St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

memorized the numbers on the helo.
    “Got it,” Zach said. “Take us up again.”
    The plane began to climb back into twilight while Zach punched number one on his speed dial.
    “Faroe,” said a deep voice.
    “We’ve got trouble,” Zach said. “There’s a Jet Ranger parked behind the whorehouse barn, which is about three thousand feet from the cribs. Two black Suburbans are parked with the helo. Looks to me like somebody brought in another security outfit.”
    “Who?”
    “Trace these helo serial numbers,” Zach said, speaking distinctly as he repeated what he’d seen through the binoculars.
    “I’ll get back to you,” Faroe said.
    Zach switched to the pilot’s frequency. “We’re going to land.”
    “Where?”
    “On the highway.”
    “What about traffic?” the pilot asked.
    “It’s taken care of.”
    The pilot took the plane higher.
    “I told you to land,” Zach said.
    “Do you want to walk away from it?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then shut up and let me do my job.”
    Zach switched back to his sat/cell. “Come on, come on,” he muttered. “How long can it take to run the numbers on a—”
    His sat/cell rang. “Who are they?” Zach demanded.
    “Red Hill International,” Faroe said.
    “The high-ticket security outfit out of Las Vegas?”
    “The same.”
    “They have a pretty good rep,” Zach said. “What are they doing working for an arsonist and shooter?”
    “Best guess? They’re getting hosed by a lying client.”
    “God knows that never happens in this business,” Zach said sarcastically. “The really bad news is that friendly fire kills just as dead as the other kind.”
    “The ambassador is talking to General Meyer of Red Hill as we speak.”
    “Screw talking. I’m taking this bird down,” Zach said. “Jill isn’t armed to go up against Red Hill.”
    “Neither are you.”
    “Tell me something I don’t know.” Zach disconnected and switched frequencies to talk to the pilot. “Take me down.”
    “Which part of the highway?”
    “The cop car with the flashing lights is the upwind end of the runway.” Zach pulled his duffel from behind the seat and took out a long-barreled pistol and spare magazines. “The downwind end is behind us, where the RV is parked across the highway. From the dust I’ve seen in the headlights, I’m guessing we’ll get occasional gusts of wind from southwest to northeast.”
    Not good news for a landing.
    “I’ve noticed.” The pilot’s voice was flat.
    He turned the plane into the wind and lined up with the highway. He dropped into a zone where the air wasn’t quite as bumpy.
    But it was still a long way from smooth.
    “I’m glad St. Kilda will be the one explaining this to the FAA,” the pilot said.
    “Engine trouble, what can I tell you?” Zach said. “Put me as close as you can to the ranch entrance.”
    That meant a really short landing. The pilot hissed a word not approved by the FAA.
    “Can you do it?” Zach asked.
    “Tighten your harness” was all the pilot said.
    Zach looked at the buildings coming closer with every second. Jill wasn’t anywhere in sight.
    She’d already gone in.
    Be smart, Jill, Zach prayed silently. Turn around and run like hell to the Escalade.
    But he knew she wouldn’t. Worse, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference if she did.
    Red Hill wasn’t a bunch of amateurs.

84
    BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:31 P.M.
    T he gaping door of the fourth cottage opened into a room that looked cheap and hard-used. Jill stood to one side of the doorway and glanced around. The carpet was faded and stained, but the coffee table had been dusted recently. Two cheap cast-iron chairs huddled around an equally cheap ice-cream table. The TV was on, picture only. The sex tape that was running showed Tab-A-to-Slot-B graphics for the sexually stupid.
    Despite the lack of landscaping and the dry pool, it looked like the room was still being used by working girls. The bed was made. The table and the TV had been dusted. The electricity was on.
    A half-wall across the rear of the room partially concealed an oversize spa tub. The tub was full, but unoccupied. The jets were off. The sharp, unmistakable smell of chlorine hung in the air.
    Maybe the women make their tricks sluice off in bleach before they climb on.
    She certainly would.
    “Anybody here?” Jill called out.
    In the bathroom, Score wanted to laugh. He finally had the bitch within reach. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.
    Too