St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

in college,” she said. “Sara’s dad was a veterinarian. After she turned fifteen, he mounted a castrating knife on the front door. Claimed it would work just fine as a door-knocker.”
    Zach snickered. “She get many dates?”
    “Not until she went away to college.”
    Shaking his head, Zach kept driving. Hard.
    Jill would have been nervous, but nothing about the car or the man suggested that either was on the edge of losing the road. She settled back, relaxed as she rarely was when someone else was at the controls.
    Coordinated, smooth, quick, thorough. Wonder what else he’s good at?
    She could think of a few things that would be fun test-driving with him. None of them had wheels.
    Very quickly, wild mountain scenery gave way to chalets and chairlifts and empty slopes.
    “Okay, time for your game face,” Zach said. “You’re the—”
    “Sweet stupid thing,” she cut in. “You’re the kind of man Sara’s father hung the castrating knife over the door to discourage.”
    Zach winced. “Not a happy visual.”
    “I’m sure it took the rut out of more than one young buck.”
    Privately Zach thought it wouldn’t have worked over Jill’s door, but he didn’t say anything aloud. It was bad enough wanting her. Having her know it, and back away because of it, would turn a fairly straightforward op into Grade A goat-roping real quick.
    How did Faroe manage to keep Grace alive when he was head over balls in lust with her?
    But Zach hadn’t asked his boss when he’d had the chance, and it was too late now.
    He opened his mouth to go over the scenario for the gallery with Jill again. Then he thought better of it. She wasn’t stupid. If he had to make adjustments to the game plan in midplay, she was quick enough to keep up with him.
    If anything, he should worry about keeping up with her. The lady was too used to leading. Problem was, she could easily go through the wrong door while he was running to catch up. And Zach knew in his gut what Jill knew only intellectually.
    Some doors were fatal.

31
    SNOWBIRD
SEPTEMBER 15
11:03 A.M.
    T he first gallery Zach and Jill went to was housed in a fake mountain chalet at the base of one of the ski lifts. The slopes above the town were still summer-naked and dry, not so much as a flake of snow anywhere. Finding a parking place was easy.
    “Western Light and Shadow, Ms. Joanna Waverly-Benet,” Jill said, reading the sign. “This is one of the galleries I sent JPEGs to.”
    Zach already knew that, but he nodded.
    “If the big ones didn’t want to bother, I thought maybe a smaller, less-established gallery might be more eager to work with me,” Jill explained.
    “Smart. Lucky, too.”
    “How so?”
    “According to Shawna, Ms. Waverly-Benet is an up-and-comer on the Western art scene. Her specialty is painters of Dunstan’s era. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hillhouse showed her Modesty’s painting when he was testing the market.”
    “Well, she didn’t answer my e-mail. But then, I haven’t checked it since last night.”
    Zach pulled out his sat/cell phone, frowned at the level of thebattery, and noticed that no new messages had come from St. Kilda.
    “Ms. Waverly-Benet still hasn’t answered your e-mail,” he said. “Looks like even the little fish aren’t taking the bait.”
    “Thanks so much for hacking my e-mail.”
    “St. Kilda lives to serve.”
    Jill got out of the big SUV, shut the door hard, and headed for the gallery. Automatically she touched her waist, checking the belly bag. Then she remembered she’d left it on the backseat. The bag’s rough band had kept catching on her only good blouse.
    Zach was one step behind her, then one step ahead. “I go through doors first, remember?” he asked curtly.
    “And people say chivalry is dead.”
    “It was killed by rushing through doors first,” he retorted.
    Large glass windows gave Zach a view inside the gallery. Clean, uncrowded, bright. Nothing unexpected. Everything in place, including a sleek brunette working on a computer just off the main showroom. She was just reaching for the telephone on her desk.
    “Change of plans,” Zach said. “I’m nice for this one.”
    “Should be a challenge.”
    He smiled and brushed the skin at the nape of her neck as he straightened the collar of her silky shirt.
    She gave him a startled look. Then she smiled and smoothed down the collar of his black cotton shirt, taking care to slide her fingers into the opening of the neck.
    Zach’s