Elizabeth Lowell - Innocent as Sin

Rand casually waved his thanks to Kayla and headed back to his easel. As he walked, he put one of the earbuds back in.

“Got it. Twenty times.”

“Sounds like you damn near got Elena in the sheets, you silver-tongued devil.”

Rand scratched his shirt over the microphone head, making Faroe’s ears ring.

Castillo del Cielo

Saturday

6:45 P.M. MST

Reluctantly Kayla approached the broad flagstone terrace that stepped down to the gardens, forming a natural stage. Three canvases were set up along one side. Three artists waited to see who got the big check and who got a fiscal pat on the head.

Deliberately Kayla didn’t look at Reed. The fact that his canvas was hands down the best of the lot just made her angrier.

That doesn’t mean he’ll win. What do I know about art?

The only good news was that Andre Bertone had vanished. The terrace was blazing with photographers’ lights. The awarding of the checks would be recorded for the pages of the local papers and the glossy lifestyle magazines that catered to Phoenix socialites.

Kayla took her place a few steps out of the spotlight. With every breath of wind, the ridiculously large presentation checks she clutched threatened to pull her off balance. At center stage Elena announced the Fast Draw winners.

Rand McCree came in third.

Arizona artists came in first and second.

Elena wasn’t stupid. She understood her audience very well, and the need to flatter local pride.

Kayla didn’t know which disgusted her more-Elena’s socially correct choices, Rand’s unblushing use of flattery to get ahead, or the recognition that Kayla herself did something similar every time she dealt with clients she didn’t particularly like.

I’m not as bad as Rand or Elena.

Not as successful, either.

With a muttered word she shifted the awkward checks under one arm and grabbed champagne from a passing tray to toast the winners. If nothing else, maybe the alcohol would take the bitter taste out of her mouth. As she took several fast swallows, she was honest enough to admit that she was attracted to Rand and disgusted enough to wish she wasn’t. He was a charmer and a user.

She was glad he came in third.

Yeah. Like I’m little Ms. Perfection. I’d love to have him looking at me the way he does Elena.

But it would take more than a makeover at the local Nordstrom to have that happen.

Be grateful. I’ve got enough trouble without tripping over that handsome artist’s big feet.

She finished the champagne in time to set the glass and her purse on a table near the stage, straighten her jacket, and sort the checks she was going to give to Elena.

With a professional smile rigidly in place, Kayla stepped into the lights. Elena handed out the third-and second-place checks quickly, then lingered to have her picture taken with the first-prize winner.

“Looks like local interest trumps flattery,” Kayla said under her breath to Rand. “Welcome to political science as practiced on the ground.”

Rand ignored the brittle edge in her voice and words. “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

As Kayla stepped back, her heel caught in one of the electrical cables that fed the photographers’ lights. With a catlike movement Rand caught and righted her.

Holy hell, he’s fast, she thought, startled.

And strong.

“I haven’t,” he said.

“What?”

“Lost my appetite.”

She looked into his gray-green eyes and forgot to breathe.

He wanted her.

“Dinner is optional,” he said softly, releasing her.

Before she could think of anything to say, Elena broke away from the winner and stood close to Rand. Very close.

“I want to commission a larger, more finished portrait of the Castle of Heaven,” Elena said in a husky voice. “Please stay. Once the dancing begins, we can talk.”

Rand didn’t need an earbud to know what Faroe would say. “You flatter me, Mrs. Bertone.”

“Elena, please.” She flashed that million-watt smile and put her hand on his bare forearm.

“Elena.” Rand smiled. “I’ll be glad to stay for the rest of the party.”

Kayla wondered if she was the only one who noticed the difference in Rand’s eyes when he looked at his hostess. He enjoyed Elena’s beauty, but he didn’t want her.

Is he picky or stupid? Because he sure isn’t blind.

And he sure isn’t stupid.

Kayla told herself not to be flattered.

She was anyway.

Elena squeezed Rand’s arm and glided out to her guests, jeweled sandals flashing in the bright lights.

“What the hell do I do with this?” Rand asked Kayla, flicking the huge check with a paint-splashed fingernail. “Paper a wall?”

“Cash it at the issuing bank on Monday.”

“American Southwest? Where’s that?”

“Try MapQuest.”

“I’d rather try you.”

Kayla stared at him. He meant it.

Or at least he looked like he did.

How can I tell what’s true and what’s false in a man who had Elena Bertone eating out of his hand with just an easy smile and some deep-voiced flattery?

“Aren’t you afraid that Elena will discover her new lapdog is jonesing for another lap?” Kayla asked, irritated and curious at once.

“Even lapdogs have teeth.” Rand showed her a double row of his. “I just know when to bite and when to shut up and wag.”

“Wagging draws the better paycheck. But there are more important things than money.”

“Easy for a banker to say.” Rand spoke through clenched teeth. “You have no idea what’s at stake.” And I’m a fool for caring what she thinks of me. This isn’t about a bonehead with a boner.

This is about Reed.

Kayla looked at her wristwatch. Almost seven. She picked up the purse she’d left on a table next to the stage. “See you around.”

“What about dinner?”

“Enjoy it. I’m busy.”

She walked off and didn’t look back.

Grimly Rand shouldered his backpack, screwed in an earbud, and listened to Faroe’s laughter.

“Relax,” Faroe’s voice whispered. “They only spit like that when they’re interested in a man.”

“Screw you.”

“Jimmy will bump into you at your car. Literally. Pass him the memory stick.”

“When?”

“Five minutes.”

“I’m supposed to stay around.”

“So pass it and go back. I want that stick off the estate ASAP. Where’s Bertone?”

“He took off when the photographers appeared.”

“Keep looking. I don’t trust him behind you.”

Neither did Rand. He looked for Bertone and finally found the big man back in the shadows, lighting a cigar, well away from the area where photographers were allowed.

Bertone was watching Kayla’s progress across the party into the shadows at the back of the estate. When she disappeared, he turned and looked up at the second story of the Castle of Heaven. A thin man leaned on the balcony rail, watching the party.

Watching Bertone.

Rand had noticed the man before and assumed he was one of the many bodyguards who circulated every minute of every hour, protecting the Bertone family.

Bertone took a deep pull on his fresh cigar until its ember glowed like a stoplight. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Then he dropped the cigar and crushed it out beneath his heel.

Immediately the thin man vanished into the house. He reappeared a few moments later at the back of the house, heading in the same direction Kayla had. In his left hand he carried a small duffel.

Bertone lit another cigar and walked back to the party. In moments he was talking with a group of people.

Rand looked at his watch. Seven o’clock.

Yet neither Elena nor Bertone was headed to the garden for a private chat with their private banker.

Only the thin man was.

“Houston,” Rand said softly to his collar, “we’ve got a problem.”

Castillo del Cielo

Saturday

7:00 P.M. MST

Kayla strode down the lighted path, wishing her shoes flashed and sparkled rather than being dark and banker-perfect. The wishing didn’t stop with her shoes. The rest of her was depressingly banker-perfect, too. Except on the inside. On the inside she was jittery, irritated, fretting and pulling at the bit like a green-broke bronc.

Freedom.

She could taste it.

She just couldn’t live it anymore.

Grow up, she told herself impatiently.

I did. I don’t like it.

Working with Bertone and the glittering Elena was too high a price to pay for being an adult.

Where’s my backpack when I really need it?

The path ended in a head-high wooden gate next to the wall of the seven-car garage. The motion-sensor light mounted on the corner of the garage came on as she approached. Hidden speakers breathed out faint music from the party.

The garden walls were covered by fast-growing flowering vines whose twisted stems were almost as thick as her wrists. The fragrance was like a caress in the dry air. The padlock on the gate was open, hanging crookedly behind the latch. The wrought-iron latch lifted smoothly, almost silently. She hesitated, then stepped into the Bertones’ refuge from the rest of the world.