Innocent as Sin (24 page)

Phoenix
Sunday
1:31
P.M. MST

R
and McCree looked at his watch—
six minutes to go
—then shifted his focus from the front entrance to the windows of Kayla’s office.

The blinds were mostly drawn.

Is it a signal?

The habit of a woman working alone?

Are the blinds on a sun/temperature sensor?

Watching the window, he walked to the far end of the business block that held the bank headquarters. Nothing changed. Nothing showed. No shadows moved in the small openings between the blinds.

And the lights were still on.

“Spool up, beautiful,” he muttered. “We’re on a short clock.”

Five minutes to sign in and get to her desk was generous. She’d said transferring the money would take no more than a few keystrokes.

So where the hell is she?

He paced back to the car, then glared at the window again.
Nothing new.

Except the back of his neck felt like fire ants were crawling there. He hadn’t been this jumpy since Camgeria.

Rand jerked his phone off its belt clip and dialed.

“Faroe.”

“We’re at the bank,” Rand said. “I couldn’t get past the lobby guard. Kayla’s upstairs. She has five more minutes, but she should have been back by now.”

“Bad feeling?”

“Real bad. I need some men to cover the exits, in case someone tries to sneak in. Or out.”

“I’ll see who’s loose.”

“I’ll try to slide past the guard, but Kayla says they’re off-duty Phoenix PD.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” Rand said. “At least I might find out if there’s anybody else in the building. Call and let me know how many bodies you’re sending.”

“Bodies. Sounds grim.”

“Manpower, how’s that?”

“Personpower. Grace would like that better.”

“She Who Must Be Obeyed.”

Faroe laughed. “Get used to it. You’re next.”

The fire ants crawling on Rand’s neck disagreed. He cut the connection and headed for the lobby door.

Four minutes left.

Castillo del Cielo
Sunday
1:33
P.M. MST

E
lena watched Bertone’s face go from laughing to murderous seconds after he picked up the phone. When he looked like that, she feared for her children.

“Come, Miranda,” Elena said quickly. She scooped up the little girl and retreated beyond Bertone’s reach. “Poppa’s busy.”

A torrent of gutter Russian spilled out of Bertone.

“But he said he’d—” began Miranda.

“Later, sweet,” Elena cut in. She kissed her daughter’s pouting lips. “You can teach Momma your game now.”

“You know how to play.”

“But I don’t know how to beat you at it.”

Miranda’s dark eyes brightened. “Won’t teach you.”

“I’ll tickle you until you do.”

Miranda giggled and snuggled against her mother. “You smell good.”

Elena nuzzled the girl’s hair as she carried her to the door. “You’re wearing the same perfume.”

“I smell good, too.”

“The best,” Elena said, carrying her out of the room. “The best-smelling little girl ever.”

Bertone shut the door behind Elena.

And locked it.

“Again,” Bertone said into the phone. “Tell me how you lost a quarter of a billion dollars.”

Phoenix
Sunday
1:34
P.M. MST

K
ayla was tired of being on her knees. She made a show of meekly staring at the floor, but she was listening to Foley’s end of the cell phone conversation. Whatever Bertone was saying to Foley, he didn’t like. He was pale, greasy.

He stank of nervous sweat and fear.

She was sure she did, too.

“I told you,” Foley said to the cell phone. “The fucker is empty. No money. No funds. Nothing! You sure you didn’t have someone else trans—”

Kayla couldn’t hear Bertone’s answer, but the roar of sound told her that he was throwing a fit.

Poor Elena. Does he beat her when things go wrong?

If he did, he never left a mark on her perfect face.

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” Foley said. “I didn’t move a penny, you didn’t move a penny, and that leaves Kayla, who got here about a minute before me. That’s hardly enough time to log in, much less—” He stopped talking and listened. “She told me, that’s how. Wait. Let me check something.”

More sound and fury poured out of the cell phone when Foley set it down. Then silence. He put the muzzle of the pistol in Kayla’s mouth.

“If you make a sound,” he said, “I’ll kill you and take my chances with Bertone.”

Kayla understood that Foley was under the kind of pressure that made people crack apart like a dropped egg. She held herself very still, breathing around the pistol muzzle, tasting metal and something darker. Fear and the rage of a cornered animal fought for control of her mind. Neither won. Or lost.

Foley wiped his forehead, picked up the office line, and punched in three digits.

“Yeah, this is Henning up in Operations,” Foley said. “I was supposed to meet Kayla Shaw at her office a few minutes ago, but she’s not here. Can you tell me whether she logged in and when?”

He listened, nodded, and glared at Kayla. “Okay, thanks. She must be around here somewhere.” He started to hang up when the lobby guard asked him a question. “Oh, yeah, I came in from the executive garage,” Foley said easily. “Used the card lock on the service elevator.” He listened, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know I was supposed to log in with you. I’ll stop by in a few minutes, soon as I finish with Kayla.”

He hung up.

Kayla watched the floor.

“You’re a real lying piece of ass, aren’t you?” Foley said, leaning on the pistol until she gagged.

Instead of killing her the way he wanted to, Foley yanked the muzzle out of her mouth and picked up the cell phone again.

“She’s been here for almost fifteen minutes, more than enough time to kick the transfer out.” He flinched, watched Kayla over the barrel of his silver pistol, and listened. “No, I can’t reconstruct
the transfer. Maybe some ass-wipe geek in IT could, but I’m a big-picture man.” More listening. He glared at Kayla, set down the cell phone, and with no warning backhanded her again.

Kayla lifted her hands to block another blow, but instead of hitting her, Foley grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted.

“What did you do with the money?” he demanded.

She lashed at him with her left hand, curling her fingers over her thumb the way she had been taught by her dad, aiming for Foley’s throat as she surged up off the floor. He managed to block the blow, but had to let go of her to do it.

“Nothing, you bastard,” she said in a raw voice. “You get nothing from me.”

“I’ll kill—”

“Yada yada yada,” she cut in savagely. “I’m the only one who knows where the money is. Kill me and Bertone is broke. Is that what he wants?”

Foley stared at Kayla. He wanted to kill her so badly that he could taste blood. He made a fist, but picked up the cell phone instead. Killing her was Bertone’s privilege. He’d made that real clear.

“She’s done something to the money,” he said to Bertone, “but it will take a guy like Gabriel to get it out of her.” He listened, nodded. “Good plan. See you.” He punched out.

Kayla stood with a defiance that came from temper and fear. Fear, mostly. The more Foley talked to Bertone, the meaner her boss became.

“On your knees, bitch. Or do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?”

Slowly she sank to her knees again.

Foley stepped behind her.

She tensed against the blow she was sure was coming.

Cold steel slammed around her wrists, clicked, locked.
Handcuffs.

Her heart turned over. She fought not to throw up, to keep her head, to think.

“Stand up,” he said.

When she didn’t move fast enough, he yanked on the cuffs, wrenching her arms, pulling her to her feet. A hard shove between the shoulder blades sent her staggering toward the door.

“Open it. If you scream, I’ll kill whoever hears it. And I’ll hurt you real bad. I’d enjoy that. A lot.”

Kayla took a deep breath and opened the door. No one in sight. No elevator doors opening or closing.

No point in screaming.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

A shove between the shoulder blades was her only answer. She staggered, straightened, and looked at the wall clock.

Time’s up.

Phoenix
Sunday
1:35
P.M. MST

A
s Rand reached the bank’s front door, he composed his features into the open, casual expression of an ordinary guy looking for his ordinary gal. He knew that cops and security guards made their livings by drawing lines in the sand. Respect their lines and make a friend.

Challenge those lines and go to jail.

“Hey, Officer,” he said as he pushed through the door. “Did you see a good-looking girl called Kayla Shaw come through here about fifteen minutes ago? We’re way late for our lunch.”

The guard smiled. “Everybody in the world is looking for that girl. And I can see why. Hoo-yah, what legs!”

Rand forced an answering smile. “Hoo-yah is right. Where’d she go?”

“I signed her in to the third floor. She said she’d be right back down.”

Rand crossed the lobby to the guard desk and leaned against
it casually, glancing down at the log book that was still turned toward him. Kayla’s name was the only one on the page with a sign-in time but no sign-out.

“Don’t suppose you’d let me go up and drag her out, caveman style,” Rand said.

“Not unless you’ve got employee ID from American Southwest Bank,” the guard said.

“Hell. We’re going to miss our reservations.”

“Sorry. But she ought to be along shortly. Somebody from Operations just called down and said he was looking for her, too. Apparently they had a meeting laid on, but he said it wouldn’t be long.”

The fire ants on Rand’s neck went into overdrive. “Well, damn. She didn’t say anything about meeting somebody else.”

“Maybe she’s seeing somebody on the side,” the guard suggested with a grin.

Rand pointed at the log. “I don’t see anybody else signed in.”

“Yeah, well, you know how these high-powered executives are. He came in through the card lock from the garage. They’re supposed to come by and sign in with me. He said he would when he and your girl were finished.”

“Did you get a name?” Rand asked.

The guard stiffened. He was used to asking questions, not answering them. “I always get names.”

Rand took off his sunglasses, letting the guard see his eyes clearly. It was a gesture designed to win trust. The fact that the guard’s eyes narrowed told Rand that he wasn’t looking warm and fuzzy.

“And you don’t want to tell me the name,” Rand said.

“It’s not my job.”

“Right. Your job is to protect employees, as well as the bank itself.”

The guard stared at him.

“So if a good-looking young female banker got hassled or worse on your watch, your ass would be in a crack,” Rand said.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Kayla told me that she’s been having trouble with a bank employee, a supervisor. She hasn’t complained to Human Resources because she didn’t want to get the grabby dude in trouble. Frankly, I’m worried that he might be up there right now, stalking her.”

“What’s the man’s name?”

“Foley.”

The guard shook his head. “Wrong name.”

“Is it? Or did he give you a bogus one?”

The guard reached for a spiral-bound book on the desk in front of him and thumbed through the roster of employees. He found H, examined every name, and looked up. “The son of a bitch lied to me.”

Rand started for the elevators.

The guard blocked the way. His hand was on the butt of his pistol. “Ease back, mister. For all I know, you and Kayla and this other dude are running some kind of scam.”

Rand fought an urgent need to dump the guard on his ass. “Call her office. If she answers, tell her to lock the door until you get there and not let anybody in.”

The guard took Kayla’s extension from the registration log. He listened to it ring five times.

“She’s not answering, but that doesn’t mean she’s in trouble,” the guard said, meeting Rand’s hard eyes. “Right now, mister, I want you to go back outside while I get some help in here.”

“Use me.”

“Can’t. Against the rules. Move it. Longer you stand here, the longer it’ll take me to sort this out.”

With a silent curse, Rand spun and strode toward the front door. As he opened the heavy glass panel, a Mini Cooper convertible darted into the parking space beside Kayla’s car.

Rand jogged down to the car as Faroe stood in the driver’s seat and stepped out without opening the door.

“She’s inside,” Rand said. “So is somebody who logged in through a card lock.”

“Bertone?” Faroe asked immediately.

“More likely Foley. I’m assuming he’s armed.”

“Given what we’ve found out about him, that’s a good assumption,” Faroe said. “He’s got a thing for guns.”

Beside the Mini, another St. Kilda vehicle braked to a halt. Two streetwise operators in T-shirts and shorts piled out. Each wore a belly pack big enough to carry a pistol.

“The lobby guard won’t let us in, but we can block all the exits,” Rand said. “You two guys get around the corner. Foley came in through the executive garage. Likely he’ll go out that way.”

“He drives a black Range Rover,” Faroe said.

“I’ll do a walk-through of the garage,” one of the operators said. He pulled a worn dog leash out of his belly pack. “You know, ‘Here, Muffin, come to Daddy, you wretched little shit.’”

“Good,” Rand said. “But don’t crowd the security guys. I told the lobby guard that Kayla was being stalked. He’s off-duty Phoenix PD. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls in real badges. He looked worried enough.”

The two operators nodded and set off toward the garage at a lope.

“I’ll take the other direction,” Faroe said. “There can’t be more than two or three exits on the south and west sides. I’ve got
another crew coming in from Scottsdale north. So relax, Rand. We’ve got her covered.”

“If it was Grace at risk?”

Faroe didn’t answer. He just set off at a run to cover the exits opposite the garage.