St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

the blinds on a sun/temperature sensor?
    Watching the window, he walked to the far end of the business block that held the bank headquarters. Nothing changed. Nothing showed. No shadows moved in the small openings between the blinds.
    And the lights were still on.
    “Spool up, beautiful,” he muttered. “We’re on a short clock.”
    Five minutes to sign in and get to her desk was generous. She’d said transferring the money would take no more than a few keystrokes.
    So where the hell is she?
    He paced back to the car, then glared at the window again.Nothing new.
    Except the back of his neck felt like fire ants were crawling there. He hadn’t been this jumpy since Camgeria.
    Rand jerked his phone off its belt clip and dialed.
    “Faroe.”
    “We’re at the bank,” Rand said. “I couldn’t get past the lobby guard. Kayla’s upstairs. She has five more minutes, but she should have been back by now.”
    “Bad feeling?”
    “Real bad. I need some men to cover the exits, in case someone tries to sneak in. Or out.”
    “I’ll see who’s loose.”
    “I’ll try to slide past the guard, but Kayla says they’re off-duty Phoenix PD.”
    “Good luck.”
    “I’ll need it,” Rand said. “At least I might find out if there’s anybody else in the building. Call and let me know how many bodies you’re sending.”
    “Bodies. Sounds grim.”
    “Manpower, how’s that?”
    “Personpower. Grace would like that better.”
    “She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
    Faroe laughed. “Get used to it. You’re next.”
    The fire ants crawling on Rand’s neck disagreed. He cut the connection and headed for the lobby door.
    Four minutes left.

60
    Castillo del Cielo
Sunday
1:33 P.M. MST
    E lena watched Bertone’s face go from laughing to murderous seconds after he picked up the phone. When he looked like that, she feared for her children.
    “Come, Miranda,” Elena said quickly. She scooped up the little girl and retreated beyond Bertone’s reach. “Poppa’s busy.”
    A torrent of gutter Russian spilled out of Bertone.
    “But he said he’d—” began Miranda.
    “Later, sweet,” Elena cut in. She kissed her daughter’s pouting lips. “You can teach Momma your game now.”
    “You know how to play.”
    “But I don’t know how to beat you at it.”
    Miranda’s dark eyes brightened. “Won’t teach you.”
    “I’ll tickle you until you do.”
    Miranda giggled and snuggled against her mother. “You smell good.”
    Elena nuzzled the girl’s hair as she carried her to the door. “You’re wearing the same perfume.”
    “I smell good, too.”
    “The best,” Elena said, carrying her out of the room. “The best-smelling little girl ever.”
    Bertone shut the door behind Elena.
    And locked it.
    “Again,” Bertone said into the phone. “Tell me how you lost a quarter of a billion dollars.”

61
    Phoenix
Sunday
1:34 P.M. MST
    K ayla was tired of being on her knees. She made a show of meekly staring at the floor, but she was listening to Foley’s end of the cell phone conversation. Whatever Bertone was saying to Foley, he didn’t like. He was pale, greasy.
    He stank of nervous sweat and fear.
    She was sure she did, too.
    “I told you,” Foley said to the cell phone. “The fucker is empty. No money. No funds. Nothing! You sure you didn’t have someone else trans—”
    Kayla couldn’t hear Bertone’s answer, but the roar of sound told her that he was throwing a fit.
    Poor Elena. Does he beat her when things go wrong?
    If he did, he never left a mark on her perfect face.
    “Okay, okay, I hear you,” Foley said. “I didn’t move a penny, you didn’t move a penny, and that leaves Kayla, who got here about a minute before me. That’s hardly enough time to log in, much less—” He stopped talking and listened. “She told me, that’s how. Wait. Let me check something.”
    More sound and fury poured out of the cell phone when Foley set it down. Then silence. He put the muzzle of the pistol in Kayla’s mouth.
    “If you make a sound,” he said, “I’ll kill you and take my chances with Bertone.”
    Kayla understood that Foley was under the kind of pressure that made people crack apart like a dropped egg. She held herself very still, breathing around the pistol muzzle, tasting metal and something darker. Fear and the rage of a cornered animal fought for control of her mind. Neither won. Or lost.
    Foley wiped his forehead, picked up the office line, and punched in three digits.
    “Yeah, this is