St Kilda Consulting 02 - Innocent as Sin

sign-out.
    “Don’t suppose you’d let me go up and drag her out, caveman style,” Rand said.
    “Not unless you’ve got employee ID from American Southwest Bank,” the guard said.
    “Hell. We’re going to miss our reservations.”
    “Sorry. But she ought to be along shortly. Somebody from Operations just called down and said he was looking for her, too. Apparently they had a meeting laid on, but he said it wouldn’t be long.”
    The fire ants on Rand’s neck went into overdrive. “Well, damn. She didn’t say anything about meeting somebody else.”
    “Maybe she’s seeing somebody on the side,” the guard suggested with a grin.
    Rand pointed at the log. “I don’t see anybody else signed in.”
    “Yeah, well, you know how these high-powered executives are. He came in through the card lock from the garage. They’re supposed to come by and sign in with me. He said he would when he and your girl were finished.”
    “Did you get a name?” Rand asked.
    The guard stiffened. He was used to asking questions, not answering them. “I always get names.”
    Rand took off his sunglasses, letting the guard see his eyes clearly. It was a gesture designed to win trust. The fact that the guard’s eyes narrowed told Rand that he wasn’t looking warm and fuzzy.
    “And you don’t want to tell me the name,” Rand said.
    “It’s not my job.”
    “Right. Your job is to protect employees, as well as the bank itself.”
    The guard stared at him.
    “So if a good-looking young female banker got hassled or worse on your watch, your ass would be in a crack,” Rand said.
    “Where are you going with this?”
    “Kayla told me that she’s been having trouble with a bank employee, a supervisor. She hasn’t complained to Human Resources because she didn’t want to get the grabby dude in trouble. Frankly, I’m worried that he might be up there right now, stalking her.”
    “What’s the man’s name?”
    “Foley.”
    The guard shook his head. “Wrong name.”
    “Is it? Or did he give you a bogus one?”
    The guard reached for a spiral-bound book on the desk in front of him and thumbed through the roster of employees. He found H, examined every name, and looked up. “The son of a bitch lied to me.”
    Rand started for the elevators.
    The guard blocked the way. His hand was on the butt of his pistol. “Ease back, mister. For all I know, you and Kayla and this other dude are running some kind of scam.”
    Rand fought an urgent need to dump the guard on his ass. “Call her office. If she answers, tell her to lock the door until you get there and not let anybody in.”
    The guard took Kayla’s extension from the registration log. He listened to it ring five times.
    “She’s not answering, but that doesn’t mean she’s in trouble,” the guard said, meeting Rand’s hard eyes. “Right now, mister, I want you to go back outside while I get some help in here.”
    “Use me.”
    “Can’t. Against the rules. Move it. Longer you stand here, the longer it’ll take me to sort this out.”
    With a silent curse, Rand spun and strode toward the front door. As he opened the heavy glass panel, a Mini Cooper convertible darted into the parking space beside Kayla’s car.
    Rand jogged down to the car as Faroe stood in the driver’s seat and stepped out without opening the door.
    “She’s inside,” Rand said. “So is somebody who logged in through a card lock.”
    “Bertone?” Faroe asked immediately.
    “More likely Foley. I’m assuming he’s armed.”
    “Given what we’ve found out about him, that’s a good assumption,” Faroe said. “He’s got a thing for guns.”
    Beside the Mini, another St. Kilda vehicle braked to a halt. Two streetwise operators in T-shirts and shorts piled out. Each wore a belly pack big enough to carry a pistol.
    “The lobby guard won’t let us in, but we can block all the exits,” Rand said. “You two guys get around the corner. Foley came in through the executive garage. Likely he’ll go out that way.”
    “He drives a black Range Rover,” Faroe said.
    “I’ll do a walk-through of the garage,” one of the operators said. He pulled a worn dog leash out of his belly pack. “You know, ‘Here, Muffin, come to Daddy, you wretched little shit.’”
    “Good,” Rand said. “But don’t crowd the security guys. I told the lobby guard that Kayla was being stalked. He’s off-duty Phoenix PD. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls in real badges. He looked worried