St Kilda Consulting 04 - Blue Smoke and Murder

with the government, then. Sorry to hear it. The contingent of bozos running the country doesn’t deserve help.”
    “I left government work five years ago,” Zach said. “Now I’m with St. Kilda Consulting.”
    Frost’s silver eyebrows lifted. “I’m surprised Ambassador Steele would put up with you.”
    “He’s a scholar and a gentleman. We get along just fine.”
    Unlike Frost and Zach.
    Jill winced at the undercurrents, but hesitated to get between the two men. Besides, the room was fascinating. She itched to look in every drawer and cabinet.
    “So you’re back in the art business?” Frost asked, his expression still guarded.
    Zach shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I? When I’m not out there, practicing carchaeology.”
    “What the hell is that?”
    “Collectible muscle cars. But if you still have that old International Travel-All of yours, I’ll give you five grand for it,” Zach said.
    “Why?”
    “I know a man who is looking for one and will pay at least eight thousand.”
    “I don’t believe you,” Frost said. “What’s his name?”
    “Nobody you know,” Zach said.
    “I’ll find out,” Frost said. “There isn’t anything in the world of collectibles that I can’t discover in time.”
    “Yeah?” Zach asked. “Then find me a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda convertible with a 426 Hemi engine.”
    “I just might,” Frost said curtly. “If I have time to waste.”
    “You’ll need a lot of it,” Zach said. “There were only nine of them made and eight have been found. Supposedly the last one was turned into scrap metal at a junkyard somewhere here in the Southwest, but I think that baby is still out there.”
    “So what? Cars aren’t art.”
    “Tell that to the guy who paid two million and change for convertible number eight,” Zach said.
    “Two million dollars?”
    “And change.”
    “I’ll be damned,” Frost said. “But it still isn’t art.”
    “Matter of opinion.”
    “Quit baiting our host,” Jill said to Zach without shifting her attention from the paintings on the far wall. “You know art when you see it. And I’m looking at some really fine art right now.”
    Zach and Frost both seemed surprised to be reminded that they weren’t alone. They followed Jill’s glance.
    Eight Western landscapes flowed across the wall. All of them were beautifully presented with gilt museum frames and recessed illumination that brought out every bit of light and darkness in the canvases.
    “Great Basin, western Rockies, Northwest coast, high plains, Southwest, every season and mood,” she said, moving toward the paintings. “Incredible.”
    And two of the paintings were Dunstans.

40
    OVER NEW MEXICO
SEPTEMBER 15
6:14 P.M.
    A nything new?” Score barked into his headphone.
    “Do you see anything new in your files?” Amy’s voice said more than her words just how irritated she was. “I’m on a date and my phone keeps vibrating like a scared hamster. I’ve spent so much time in the women’s can that Dave thinks I’ve got diarrhea.”
    “You’re getting overtime.”
    “I’d rather get laid.”
    Score bit back a string of curses. The problem with hiring bright young computer techs was that they were younger than they were bright.
    “There is nothing new on the phone bug,” she said, spacing the words like Score was an idiot. “I said I’d call if there was.”
    “When was the last time you checked?”
    “The last time you called. That would be four minutes and sixteen—no, seventeen—seconds ago.”
    “Where’s your computer?”
    “At the office, rigged to call the cell phone in my other pocket if something changes. I also have Steve babysitting my computer, incase something good pops. Why don’t you just text-message him and cut out the middleman?”
    With a disgusted sound, Score punched out of the conversation. He frowned at one of the computers he had with him. The pulsing light of the locater appeared over a street map of Taos.
    The only good news was that the locater had finally stopped moving.
    He zoomed in on the map until he had the address. Then he fed the information into his other computer and waited impatiently for directions to appear on the screen. While he waited, he watched the locater.
    Still motionless.
    “That’s it, babe. Stay where you are. Papa’s coming to get you.”
    And he really hoped the Breck bitch got in the way. Nothing personal. She was just more trouble than she was worth. Like her great-aunt. With a little luck, Ms.