St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

largely shielding his face. But he managed a long sideways glance up the driveway and past the gleaming, lipstick-red club van, which was sitting stern to stern with a weary-looking blue Chevrolet delivery van. The Chevy’s rear cargo doors didn’t match. And one of them had some thin, rectangular patches on it.
    “Did you see the weapons?” Hamm asked Rand after they were past.
    “Yeah.”
    “We done?”
    “Yeah.”
    Gradually Hamm picked up his speed.
    Rand helped Kayla sit up again.
    She swatted at him with her cap. “That’s for the mouthful of lap.”
    He leaned closer and said softly, “You didn’t mind last night.”
    She swatted him again.
    “Did you see what they were unloading?” Hamm asked.
    “Galil assault rifle,” Rand said.
    “What?” Hamm asked, looking in the rearview mirror. “You sure?”
    “Positive,” Rand said. “Bertone was the only one who could get Galils into Africa. I guess he still has good connections. Good enough that he could drop two Galils on Steve Foley to hand over to Gabriel.”
    “Two?”
    “I saw that many. Could be more.”
    Hamm swore. “Then they just expanded their killing field by about a thousand yards.”
    “There were what looked like gun slits in one van’s back doors,” Rand said. “Metal sliders.”
    “Judas Priest,” Hamm muttered. “What next?”
    Kayla’s cell phone rang, reminding her that she’d forgotten to turn it off. She dragged the phone out of the backpack and glanced at the caller ID window.
    She flinched.
    “Who is it?” Rand asked.
    The cell phone rang again as she showed the ID window to Rand. “Steve Foley.”
    “Ten to one he’s setting you up for Gabriel,” Rand said.
    Nobody took the bet.

44
    Guadalupe
Sunday
9:15 A.M. MST
    K ayla stared at the cell phone in her lap. It wasn’t ringing any longer.
    Foley hadn’t left a message.
    Hamm closed his cell phone with a distinct click. “The Arizona Territorial Gun Club van is still in Gabriel’s driveway.”
    Rand nodded and listened to Faroe on his own scrambled cell phone. Without taking his glance from Kayla’s pale face, Rand asked questions, listened to answers, and made his own requests. When he was certain everything would be in place, he hung up.
    “Foley will call again,” Rand said. “Bertone has to smoke you out for Gabriel. We have two choices. Stay quiet or use this opportunity to take Gabriel off the board.”
    And pray like dirty bastards that he doesn’t take Kayla out of the game instead.
    All in all, Rand would rather have that skinny snake in a cage than loose on the streets with a Galil. He just didn’t want Kayla to be the bait. But no matter how he’d argued, Faroe hadn’t budged. If Rand revealed himself to Bertone as the one who couldID him with a planeload of arms in Africa, Bertone would get in the wind faster than St. Kilda could follow.
    It was Kayla Bertone was looking for.
    It was Kayla Bertone expected to find.
    Kayla, who sat with her hands clenched around the Stetson he’d taken off. Her fingers had left creases in the hat’s creamy surface. She’d overheard enough of what he’d said to know that she was going to be an actress again.
    She hated acting.
    “Your choice, Kayla,” Rand said. “I mean it. If you don’t want to talk to Foley, you don’t talk. End of subject.”
    Her cell phone rang again.
    Rand waited.
    Kayla listened to her gut instinct. Answer or not?
    The phone rang.
    She picked it up but didn’t open it.
    “If you answer, put it on speakerphone,” Rand said quietly.
    She changed the setting on the phone and looked at it without answering.
    “Hamm, head for that mall we saw from the freeway.”
    “Chandler Mall?” Hamm asked.
    Her phone rang.
    “Is it the closest?” Rand asked.
    “Yes,” Kayla said. “Any final instructions before I answer?”
    “Play hard-to-get before you invite him to the Cheesecake Factory at Chandler Mall. Don’t tell him about me.” Then, to Hamm, “Go.”
    She opened the phone as the SUV accelerated away from Gabriel’s house.
    “Hello,” she said tightly.
    “Hey, Kayla, it’s Steve, how’s your Sunday going?” Foley’s voice was clear, friendly as a salesman.
    “Just great,” she said, “but I’m breaking a personal rule, talking and driving eighty miles an hour on the 101 Loop. What’s up?”
    Rand gave her a thumbs-up for the response.
    “Well, look,” Foley said, “I hate to bother you on a weekend, but something has come up. I have to see you.