Book : Class Act (a Stone Barrington Novel) - Woods, Stuart

-Titulo Original : Class Act (a Stone Barrington Novel)

-Fabricante :

G.P. Putnams Sons

-Descripcion Original:

Stone Barrington takes down old and new enemies in the latest thriller from perennial fan favorite Stuart Woods. After a rocky jaunt in Maine, Stone Barrington is settling back in New York City when an old client reaches out for help with a delicate matter. A feud they thought was put to rest long ago has reemerged with a vengeance, and reputations-and money-are now on the line. As Stone sets out to unravel a tangled web of crime and secrets, his mission becomes even more complicated when he makes an irresistible new acquaintance. In both the underbelly and upper echelons of New York, everyone has something to hide-and if Stone has learned anything, it’s that history has a way of repeating itself… About the Author Stuart Woods is the author of more than eighty-five novels, including the #1 New York Times-bestselling Stone Barrington series. He is a native of Georgia and began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs, his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. An avid sailor and pilot, Woods lives in Florida, Maine, and Connecticut. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1Stone Barrington hipped his way out of a cab (the Bentley was being serviced) and found a discreet doorway with a polished brass number. He rang a bell, which was answered by a silken female voice. How may I help you? She made it sound more like a bordello than what he was looking for.Stone Barrington to see John Coulter.Please come in. A buzzer gently sounded.Stone entered the doorway, which led him to another doorway, that led to a comfortably furnished sitting room-Chesterfield sofa, wing chairs, etcetera-which made the place seem more like an exclusive gentlemans club. A young woman in a Chanel suit sat behind a large, mahogany desk. Good morning, she said, identifying herself by her voice as the person Stone had heard on the intercom. Mr. Barrington?Yes.Will you follow me?That turned out to be an unexpected pleasure, as the suit was snug and its contents shapely. She led him to a door bearing a brass-plate placard: lark was imprinted upon it. She knocked gently, but firmly. There was a muffled response, then she opened the door and stood back for Stone to enter first.The room was akin to a junior suite in an upscale boutique hotel. Once the door had closed behind him, he found that even the hospital bed was made of mahogany, as was the rack beside it, from which a pair of IV bags were draped. The lighting was pleasant, without the usual glare, a cheerful conflagration burned in a gas fireplace and a silk dressing gown hung from a peg on the wall near the foot of the bed.Stone? a mans voice asked. Is that you? It hurts to open my eyes. The man was unidentifiable, because of a large bandage across the bridge of his nose.It is I, Jack. I hope you feel a good deal better than you look.They just gave me some morphine. It will kick in shortly, then Ill feel human again. Jack Coulters voice was the well-modulated, upper-accented baritone Stone had expected.Ahhhh, Jack breathed.The morphine kicked in?Im probably going to become addicted before they let me out of here. Would you like a drink?What, grain alcohol?Theres a bar in the cupboard over there. Jack waved a hand.Stone opened the door and found a full wet bar-sink, ice machine, a row of Baccarat whiskey glasses, and a dozen choices of libation. He found a bottle of Knob Creek bourbon, filled a glass with ice, then filled that with bourbon. Im not offering you one, because I dont think you should mix booze and morphine, he said.I dont need it, Jack said contentedly. Have a seat.Stone pulled up a well-padded, burnished leather armchair and sank into it. Jack seemed to doze for a moment. Stone took the opportunity to reminisce about his first encounter with the man who had walked into his office, in his Turtle Bay townhouse, a few years back. He was maybe six-four, 250, wearing a dated suit