St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

crushed flowers.
    “Sorry, Rand,” Faroe said when he was close. “Hope we didn’t kill any of them.”
    “So do I.”
    “I suppose if I offered to shake your hand, you’d clock me.”
    “Now there’s a thought.” Then Rand shrugged and forced the tension clamping around his neck and shoulders to loosen. He associated Faroe with Reed’s death, which wasn’t precisely fair.
    But it was real.
    “You’re wasting my daylight,” Rand said roughly. “I don’t want to talk about old times; they weren’t much fun. I don’t want to get drunk with you; I don’t get drunk anymore. And I sure as hell don’t want to re-up with St. Kilda Consulting. I’ve lost mytaste for useless adventures in feral cities and failed states. So just climb back in that helo and disappear.”
    Faroe rubbed his neck and hid a grin. “Grace was right. I should have brought her. You wouldn’t be rude to a pregnant woman.”
    Rand looked at the horizon. He’d liked Faroe once. What happened to Reed hadn’t been Faroe’s fault. They’d all been consenting adults. With a muttered curse he combed his fingers through his wild mane of hair, yanked the watch cap back into place, and practiced being civilized.
    Because rude or civil, hot or cold, Faroe wouldn’t leave until he was good and ready.
    “Heard you’d been wounded and got yourself a wife and a kid,” Rand said.
    “Marriage was a lot less painful.”
    Rand almost smiled. “Heard she’s a judge.”
    “You have good ears. But Grace resigned. Now she has all of her brains and expertise and no federal bureaucracy cramping her.”
    “She’s good for you,” Rand said, surprising both of them. “The last time you came after me, we ended up brawling.”
    Faroe smiled like a choirboy. “Yeah, she’s knocked off some of my rough edges.”
    Rand gave the other man a long look. “You’ve still got plenty to go.”
    “Makes your heart warm, doesn’t it.”
    Shaking his head, Rand gave in. “What do you want?”
    “St. Kilda has found the Siberian.”
    Rand went completely still. Then his heart slammed and his senses sharpened to the point of pain, the hunter fully in control for the first time in years. He’d searched long and hard for his twin’s murderer, only to be frustrated by failed states and stonewalled by his own government.
    “You’re certain?” Rand asked.
    “Very. You still have the negatives?”
    “Yes.”
    Faroe waited.
    Rand started gathering up his painting supplies. “My cabin is just through the trees. We’ll talk there.”

8
    Pleasure Valley
Friday
10:37 A.M. MST
    K ayla Shaw let the silence expand as she looked at the Bertones. She was a ranch girl, born and raised. She rode, she shot, she killed her own snakes with the little folding knife she always carried.
    But she had a cold feeling that Bertone was way beyond her varmint-killing skills.
    It’s too late to worry about your job. Worry about your freedom instead.
    And with that, Bertone had pocketed her little recorder.
    She hadn’t asked for it back. She knew she wouldn’t get it.
    “I do believe that’s as silent as I’ve ever heard our little banker be,” Bertone said after a time, smiling at his wife.
    Elena’s smile was meant to comfort Kayla.
    It didn’t.
    “There’s no need to be frightened,” Elena said casually. She tapped the heavy letter-size envelope that Kayla had dropped. “This is a great opportunity for you. Every woman needs her own independent means. This is how you’ll become free.”
    Silently Kayla watched the Bertones. She sensed that the less she said, the less she’d sink into the quicksand that suddenly had appeared beneath her feet.
    Andre sat down next to Kayla and laid a large, plain brown envelope on the white linen tablecloth.
    “You become free,” Bertone said, “or you lose your freedom. The choice is yours.”
    Kayla swallowed and hoped her voice sounded less frightened than she was. “What choice?”
    “Quite simple. You’re a felon.”
    “What?”
    “Whether you suffer or avoid the consequences of being a felon,” Bertone continued, “is your choice.”
    “I haven’t done anything,” Kayla said.
    Bertone smiled. It wasn’t a gesture of reassurance. “You concealed the origins of five million dollars in dirty money.”
    Unable to force any more words from her throat, Kayla could only shake her head.
    “Trust me,” he said, laughing at the irony. “The money was dirty. You laundered it. According to your ridiculous