St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

appointed and lawful governments are just short of useless, and corrupt governments thrive.”
    She turned and looked at him. “Is that an answer or an evasion?”
    “Yes. If you go to Royal Palms, and if Grace and Joe like what they see of you, they’ll want you to sign up with St. Kilda Consulting. If you don’t feel that grateful, you can leave.”
    “And if I don’t go with St. Kilda, I get to choose between Bertone and the feds.” Or trust my boss, Steve Foley, to bail me out. She grimaced. Not in this lifetime. “All in all, I’d rather see what St. Kilda has to offer. Assuming that they’ll let me walk away if I don’t like what I see?”
    “No handcuffs or duct tape, guaranteed,” Rand said. “All they’ll ask is that you don’t mention anything about St. Kilda to Bertone or to your bank.”
    “I won’t. What about the feds?”
    “Let’s just hope the question never comes up.”
    “St. Kilda is publicity-shy?” Kayla asked.
    “That, too. Mostly it’s the fact that we work where U.S. agencies can’t or won’t work. All the shades of gray that don’t fit intoten-second sound bites and political slogans. We’ve made friends. We’ve made enemies. Working for St. Kilda carries baggage. Some of it is dangerous. Most of it is just irritating.”
    When he looked at Kayla to see how she was taking his words, she surprised him.
    She smiled.
    “You make St. Kilda Consulting sound like hummingbirds,” she said, “at war with one another and the rest of the world.”
    “Close enough,” Rand said, and he smiled in return.
    “What would you do if you were me?”
    “Run like hell for the nearest exit.”
    The light from the dashboard made his eyes look hard, almost silver.
    “Interesting,” Kayla said. “Why haven’t you?”
    “My motives have no bearing on your decision, remember?”
    “Whew. Talk about honest.” Her voice said brutally honest.
    Silence grew.
    Rand hissed a word under his breath. “Look, I can’t make the decision for you. You have to make it because you’re the one who has to live with the results.”
    “Like you.”
    “Just like me. Your own devils, your own hell.” Chosen very carefully by you.
    “What about angels and heaven?” she asked.
    “Hasn’t come up on my radar.”
    “Never?”
    “I only knew it when it was gone.”
    Too late.

29
    Phoenix
Saturday
9:10 P.M. MST
    I s this car registered in your name?” Rand asked.
    Kayla blinked. It had been a long time since he’d spoken.
    “Yes.”
    There was silence again while he eased the Explorer into traffic on southbound Interstate 17, heading deep into the Phoenix metro area. Without warning he cut across lanes, accelerated, cut across more lanes, slowed down, and watched the mirrors.
    Nobody had speeded, slowed, changed lanes, or done anything to tickle his suspicions.
    “Then we’ll have to get rid of it,” Rand said.
    She stared at him. “My car? I can’t afford another one.”
    “You don’t have to. But from here on out, you’ve dropped off the scope of your everyday life. You won’t go to your new apartment. You won’t go to the ranch. You won’t drive your car. You won’t talk on your cell phone.”
    “Tell me you’re kidding.”
    Silence.
    A lot of it.
    “You aren’t kidding.” She sighed. “Is all this really necessary?”
    “Bertone wants you. You want him to get you?”
    She shuddered.
    “That’s what I thought,” Rand said. “Remember the handcuffs. It will help you stay focused.”
    “You can be a cold bastard,” she said.
    “It can be a cold world.”
    “I didn’t mean that as a slam,” she said. “It just—surprised me. Then I remember your painting and know I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done. Were you always that way?”
    “No.”
    Rand turned off the freeway onto Scottsdale Road and headed south on Resort Row. Four minutes later, he drove through the impressive entrance of the Royal Palms.
    “St. Kilda Consulting must have a lot of money,” Kayla said.
    He didn’t answer.
    A few minutes later he drove into a small parking area reserved for a cluster of three resort bungalows. A man stepped out of the shadows. He carried a flashlight big enough to light up the Explorer’s interior. After a look in the cargo area, he snapped off the light and walked over to open Kayla’s door.
    “Good evening,” he said. “They’re waiting for you in Bungalow One.”
    He was polite, crisp, and terribly British.
    Rand