St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

drowned out the sound of the cars.
    What the hell? Score thought. First the deputy bags it, and now Red Hill is getting restless.
    He looked out the door just as a black Suburban accelerated toward the cottages and the dirt road leading back to the highway. Following the first Suburban was another, equally black, equally intent on leaving. The second vehicle stopped for men who swarmed up out of the desert, covered in dust and camouflage gear, weapons slung for travel.
    With a vicious curse, Score pointed his gun toward Jill. “Go back to counting money, bitch. If you leave, you’re dead.”
    Jill froze.
    The front door slammed shut.
    She grabbed the BlackBerry and ran to the front window.
    “Something’s happening,” she said quickly into the bug. “The men in the Suburbans look like they’re leaving. Ski Mask blew out of here with the mask in one hand and a gun in the other. From what I can see, he’s totally lost it. Yelling at the sixth cabin, waving the gun around. Even in the dim light, his face looks flushed. Can’t make out the words. Now the well-dressed dude is trotting over. He’s got his cell phone against his ear and is yelling at Ski Mask. The helicopter is revving up. The Suburbans are driving toward the highway, ignoring the—”
    Jill’s voice cut off in shock as a pistol barked once. The well-dressed man spun sideways, then went down hard.
    “Ski Mask shot him,” she said numbly. “He just shot him. My God.”
    The gun barked again. A head shot this time. The body twitched and went utterly slack.
    Ski Mask looked down at the body, spat, then turned away.
    The BlackBerry fell from Jill’s numb fingers. Something had gone terribly wrong.
    And now the murderer was heading right for her.
    She ran for the bathroom, grabbing the briefcase full of money and one of the wrought-iron chairs along the way. Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door, tilted the chair on two legs, and wedged it under the handle.
    I’m safe for now, she thought, holding the briefcase like armor against her chest.
    And trapped. Did I mention trapped?
    The door creaked when someone kicked it hard. The next kick sent cracks screaming through the cheap wood. The man outside was cursing steadily, savagely.
    Jill stepped onto the toilet seat and wrenched the sliding windowoff its tracks. She didn’t know if she could make it through the small opening.
    She knew she had to try.
    She grabbed the gun from her belly bag, banged it against the window frame, pointed the muzzle at the door, and pulled the trigger three times. Sound echoed around the small bathroom.
    If Ski Mask had been standing in front of the door, he was badly hurt or dead.
    A man screamed curses and returned fire. Bullets smashed through the door at waist level and below, screaming off porcelain.
    Ski Mask hadn’t been standing in front of the door. And now he was going to kick down the door and shoot her until she didn’t move again. Ever.

87
    BEAVER TAIL RANCH
SEPTEMBER 17
6:38 P.M.
    G unshots sounded above the SUV’s racing engine. Zach recognized the sound of the Colt Woodsman. The return fire was from a bigger caliber pistol.
    “Faroe!” Zach said urgently. “Is Jill on the air?”
    “No. We heard shots fired over Jill’s bug, but Red Hill had already agreed to withdraw. What’s happening?”
    “Does Red Hill have her?”
    “Negative.”
    Something burned like ice in Zach’s chest, in his gut. “Jill could be down, hurt. Tell Red Hill to get the hell out of my way.”
    “The general has already done that. Jill’s last known position was cabin four.”
    “Go!” Zach said to the driver.
    The driver didn’t bother to point out that she couldn’t go any faster.
    A set of headlights appeared, coming down the one-lane dirt road at them. Dust and grit boiled up in the lights.
    “Don’t slow down and don’t give way,” Zach said.
    Jill, talk to me. Tell me you’re alive.
    You’ve got to be alive.
    Silence came through his earphones.
    “They’re not giving way,” the driver said.
    “Put ’em in the ditch,” Zach said.
    The driver flipped on the emergency blinker and kept the accelerator pinned, hurtling through the dusk.
    The onrushing Red Hill vehicle held its course until the last possible instant, then veered off into the sage and scrub. There was a loud grinding as something metal slammed into rock. The Red Hill SUV caught air, slammed down, veered back onto the road behind Zach, and raced for the highway.
    “There’s