St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

eddy where Joe was working the oars to keep the raft in place. Slick river rocks came up to meet their dangling feet.
    Jill released Lane, watched him gain his feet, and felt a relief that made her lightheaded.
    He looked down at the severed end of the strap dangling from his vest. Then he looked at the four-inch cut in his swim trunks. The nylon mesh of the built-in athletic supporter showed through the gash.
    “Your—knife?” he asked, still panting and coughing.
    Breathing hard, Jill nodded. She’d let go of the knife the instant Lane was free. Bouncing around in the rapids with a lethal blade wasn’t smart.
    “Sharp—sucker,” Lane said. “Glad it—wasn’t any—longer.”
    Jill threw back her head and laughed. Then she hugged him hard. He hugged her the same way.
    Faroe watched and wished Lane was old enough for Jill. She was one of the good ones. Smart, quick, cool under pressure, strong in the best sense of the word. She reminded him in some ways of Mary, St. Kilda Consulting’s long-gun expert.
    He steadied the raft while Lane and Jill levered themselves aboard. Lane sprawled in the bow, coughing occasionally, but breathing just fine.
    Before Jill took up the oars again, Faroe said simply, “Thank you.”
    She flashed him a smile. “Just trying to cut down on the paperwork. We hate losing clients.”
    Faroe smiled back. “My boss is the same way. Where’s your waterproof ditty bag?”
    Jill blinked at the change of subject. “Um, under my seat.”
    He unfastened the waterproof belly pack around his waist, searched for a few seconds, and pulled out a laminated business card. “Put this in it.”
    Automatically she took the card, glanced at it. A telephonenumber and a few words: st. kilda consulting, joe faroe. She looked at him, puzzled.
    “If you ever have a problem that worries you— any problem—call that number,” Faroe said.
    “Problem?”
    “Stalkers, a pissed-off boyfriend, something that frightens you, no one to talk to, no money for bills. Anything, Jill. Any time. Call that number, ask for me. You’ll get help immediately.”
    “Well, thank you, but…”
    Faroe smiled at her confused look. “I know, you have everything under control. I used to feel the same way. Then I found out how many wicked curves life can throw. Keep the card with you always, and hope you never need it.”

3
    HOLLYWOOD
LATE AFTERNOON
SEPTEMBER 3
    Z achary Balfour tried not to look bored, which he was.
    Or irritated.
    Which he definitely was.
    Nothing chapped him quite as much as a client who wanted to wear a “bodyguard” as an accessory when what she really needed was a muzzle and a rabies shot.
    Not that he had any particular fondness for dodging bullets. He supposed he should be grateful this job could have been phoned in. But he wasn’t thankful to be doing no-brain work at combat rates.
    Seven days with DeeDee Breitling made a bullet look good.
    You owe me for this one, Faroe. Little Ms. D-cup and dirt-for-brains might be the beloved niece of a D.C. official St. Kilda Consulting wants to please, but she’s wasting my time. The only stalker she has is in her dreams.
    She needs me like a snake needs stilts.
    The D.C. official knew it. The client had just wanted to have a tall, dark, and safe escort for her niece while DeeDee did Hollywood.
    At least the gig would pay for a few weeks of roaming the West, looking for collectible old cars forgotten in even older barns orwrecking yards. That search was both Zach’s passion and a way to keep food on the table, some of the time. The rest of the time he took contracts with St. Kilda.
    But not as a nanny, for the love of God. What was Faroe thinking?
    Maybe the boss was still sore about Zach cleaning him out in poker.
    “Isn’t that right, darling?” DeeDee Breitling asked.
    She cooed, actually, but Zach was trying not to notice. Having four older sisters had taught him way too much about females for him to fall for this lip-licking idiot’s act.
    Too bad the surgeon didn’t expand her brain along with her breasts. Or sew her mouth shut.
    The idea made Zach smile.
    DeeDee took that as agreement. She turned to the art dealer waiting expectantly. “It’s perfect for my living room. Have it wrapped and sent to my Manhattan address.”
    Zach looked at the art she’d just bought and decided it was a match made in heaven. The two tiny gray splotches on the black background at the bottom left of the canvas represented her two brain cells groping for