Elizabeth Lowell - Blue Smoke and Murder

“Were they legal contributions?” Zach asked.

“Grace vetted the filings. There’s nothing improper about them.”

“Too bad,” Zach said.

“Yeah.”

“So Crawford is clean?” Zach asked.

Faroe smiled thinly. “He hasn’t buried any bodies where St. Kilda can dig them up. Yet. His lawyers are the best money can buy.”

“Ditto the politicians,” Zach said sarcastically.

“We don’t have time to play Oh, Ain’t It Awful,” Jill said. “I’m supposed to call Faroe on my sat phone and fire St. Kilda. What’s my new girlfriend’s name again?”

“Mary,” Faroe said.

“Mary what?”

“When you’re near the bug, just call her Mary,” Faroe said.

“Good,” Grace agreed. “I’m briefing her as I listen to you waste time.”

“Let Mary take Jill’s place,” Zach said.

“Too risky,” Jill said instantly. “Whoever is tracking us must know what I look like.”

Zach hissed a word but didn’t disagree. There were pictures of Jill scattered all over the public record.

Faroe said something too low to catch. He knew just how Zach felt.

“Last chance, Jill,” Faroe said. “Are you certain you want to put yourself in danger over this?”

“Yes,” Jill said. “Besides, if things get dicey, Zach will be only a few minutes away, right?”

And it only takes a few seconds to kill someone.

Everyone knew it, but no one said it aloud.

HOLLYWOOD

SEPTEMBER 17

1:04 A.M.

Score listened to the bug on Jill Breck’s sat phone and laughed out loud. St. Kilda didn’t like being fired.

“Listen, Joe,” the Breck woman said for the third time. “This just isn’t working. You’re spending all kinds of money and not getting anywhere. I want the paintings back as soon as possible. And it better be possible by tomorrow morning.”

“Going off alone at this stage isn’t smart,” Faroe said.

“And staying with St. Kilda is dumb. My paintings. My choice.”

Silence, then a sigh. “Whatever you say, Ms. Breck. When you sign off on the paintings tomorrow morning, your relationship with St. Kilda is at an end.”

“Good. And don’t bother calling me, hoping to change my mind. I’m going downstairs to try my luck at the tables.”

The connection ended.

Smiling, Score leaned back in his chair and mentally reviewed the players and their positions on the chessboard of the op. He loved an op like this. Any mope with a gun could kill someone, but it was the mental game that separated the players from the wannabes.

Score was a player.

Now that St. Kilda was off the board, arranging the downfall of the clever Ms. Breck would be a pure pleasure.

LAS VEGAS

SEPTEMBER 17

2:15 A.M.

Jill lay with Zach, sweat gleaming, pleasure burning. With whispered words and interlocked bodies, they climbed a long slope of sensation to the cliff at the top of the world. Then they went over, free-falling through fire, landing in a tangle of sheets and one another.

When they no longer trembled and breathed brokenly, he kissed her with a gentleness that made her eyes sting.

“You have to go,” he said in a low voice. “Now.”

Her body tightened around him. “We have hours yet.”

“You need to sleep or you won’t be ready for whatever happens.”

“I can run on less sleep than this.”

“If you don’t leave now,” Zach said, “I’ll keep you here and to hell with the op.”

Jill stared into his eyes and knew that he meant it. Temptation went through her in a shivering wave that had nothing to do with passion. Then she closed her eyes and untangled from him slowly, reluctantly.

“Tell me that after tomorrow,” she said as she eased to her feet.

Zach started to tell her that tomorrow was an expectation, not a guarantee. The look on her face said she already knew that.

“After tomorrow,” he said.

His words could have been a warning, an agreement, or a vow. She didn’t know which.

She did know better than to ask.

Quietly she walked from their shared room to the empty one. She closed the connecting door very softly. Her sat phone was right where she’d left it, drowned by a flock of large, fluffy pillows.

It will work out, she told herself.

There will be a time after tomorrow.

Won’t there?

When she got into bed, the sheets were as cold as her fear.

LAS VEGAS

SEPTEMBER 17

9:00 A.M.

That’s right,” Jill said into the room phone, “I’d like to rent something big enough for a lot of luggage, but not so big it’s like driving an elephant on ice.”

“One of our guests just asked me to return a Cadillac Escalade to the airport for him,” the concierge said. “Would that vehicle be satisfactory?”

Jill wouldn’t have known a Cadillac Escalade if it left tire prints up her back, but since St. Kilda had rented the vehicle and left it to be “returned,” she knew that half of the paintings would fit into the cargo area.

“Works for me,” she said. “Will the hotel be able to accommodate three pieces of very valuable luggage in a secure place?”

“Of course. The receipts for three suitcases will be with your car rental agreement.”

“I’d rather you kept them until a friend arrives to pick them up. She’ll present her ID to Mr. Tannahill’s head of security.”

“As you wish,” the concierge said smoothly. “I’ll deal with the rental company for you. The rental papers will be at the concierge desk for you to sign. Please bring your driver’s license.”

“Of course,” Jill said. “Thank you for the trouble.”

“For a personal guest of Mr. Tannahill, it’s no trouble at all. Please let me know if you need any further assistance.”

After Jill hung up, she looked at the sat phone lying two feet away from her on the nightstand. She wondered who was listening, if it was the same person who had killed her great-aunt and burned the old house down around her dead body.

Unease rippled through Jill, leaving a chill in its wake. Zach had already checked out. She was alone.

Being alone wasn’t new to her.

The loneliness she felt was.

So was the reality of a shooter and arsonist listening to her every breath, the flush of the toilet, the rustle of her clothes when she dressed.

It flat creeped her out.

You asked for it. You got it. Now suck it up and get the job done.

A knock on the door made her jump.

Dial back, she told herself harshly. If you rev too hard now, you won’t have anything left for the real rapids.

And she knew those rapids were coming. She just didn’t know when or how.

The knock came again.

“Who is it?” Jill said loudly.

“Quincy Johnston from St. Kilda.”

She checked the peephole. A gray-haired man with a plush walrus mustache and a leather briefcase stood in the hallway. Behind him, two bellmen waited beside luggage carts that held three large aluminum suitcases apiece.

She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Bring them in.”

The bellmen maneuvered the carts into her room.

“Sign here,” Johnston said.

“Not until I see the paintings,” Jill retorted.

Without a word Johnston noisily opened each of the six cases, then closed them. “Satisfied?”

With Zach gone? Not likely.

“Yes,” was all Jill said aloud. “Take those three suitcases to the concierge’s secured storage area,” she told one bellman. “Leave the claim tickets with the concierge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“When I call the concierge, the head of security will release the three suitcases to the person I name. But only when I call. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young bellman said again.

“If you have any questions, I’ll brief the concierge on my way out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Johnston gave the bellman two twenties.

The young man smiled and left.

The second bellman accepted his own hefty tip and walked out, leaving both luggage and cart, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Johnston opened his briefcase and handed her some papers.

“Read carefully before you sign,” he said. “We don’t want you flip-flopping on us again. When I walk out of here, St. Kilda walks, too. You’ll be on your own.”

“That’s the whole point of firing St. Kilda,” Jill said. “I work better alone.”

“Your choice.” Johnston sounded bored.

She took the papers and rustled them, making enough noise for the bugged phone to pick up. Then she started reading.

Johnston opened his briefcase, put his finger to his lips, and handed her a leather portfolio.

She almost dropped it. “Heavy words, here.”

“One of the partners in St. Kilda is a judge,” Johnston said. “If you require translation of any legal jargon, please let me know.”

“So far, so good.”

She opened the portfolio, saw a BlackBerry, a Colt Woodsman, two loaded magazines, and five one-hundred-dollar bills. She raised her eyebrows.