Stone turned left.

“Have you ever been in a threesome?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“I have, once.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“In college, with two guys. We were all good friends. It was just a one-time romp.”

“You astonish me.”

“For such a sophisticated man, you can be so . . . naive. Didn’t you think I would enjoy having two men?”

“Did you?”

“Very much, although we were all so embarrassed the next morning, we never repeated the experience.”

“Why were you embarrassed?”

“We were very young,” she said. There was a long pause. “I’m older, now, but I’ve never been in bed with a woman—in a threesome, I mean.”

“And not in a threesome?”

“Oh, sure. Most girls have tried that. It’s not such a big deal as it is with men.”

“I’ve heard other women say that.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About a threesome, with Liz and me?”

Stone looked up ahead and saw an awning, with the restaurant’s name emblazoned on it. “There’s Taboo,” he said, grateful for an excuse to avoid answering.

A valet took the car, and Stone and Callie went inside. The bar was straight ahead, and Stone saw Paul Manning immediately.

Chapter 19

19

THE BAR WAS UP FRONT, THE RESTAURANT AT THE REAR. The place was subtly lit, and a pianist was playing quiet jazz underneath the conversation at the busy bar. Stone spotted Detective Riley leaning against the piano, holding a glass apparently filled with mineral water. Riley motioned toward the bar, but Stone was already staring at Manning’s back.

He nodded at Riley and turned to Callie. “See the tall man at the middle of the bar, talking to the brunette?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the man you saw at the party?”

“Looks like him from behind, but I can’t see his face.”

“Come on.” Stone took her arm and guided her toward the couple. The brunette, looking past her companion, flicked an eye toward them, then turned back to her conversation.

Stone stopped a pace from the couple. “Paul!” he said, loudly enough to be sure he could be heard.

The man’s head jerked around in an instantaneous reaction.

“That’s the man,” Callie whispered.

“I’m Stone Barrington. I’m sure you remember.”

The man turned fully around and regarded Stone, his brow wrinkled. His hair was longish and dark, flecked with gray. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, “but weren’t you at the Shames party the other night?”

Stone looked at him carefully. The face was thin, the nose straight. He was the right age, and there was a resemblance to the Paul Manning he had known, but the nose seemed to change everything. “Yes, I was, but we met some time ago, in St. Marks.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I put into St. Marks a few years ago on a sailing charter, but I don’t recall meeting you there.”