Dead In The Water

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Stone Barrington slowly opened his eyes and stared blearily at the pattern of moving light above him. Disoriented, he tried to make sense of the light. Then it came to him: he was aboard a yacht, and the light was reflected off the water.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The night before had been the stuff of bad dreams; he never wanted to have another like it. The nightmare had started at Kennedy Airport, when his live-in girlfriend, Arrington Carter, had not shown up for the flight. She was supposed to come directly from the magazine office where she had been meeting with an editor, but she had not arrived.

Stone had found a phone and had tracked down Arrington, still at The New Yorker.

"Hello?" she said.

Stone glanced at his watch. "I guess you're not going to make the plane," he said. "It leaves in twenty minutes."

"Stone, I'm so sorry; I've been having you paged at the terminal. Didn't you hear the page?"

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