St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

me.”
    “It’s really simple,” she said, spacing each word, speakingslowly. “I’m going to shift the money in Bertone’s correspondent account into an account at the United Arizona Bank. The account was my grandmother’s. I’ve kept it open, a kind of safety valve. I put my travel funds there.”
    “Kiss it good-bye.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just take it and run.” She nuzzled his chin and fanned her eyelashes outrageously. “Would you come with me?”
    Rand stared at her for a moment, then gave up and laughed. “Hell, why not? Anywhere but Camgeria. The San Juan Islands in Washington would be good. The worst of winter is over. Maybe the FBI won’t look for you on a nameless islet with no electricity.”
    “Do you mean that?”
    He pulled her close for a hard kiss.
    When he finally released her, she blew out a deep breath. “Hoo-yah. You mean it.”
    “Sure do. You?”
    “Oh, yeah.” She reached for her purse on the backseat.
    “What in hell—?” he said suddenly.
    She turned and looked out the windshield. A dark, strikingly large hummingbird was hovering around the bush directly in front of the car. As the bird turned in the sunlight, its vivid green gorget flashed, setting off the distinct white spot behind its eye.
    “Magnificent,” she said. “Wow.”
    “Pretty, too.”
    “No, that’s its name, the magnificent hummingbird. They’re one of the biggest and rarest, but we see them regularly in Arizona.”
    “I wish I could bug him,” Rand said.
    “What?”
    “It’d be easier to keep an eye on you.”
    The bird zoomed off, returned, hovered, zoomed, and vanished.
    Rand focused on the glass wall of the ten-story bank building. “Which one is your office?”
    “Third floor, third from the corner,” she said, pointing it out. “Foley’s is the corner. Other private bankers are between.”
    “No lights on.”
    “Bankers’ hours. Gotta love ’em. No weekends, no holidays.”
    “Turn your lights on as soon as you get to the office,” he said. “Turn them off when you leave. You get five minutes coming, five minutes in the office, and five minutes to get back here. Any longer and I’m kicking over a beehive. Got it?”
    “Um, yeah. Five minutes up. Lights on. Five minutes with computer. Lights off. Five minutes back. Or you go postal.”
    “Believe it.”
    She looked at him and believed. “Start counting.”
    He reached for his door at the same time she reached for hers.
    “No,” she said urgently. “The weekend guards are off-duty Phoenix PD. They’re authorized to carry live ammunition. They don’t cut slack for anyone, not even sweet young things like me.”
    He looked at her across the console. “What’s my cell number?”
    “It’s number one on the speed dial Faroe gave me along with the car.”
    Rand closed his eyes and saw his brother’s blood.
    Everywhere.
    “Come back to me, Kayla.”
    She brushed her hand over his cheek, his lips. Then she grabbed her purse and walked quickly to the bank entrance.
    This will work.
    It has to.

57
    Phoenix
Sunday
1:22 P.M. MST
    K ayla slid her employee ID card through the card reader. The latch on the glass door released.
    One down.
    How many to go?
    The guard looked up from his Guns and Ammo magazine. He was a Latino with a buzz cut and a gentle leer.
    Kayla didn’t recognize him.
    “What’s a pretty thing like you doing working on Sunday?” he asked, laying the magazine aside and reaching for the entry log.
    “I’m here to rob the bank,” she said cheerfully. “Sunday seemed like a good day.”
    The guard spun the log and offered a pen so she could sign in. “Need any help?”
    “If the bags are too heavy, I’ll holler.”
    “Bet there’s a handcart in the janitor’s closet,” he said, watching her write. “Just let me know.”
    As Kayla signed in, she saw that she was the first employee to log in since Saturday. She had the run of the place.
    Time’s a-wasting.
    She turned toward the elevator.
    “Uh-hummm.” The guard cleared his throat.
    “Is there something else?” Kayla asked, hesitating.
    “You don’t know the drill, do you? I need to verify your ID.”
    She handed over her ID card. “I keep my weekends to myself. But this time…” She shrugged. “No help for it.”
    “I guess it’s only executives who put in the long hours.”
    “Yeah.” On the golf course.
    Something bankers and judges apparently had in common.
    The guard compared Kayla’s signature to the name on