St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

God,” he said without moving his lips.
    “You’re welcome.”
    “You’re not God.”
    “Stop. You’ll make me cry. No one has seen Foley’s car yet.”
    Rand flicked his collar in acknowledgment.
    “I’m calling in a local cop on a ‘hot tip,’ but I’d like to have Foley on tape first. And camera.”
    “Don’t wait too long,” Rand said through his teeth.
    “If Gabriel shakes Hamm, I’m shutting this op down and pulling Kayla. Be ready.”
    Rand straightened his collar, then bent over Kayla. “Everything’s ready for lunch.”
    “We’re an item, right?” She gestured with the electronic paddle that was issued by the restaurant receptionist to signal diners that their table was ready. “I’m all over you like body oil so that Foley can’t miss the message?”
    Rand smiled slowly. “I’ll handle the body oil part. You can concentrate on Foley.”
    “An undercover item,” she mumbled.
    “Well, I do recall being under the covers…” He nuzzled her neck, then covered the microphone with his fingers. “It wasn’t a one-nighter, no matter what you say. Got that?”
    She brushed his cheek with the paddle. “Will Foley buy it?”
    “Fuck Foley. I’m talking to you.”
    “You fuck him. He’s not my type.” She couldn’t help smiling. “Okay. I hear you.”
    “Do you believe me?”
    “I want to.” She let out a long breath. “Let’s table it until this is settled.”
    He bit her gently. “Or until tonight.”
    She closed her eyes. “Or until tonight.”
    “Deal.” He nuzzled her again and released the microphone.
    She cocked her head at him—Stetson, dark shirt stretched over wide shoulders, narrow hips in close-fitting jeans. Definite drool material, and so not the type of man she’d dated since she “grew up.”
    “I hope Foley buys it,” she said.
    “Buys what?”
    “Me hitting the sheets with a western studmuffin.”
    Rand choked. “Studmuffin? Jesus, lady, you—”
    “What if Foley recognizes you as the artist from the party?” she interrupted in a low voice.
    “Then I shaved and cut my hair because you asked me to. But I doubt that he’ll recognize me. He’s too full of himself to really look at other people.”
    “But what if he does?” she insisted.
    “You can’t control all the elements of an undercover op. You just go with the hand you’re dealt.”
    “Meaning?”
    “I’m going to nail Foley’s ass to the shooting house wall.”
    She blinked at the banked fury in Rand’s calm voice. “Why? He’s not the one trying to kill me.”
    “No, he’s just the one setting you up for the hit. Nothing to worry about at all. He’s a real sweet guy.”
    She rubbed her temples. “I keep hoping it’s a bad dream.”
    Rand’s smile slid into a downward curve.
    “Well, not all of it was bad,” she said, touching his cheek, kissing him softly.
    He returned the kiss with interest, then broke reluctantly. “Faroe is around here somewhere. He might have Lane with him for cover—weekend dad takes teenager to the mall. They’ll probably work in pretty close, but don’t see them.”
    She nodded.
    “There are several other operators around,” Rand said, “so if somebody grabs you and whispers ‘St. Kilda’ in your ear, do whatever they say.”
    “Anything else?”
    “I laid a hundred on the receptionist and told her I’m asking you to marry me over nachos. As soon as we spot Foley, I’ll signalher and we’ll go to the head of the lunch line. After Foley arrives, be ready to leave the instant I tell you. I don’t want you out in the open one second longer than—” He broke off.
    Faroe was whispering in his ear.
    “Get a table. Foley’s here.”

47
    Chandler Mall
Sunday
11:15 A.M. MST
    S teve Foley was wearing pressed black jeans and a white silk golf shirt. His leather boots had sterling silver toe guards. The wide amber sunglasses he wore were the type favored by trap and pistol shooters. The laptop computer case he carried was made of the same soft black leather as his boots, with the same engraved silver accents.
    White silk wasn’t a good choice for a man wearing a wire. Though loose, the fabric clung to Foley’s gym-hardened muscles…and the dark shadow of the wire he was wearing on top of them.
    “He’s wired for sound,” Rand murmured to his collar as he leaned close to include Kayla in at least part of the conversation.
    “Beautiful,” Faroe said. “Any guesses on the range?”
    “A thousand feet, max. No bulges for a