said.

“Well, it is your only other home, not counting Maine.”

“Only because I’m not rich enough yet. When the Finger divorce is over, maybe I’ll think about something in Santa Fe.”

“Dream on.”

“Did Bernice sign the document?”

“She did, and so did her soon-to-be ex-husband.”

“Thank God,” Stone sighed. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“When do we get a load into your bank account?”

“What’s the matter, isn’t the hundred-grand retainer enough to satisfy you?”

“After taxes, you’ve got eight grand and change left.”

“Where’s the rest?”

“You want me to read you the list of bills I paid, starting with the insurance premiums on both houses, the car and the airplane?”

“No thanks. You said Herbie has surfaced?”

“He’s sitting in your office.”