“Hello?”
“Bob, it’s Stone.”
“Hi, Stone. Long time no talk.”
“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little busy lately.”
“I heard about the mess with the Russians. Glad you came out of it okay.”
“You and me both. Listen, I need your help with a phone number. I don’t know if it’s a cell or a landline, but I’d like to know where it’s located.”
“Sure. Give it to me.”
Stone did so.
“L.A. area code,” Bob said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that’s where he is.”
“Is this something you can look into right away?”
“I was just about to settle in with the new season of Only Murders in the Building, but that can wait.”
“I appreciate it. How long do you think this will take?”
“Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Also, if it’s a burner, chances are whoever you’re trying to find will have already dumped it.”
“Do what you can, Bob, and call me when you have something. Don’t worry about the time.”
“Consider me on the job.”
Stone hung up and lifted the wine bottle. “Another glass?”
“How about a shower and change of clothes first. It’s getting a little chilly.”
They relocated to the guest suite, where they did more than merely soap each other’s backs.
After toweling off, Stone checked his phone. He had a missed call and a text from Bob, the latter reading: Call me.
Stone did so.
“The number is for a cell phone that belongs to someone named Tristan Williams,” Bob said. “I have an address for him in Echo Park. That’s near downtown, next to Dodger Stadium.”
“Were you able to get a location on the actual phone?”
“The most recent location I could get was from an hour ago, on Melrose Avenue in the Fairfax District.”
Stone knew the area. It was near West Hollywood and was a fifteen-minute drive from the Arrington, depending on traffic.
“I’ll text his home address and where I got the hit,” Bob said. “The latter won’t be exact, mind you, but should be close.”
“Thanks, Bob. Please send an invoice to Joan.”
“I already have.”
Stone hung up and told Monica what he’d learned.
“Well, I guess I know where I’m heading next,” she said.
“When would you leave?”
“Too late to get a plane out tonight, so tomorrow.” She opened her phone and began scrolling for flights.
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“I need to be in Los Angeles in a few days, but I can just as easily leave tomorrow. Why don’t you fly with me?”
“You have a plane?”
“I do.”
“It’s not one of those little prop planes, is it? If so, thank you very much for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”
“You have an issue with prop planes?”
“My first and last experience in one involved a thunderstorm and a very hard landing.”
“That sounds more like your pilot was unprepared than a problem with the plane itself.”
“True. The pilot was my boyfriend when we took off and my ex the moment my feet were back on the ground.”
“Then I understand your reluctance, but to ease your mind, my plane is a Gulfstream G-500 jet.”
She crossed her arms and reappraised him. “Have I told you how handy you are to have around?”
They arrived at the Santa Fe airport at nine a.m. and found Faith performing her preflight inspection.
“How was Roswell?” Stone asked.
“Paradise, if you believe in aliens.”
Stone introduced her to Monica, and the two women shook hands.
“Will you be wanting the left seat for takeoff?” Faith asked Stone.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Why don’t you two get on board. I’ll have Dean take care of your luggage.”
“Dean?” Stone asked.
“He’s our flight attendant today.”
Faith oversaw the hiring of whatever crew was needed.
Once Stone and Monica were inside the aircraft, Monica said, “What was all that about the left seat?”
“The pilot sits in the left seat, and the copilot sits in the right.”
“You’re going to be piloting the flight?”
“Just the takeoff and landing. Faith will handle the in-between. And before you ask, I have been flying for many years, and have more than the required hours doing so in this very aircraft.”
“All the same, I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake accepting your offer.”
Just then, a trim young man in a blue suit entered.
“You must be Dean,” Stone said.
“I am.”
Stone gestured to Monica. “This is my friend, Monica Reyes. She’ll probably want a glass of champagne before we take off.”
“Make that two,” Monica said.
Stone rejoined Monica in the cabin shortly after takeoff.
“That was very smooth,” she said. “I should never have doubted you.”
“I’ll forgive you this once, on the grounds of your previous experience.”
“You have my gratitude.”
Dean brought them an array of cheeses and fruits, and two glasses of champagne.
“Do you know where I’ll find the Hertz counter at LAX? I’ve arranged for a rental.”
“That’s going to be a problem. We’re not going to LAX.”
She sat up. “I thought you said we were.”
“I said we were going to Los Angeles, and we are. Just not LAX.”
“Then where?”
“Van Nuys Airport. It caters to private jets. I used to use Santa Monica Airport, but they’ve shortened the runway and are planning on closing the airport entirely in a few years.”
“Doesn’t LAX allow jets like yours?”
“They do, but they are also one of the busiest airports in the world. We could find ourselves endlessly circling the city as we wait for clearance to land.”
“I wonder if I can transfer my reservation to Van Nuys. Does Hertz even have an office there?”
“Whether they do or not is of no matter. A driver will pick us up.”
“That’s very kind, but I don’t want to put you out.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I have a friend who lives in Altadena. I was going to stay with her.”
“You know, you’re welcome to stay at the Arrington with me.”
“You’re not tired of me yet?”
“Not even close.” He leaned over and kissed her.
“Good. Keep it that way.” She returned his affection.
Chapter 25
They deplaned in Van Nuys, and Dean transferred their luggage to a waiting Porsche Cayenne SUV. The Arrington had a fleet of them for VIP guest use.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Barrington,” the driver said as Stone and Monica climbed in. “Straight to the Arrington?”
“Please.”
Monica was in for yet another surprise when, instead of being dropped off at the front of the hotel, the Porsche stopped at the entrance to a large house behind the main building.
“What is this?” she asked.
“My L.A. home,” Stone said.
“Your home is in the middle of a hotel?”
“This property was inherited by my late wife when her first husband, Vance Calder, died.”
“The actor?”
“The very same. When Arrington passed, Peter and I decided to turn the land into a hotel, with a home built specifically for me.”
“You own the Arrington.”
“Along with Peter and a company run by my friend Mike Freeman.”
Before Stone could grab the door handle, it swung open from the inside.
Dino smiled out at them. “I thought I heard voices.”