St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

that a request. Please go to your—”
    “I’m on my way to the elevator,” she cut in.
    “With a guard?”
    “A bellman. I waved a ten and he appeared.”
    Not used to following orders, either, Dwayne thought. Should make life interesting for whichever operative is assigned to her.
    A name came up on the screen. Zach Balfour was the op who was closest to Mesquite, Nevada. On vacation.
    Not anymore, Dwayne thought.
    He punched in Zach’s number on line 4.
    “I’ll hold until you’re safe in your room,” Dwayne said to Jill.
    “Really, there’s no need for that. I feel foolish enough as it is.”
    “Better to feel foolish than be hurt.”
    “The bellman is really big,” Jill said. “And I’m going to lose you in the elevator.”
    “Take the stairs.”
    “You sound like Joe Faroe.”
    “I’m much better looking,” Dwayne assured her.
    She laughed.
    Steele finished debriefing the operative and glanced over at the man who was his administrative assistant and right hand. Joe Faroe was his left. Grace Faroe was his alter ego in the field.
    Dwayne gestured with his head toward Steele’s desk and kept typing, transferring information into Joe Faroe’s priority file, copy to Steele, while Jill and an increasingly breathless bellman climbed stairs to her fourth-floor room.
    Line 4 dropped Dwayne into Zach’s voice mail. Dwayne paused in his typing long enough to punch in the override code.
    Jill’s breathing didn’t change during the climb. Dwayne heard a door opening, then closing, and the sound of a bolt going home, followed by the rattle of a chain.
    “All safe and tight,” Jill said into the phone.
    “Stay there, please, until a St. Kilda operative knocks on your door. Don’t open for anyone else, including room service, maids, hotel security personnel—”
    “Or Santa and his busy elves,” Jill cut in. “I get it. I’ll wait for St. Kilda.”
    “We’ll call and tell you which operator to expect.”
    When Dwayne switched his headset over to line 4, Steele said, “And?”
    “The river guide who saved Lane’s life just called. Someone gave her a screw-off-or-die note.”
    “Interesting. Where is she?”
    “Mesquite, Nevada. Eureka Hotel casino when she called, now locked and bolted into her room, same hotel. Zach Balfour is our closest bullet catcher.”
    Steele’s light, clear eyes absorbed information from his screen. Zach was St. Kilda’s valued utility infielder and a man whose instinct for when an op was going south was legendary.
    “Unhappy ex?” Steele asked, skimming Jill’s file.
    “She didn’t say.”
    “Call Faroe.”
    “Just put in his number, line two. Zach Balfour hasn’t picked up his—there you are, Zach. It’s Dwayne. You’ve got a code two waiting in Mesquite, Nevada, Eureka Hotel, 435, Jillian Breck, death threat. You’ll know more when we do. Move it.”
    Dwayne hung up in the middle of Zach’s rant about bimbos and bullet catching.

14
    SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
SEPTEMBER 13
11:28 P.M.
    G race picked up Faroe’s phone, saw who it was, and switched on the scrambler before putting the phone on speaker. “Grace, here. Joe’s busy driving.”
    “How bad can traffic be at this time of night?” Steele asked, his voice crisp.
    “It’s not the traffic, it’s the fact that she’s having the baby!” Faroe said loudly. “Lane, how long since the last contraction?”
    “Two minutes, twenty-eight seconds.” Lane’s voice was tight, deep. Like Faroe’s. “How you doing, Mom?”
    “Will you both shut up?” Grace asked pleasantly. “I can’t hear the ambassador. And slow down unless you want a police escort.”
    Steele’s surprisingly warm laughter came from the speaker. “I take it all is under control, Judge?”
    “Yes, but you couldn’t tell by talking to my men. My doctor is on the way in to the hospital, the staff is ready, and apparently so is the baby. What do you need?”
    “Jillian Breck just called for Joe.”
    “What?” Lane said. “Is she all right? Is she hurt? Does—”
    “Belt up, Lane,” Faroe said. He knew his son had a crush onJill—what healthy young man wouldn’t?—but that wasn’t the point. “Where is she?”
    “Mesquite, Nevada. Eureka Hotel. Room 435. Safe enough for the moment. She’s had a death threat.”
    “Craptastic,” Faroe said, checking the intersection again as he accelerated through a yellow-going-red light. The Mercedes SUV gave a happy roar. “Never rains but it bloody pours.”
    Grace