Action & Adventure
![Stuart Woods - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_stuart_woods.jpg)
Foul Play (A Stone Barrington Novel)
In the latest thriller from perennial fan favorite Stuart Woods, Stone Barrington faces down a persistent rival.
Stone Barrington is nearing his New York City abode when he stumbles into trouble. As it turns out, a new client is in danger-and with both business and the safety of the city at stake, Stone has no choice but to get involved.
It's soon clear that a complicated scheme is being hatched, and the source remains enigmatic . . . but it's only a matter of time before he and Stone must each show their hands. From ritzy Manhattan high-rises to the lush serenity of the Connecticut countryside, the game of cat-and-mouse can end with only one victor.
Stone Barrington is nearing his New York City abode when he stumbles into trouble. As it turns out, a new client is in danger-and with both business and the safety of the city at stake, Stone has no choice but to get involved.
It's soon clear that a complicated scheme is being hatched, and the source remains enigmatic . . . but it's only a matter of time before he and Stone must each show their hands. From ritzy Manhattan high-rises to the lush serenity of the Connecticut countryside, the game of cat-and-mouse can end with only one victor.
Editorial Reviews
"Enjoyable...This is a good entry point for newcomers to this long-running series."--Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
Chris Cameron Neil
Stone Barrington Meets his newest and most formidable and sinister addvissery yet. Even with the President, the New York Police Commissioner and the CIA DIRECTOR ON HIS SIDE, Barrington could lose this one! The amazing cast of characters continues to be developed.
Kindle
Great plot with plenty of action, intrigue, suspense, danger and playtime. Fast moving with no let up in raw emotion and surprise. A quick (and too convenient) ending is the only complaint. Highly recommend!
Robert
Foul Play —. As usual , another outstanding book by Stuart Woods that keeps your interest from the first chapter to the last sentence in the final chapter . Through the last 50+ Stone Barrington editions , it’s ever so enjoyable to follow him from his humble beginnings to where he is now in the lap of luxury . Can’t wait till the next book is available !!
Terry Rudin
I could hardly put this book down. How exciting and thrilling it is. What a great, great story. It is fabulous Mr. Woods. This is a keeper and one to re-read too. Thank you, thank you
Kindle reader
Eat, drink, screw, run here, run there. Do it all over again & again & again. Disappointing. Wish Stuart Woods could come up with more plot and less filler.
Short Excerpt Teaser
ONE
Stone Barrington was headed down Second Avenue in the heaviest rain he could remember. Fortunately, he was in a taxi. He was also about a third of a block from his street. The traffic on the cross street had come to a complete halt, and thus, so had Second Avenue, and Stone had an appointment with a new client in five minutes.
"I think I'd better get out here," he said to the driver.
"What's that? I can't hear you." The rain was hammering on the cab's roof, making a horrific noise.
"I'm going to get out!" Stone shouted, shoving some money through the plexiglass screen.
"You're gonna drown!" the driver shouted.
"I have an umbrella!" Stone shouted back, opening the rear door. He stuck the umbrella out first and got it open, then he stepped into the street and kicked the door shut behind him. He was ankle deep in water, but he made it to the sidewalk, which was marginally better.
As he rounded the corner, the traffic on the cross street suddenly began to move, and turning onto his street, he looked up the block and saw a man kicking something on the sidewalk. His vision was not helped by the rain, but it looked as though a dog was being abused. Stone simultaneously started to trot and close his umbrella, wrapping the tab around it and securing it, while the rain began drumming on his hat. Then he realized that the lump on the sidewalk was a man.
"Hey!" Stone shouted at the kicker. The man looked up at him; he was wearing a ski mask. Stone ran at him-giving little thought to the size of the man, which was large-and drew back the umbrella. He swung at the man, connecting with his left arm, near the shoulder, and heard a shout of pain. The umbrella was golf-sized and had a thick wooden shaft, topped by a heavy, brierwood curved handle. Stone swung again, aiming at the head. The handle caught the man on the chin, but not solidly, since he was now withdrawing.
Stone thought of pursuing him, but the man on the ground let out a loud groan, gaining Stone's attention. He opened the umbrella and held it over the victim. "Can you hear me?" Stone shouted.
"Yes," the man said, nodding. Blood was being washed off his face by the rain.
"If I help you, can you get up?"
"Maybe."
Stone held out his left hand, and the man grabbed it and struggled to his feet. "Hold on to my arm," Stone said. "It's just a few doors." They shuffled up the street together, taking small steps. At the door, Stone found he couldn't ring the bell without letting go of the umbrella, so that was what he did. He leaned on the bell and heard a continuous ringing.
A moment later, Joan Robertson, his secretary, opened the door, sized up the situation, and took the man off Stone's hands. He grabbed the umbrella, closed it, and stepped inside.
"What happened?" Joan asked. "This man is bleeding."
"Just get him inside, make him as comfortable as you can, then call 911 and ask for an ambulance. Tell them a man has been beaten up, and ask for the cops, too."
---
By the time help arrived, Joan had the man out of his raincoat and jacket, his tie was loosened, and he was sitting up in a chair in StoneÕs office, sipping from a mug of tea with an electric heater blowing on him. The EMTs arrived first and gave him a quick going-over.
"I don't think anything is broken," said the woman in charge of the team, "but it's a good thing you arrived when you did, or the man might have killed him."
The two cops stood by. "Our turn now?"
"Sure," the woman said. "He doesn't need to be transported. Whatever the lady put in that tea is probably as good for him as anything we've got in the wagon."
Stone walked them to the door, while the cops started asking questions and taking notes. Soon they finished and took their leave.
All that Stone had heard of the conversation was the man's name. "You're Shepherd Troutman, is that right?"
"He's your eleven o'clock," Joan said. "He was on time, too." She had tucked a blanket around him.
"He looks like he's about the same size as Peter," Stone said, referring to his grown son, who lived in Los Angeles. "See if you can find him a robe in Peter's closet."
Joan headed upstairs to Peter's room, and Stone sat down on the sofa, across the coffee table. "Mr. Troutman, do you feel like talking a bit?" he asked.
"I guess I can rub a few words together and make simple sentences," he said. "But don't ask me to do any math."
"That's okay with me," Stone said, "but with all the excitement, I can't remember why we're meeting. Who sent you to see me?"
"My banker," Troutman said. "I'm new to the city, and I opened an account with him."
"Who sent you to the...
Stone Barrington was headed down Second Avenue in the heaviest rain he could remember. Fortunately, he was in a taxi. He was also about a third of a block from his street. The traffic on the cross street had come to a complete halt, and thus, so had Second Avenue, and Stone had an appointment with a new client in five minutes.
"I think I'd better get out here," he said to the driver.
"What's that? I can't hear you." The rain was hammering on the cab's roof, making a horrific noise.
"I'm going to get out!" Stone shouted, shoving some money through the plexiglass screen.
"You're gonna drown!" the driver shouted.
"I have an umbrella!" Stone shouted back, opening the rear door. He stuck the umbrella out first and got it open, then he stepped into the street and kicked the door shut behind him. He was ankle deep in water, but he made it to the sidewalk, which was marginally better.
As he rounded the corner, the traffic on the cross street suddenly began to move, and turning onto his street, he looked up the block and saw a man kicking something on the sidewalk. His vision was not helped by the rain, but it looked as though a dog was being abused. Stone simultaneously started to trot and close his umbrella, wrapping the tab around it and securing it, while the rain began drumming on his hat. Then he realized that the lump on the sidewalk was a man.
"Hey!" Stone shouted at the kicker. The man looked up at him; he was wearing a ski mask. Stone ran at him-giving little thought to the size of the man, which was large-and drew back the umbrella. He swung at the man, connecting with his left arm, near the shoulder, and heard a shout of pain. The umbrella was golf-sized and had a thick wooden shaft, topped by a heavy, brierwood curved handle. Stone swung again, aiming at the head. The handle caught the man on the chin, but not solidly, since he was now withdrawing.
Stone thought of pursuing him, but the man on the ground let out a loud groan, gaining Stone's attention. He opened the umbrella and held it over the victim. "Can you hear me?" Stone shouted.
"Yes," the man said, nodding. Blood was being washed off his face by the rain.
"If I help you, can you get up?"
"Maybe."
Stone held out his left hand, and the man grabbed it and struggled to his feet. "Hold on to my arm," Stone said. "It's just a few doors." They shuffled up the street together, taking small steps. At the door, Stone found he couldn't ring the bell without letting go of the umbrella, so that was what he did. He leaned on the bell and heard a continuous ringing.
A moment later, Joan Robertson, his secretary, opened the door, sized up the situation, and took the man off Stone's hands. He grabbed the umbrella, closed it, and stepped inside.
"What happened?" Joan asked. "This man is bleeding."
"Just get him inside, make him as comfortable as you can, then call 911 and ask for an ambulance. Tell them a man has been beaten up, and ask for the cops, too."
---
By the time help arrived, Joan had the man out of his raincoat and jacket, his tie was loosened, and he was sitting up in a chair in StoneÕs office, sipping from a mug of tea with an electric heater blowing on him. The EMTs arrived first and gave him a quick going-over.
"I don't think anything is broken," said the woman in charge of the team, "but it's a good thing you arrived when you did, or the man might have killed him."
The two cops stood by. "Our turn now?"
"Sure," the woman said. "He doesn't need to be transported. Whatever the lady put in that tea is probably as good for him as anything we've got in the wagon."
Stone walked them to the door, while the cops started asking questions and taking notes. Soon they finished and took their leave.
All that Stone had heard of the conversation was the man's name. "You're Shepherd Troutman, is that right?"
"He's your eleven o'clock," Joan said. "He was on time, too." She had tucked a blanket around him.
"He looks like he's about the same size as Peter," Stone said, referring to his grown son, who lived in Los Angeles. "See if you can find him a robe in Peter's closet."
Joan headed upstairs to Peter's room, and Stone sat down on the sofa, across the coffee table. "Mr. Troutman, do you feel like talking a bit?" he asked.
"I guess I can rub a few words together and make simple sentences," he said. "But don't ask me to do any math."
"That's okay with me," Stone said, "but with all the excitement, I can't remember why we're meeting. Who sent you to see me?"
"My banker," Troutman said. "I'm new to the city, and I opened an account with him."
"Who sent you to the...
