Elizabeth Lowell - Innocent as Sin

“We’re on the same side,” Rand said. “What other proof do you need?”

She looked at his hand clamped around her wrist. “I don’t trust either of you. I’m not sure I trust anybody in this.”

“Finally, she understands,” Rand said. “Too late, but hey, better late than dead, right?”

His eyes were as hard as his voice, as bitter as his words. Instantly her adrenaline flashed into anger.

“How do I know the skinny dude wasn’t after you?” she shot back. “He didn’t say a word, didn’t call out to me, nothing. Hell, he might have just been smelling the flowers.”

“With a seven-inch blade in his hand?” Rand made a disgusted sound. “I take back what I said about you understanding.”

Hamm trotted up, dogged by motion sensor lights. “You okay, babe?” he asked Kayla.

“I’m not a babe,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Adrenaline,” Rand said to Hamm. “Never can tell how it will hit someone. Right now, Kayla is channeling her inner bitch.”

“Quit yapping and get her the hell out of that garden trap,” Faroe said impatiently.

He must have said the same to Hamm, because the guard touched his ear and looked hard at Rand. “The Man says to get moving. She’s not safe here anymore.”

Kayla looked from Rand’s earpiece to Hamm’s. His wasn’t an iPod, but apparently they were talking to the same person. The Man, whoever that was.

She was terrified that it was Bertone.

“Let’s go,” Rand said.

“I’m not going anyplace, not with you and not with him,” Kayla said. “For all I know it’s Bertone whispering in your ear.”

Rand pulled out his earpiece and screwed it into Kayla’s ear. “Say hello, Joe. The lady thinks you’re Bertone.”

“Christ Jesus, I should have left you painting flowers in the rain,” Faroe snarled. “Now get your ass out of there.”

Kayla blinked. “He’s not a happy camper.”

“That’s our Joe,” Rand said, taking back the earpiece.

“You’re burning a lot of bridges, McCree. If she’s Bertone’s stalking horse, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Oh, yeah, talk dirty to me, you know it turns me on,” Rand said. Then, to Kayla, “Have you ever seen our skinny pal before?”

“No.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again? As in a mug shot?”

“Are you a cop?” Kayla asked, startled.

“No. Would you?”

“You’re the one who jacklighted him,” she said.

“I kept my eyes closed so I wouldn’t lose night vision.”

“Yes, I’d recognize him.” She shivered and stopped trying to free herself from Rand’s grasp. “I think he dropped something before he climbed the wall.”

“He was carrying a small duffel when I saw him head for the garden,” Rand said. “He didn’t have it when he went over the top.”

Hamm clicked on a flashlight and ran its beam along the base of the west wall. The spear of light picked out a dark, shapeless blob.

“Get it,” Rand said to Hamm. Then, to Kayla, “What did the guy look like?”

“He was dark, mestizo,” Kayla said, “not much taller than me, really thin but ropy, too, like he’d put on all the muscle he could. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Bertone has. He sent him after you.”

“There’s no reason for him to,” Kayla said bitterly. “He’s the blackmailer, not me.”

Hamm trotted up with the small bag. “You’re gonna love this.”

He tossed the bag to Rand, who caught it without letting go of Kayla. “What is it?”

“A handy-dandy kidnap kit,” Hamm said. He looked at Kayla and shook his head. “You were lucky, babe.”

“Christ. Get her out of there NOW,” Faroe snarled. “Bertone has a lot of thugs working for him.”

Rand looked at his hand on Kayla’s wrist. “You going to run if I let go, ma petite?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there. Not worth a rerun.”

Rand waited.

Kayla looked at him for a long moment. Nothing about him made her nerves curdle the way they did when Bertone was near. And Rand had indeed been ready, willing, and frighteningly able to fight for her.

Some artist.

Hey, you wanted a third option, Kayla told herself bitterly. Looks like Rand is it.

Oh, lucky, lucky me.

“I won’t run,” she said. For now.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Rand dropped her wrist and started walking quickly toward the wooden gate. As he walked, he rummaged in the duffel. His hand reappeared holding a small black pistol with a silencer screwed on, ready to go.

“Sweet.” Rand smiled rather fiercely. “Bet it’s stone-cold, too. Thanks, Bertone. I’ll put your gift to good use.” He shoved it in his waistband at the small of his back, right next to the taped area that was chewing on him.

“Was that a silencer?” Kayla asked, hurrying after Rand.

“Sure was. Skinny is quite the dude. He came ready to party. Duct tape, handcuffs, a black cloth people sack.”

“He wanted to kidnap you,” Hamm said matter-of-factly. “Sack you up and take off.”

“How can you be sure?” Kayla asked, dazed.

“If he’d wanted to kill you,” Rand said, touching the new gun at his back, “you’d be dead. A professional gun trumps an amateur knife every time.”

She stared at him as he held the gate open for her, then looked away and slowly shook her head. “This is so not happening. Not to me. I backpacked through guerrilla territories and dope smugglers and pythons and never once was in real danger. Now I’m a banker and I’m-” Her voice broke and she shook her head again.

Rand tossed the bag to Hamm. “Give this to the tech guys. They won’t find any prints because he was wearing gloves, but we might as well do it by the numbers.”

“Got it.”

“Joe,” Rand said to his collar, “I’m either staying with her or bringing her in. Which is it?”

“Bloody hell. Bring her in. If she goes sideways on us-”

“Yeah, yeah, my ass is potato salad. Just remember who sweet-talked me into coming back.”

“If I find the bastard, I’ll kill him.”

Rand laughed, surprising himself. “Yesterday I would have helped you.”

“But not today?”

Rand found himself looking at Kayla. “Not today.” The same fingers that had handled the deadly gun tipped her chin gently up toward him. “I can’t explain here. No time and no place to hide. Let me take you to a place where there’s time and safety.”

She just stared at him.

“I promise I won’t lie to you, ever,” Rand said. “Ask me anything you want. If I can’t answer, I’ll tell you why. In return, you’ll be honest with me. Deal?”

She was silent, then, “You are an artist, right? You didn’t just make that part up?”

He smiled slightly. “You saw me paint. You have one of my paintings.”

“I don’t trust what I’ve seen.” Her voice was weary and wary. Then she looked at him again, trying to read his eyes. “Who are you working for?”

“St. Kilda Consulting.”

“Shit Marie,” Hamm said, shaking his head. “When you take a burn, you take a big one. Faroe’s going to go right through the earphones and give you a Colombian necktie.”

Rand ignored him, pulled the camera out of his backpack, and gave it to Hamm. The memory stick went with it. “Don’t lose this.”

“Ten-four.”

“Anything else?” Rand asked Kayla.

“I have to go back to my ranch for a few things. Will you let me?”

“If I go with you.”

“Son of a bitch! You bring her right to the motel.”

“But it will be dangerous,” Rand said calmly. “Your ranch is the second place they’ll look for you.”

“What’s the first?”

“The apartment you just rented and haven’t had time to really move into.”

Kayla digested the fact that he knew a lot more about her than he should. “I’ll be quick at the ranch. Take a back road.”

“Don’t even-”

“Shut up, Joe,” Rand said. “It’s not that big a risk.”

“The hell-”

Rand talked over Faroe. “It will take Bertone time to reorganize. Besides, you wouldn’t want her little babies to starve, would you?”

“Her what?”

Rand didn’t answer.

Castillo del Cielo

Saturday

7:25 P.M. MST

Not many people could make Gabriel Navarro uneasy, but Andre Bertone did. It wasn’t just Bertone’s burly body, his height, his wealth, that made Gabriel wary. It was a killer’s knowledge that he was in the presence of a better killer.

And Gabriel had pissed that better killer off.

Elena’s laughter wasn’t helping. “Oh, my. Tell me again how a little mouse of a banker defeated one of the best-”

“Enough.” Bertone cut across his wife’s amusement. “Who came to Kayla’s aid?”

Gabriel shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. Then he crossed his legs and looked at Bertone. “Tall dude. Moved good. Like a fighter, you know?”

Elena snickered and said mockingly, “But of course. We have so many warriors in Pleasure Valley.”

“What did he look like?” Bertone asked.

“I told you. Tall.”

“Mexican, white, black, mestizo?” Bertone asked impatiently. “Young, old?”

“Like I said. The dude blew out my eyes with his flashlight. Didn’t see shit ’cept for a big knife. Moved like he could use it. You said no killing, so I booked.”

Bertone said something in Russian and lit his cigar.

Elena sighed and opened the French doors to air out the smoke. With every step her sandals flashed wealth and impatience.