Poor Elena. Does he beat her when things go wrong?

If he did, he never left a mark on her perfect face.

“Okay, okay, I hear you,” Foley said. “I didn’t move a penny, you didn’t move a penny, and that leaves Kayla, who got here about a minute before me. That’s hardly enough time to log in, much less-” He stopped talking and listened. “She told me, that’s how. Wait. Let me check something.”

More sound and fury poured out of the cell phone when Foley set it down. Then silence. He put the muzzle of the pistol in Kayla’s mouth.

“If you make a sound,” he said, “I’ll kill you and take my chances with Bertone.”

Kayla understood that Foley was under the kind of pressure that made people crack apart like a dropped egg. She held herself very still, breathing around the pistol muzzle, tasting metal and something darker. Fear and the rage of a cornered animal fought for control of her mind. Neither won. Or lost.

Foley wiped his forehead, picked up the office line, and punched in three digits.

“Yeah, this is Henning up in Operations,” Foley said. “I was supposed to meet Kayla Shaw at her office a few minutes ago, but she’s not here. Can you tell me whether she logged in and when?”

He listened, nodded, and glared at Kayla. “Okay, thanks. She must be around here somewhere.” He started to hang up when the lobby guard asked him a question. “Oh, yeah, I came in from the executive garage,” Foley said easily. “Used the card lock on the service elevator.” He listened, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know I was supposed to log in with you. I’ll stop by in a few minutes, soon as I finish with Kayla.”

He hung up.

Kayla watched the floor.

“You’re a real lying piece of ass, aren’t you?” Foley said, leaning on the pistol until she gagged.

Instead of killing her the way he wanted to, Foley yanked the muzzle out of her mouth and picked up the cell phone again.

“She’s been here for almost fifteen minutes, more than enough time to kick the transfer out.” He flinched, watched Kayla over the barrel of his silver pistol, and listened. “No, I can’t reconstruct the transfer. Maybe some ass-wipe geek in IT could, but I’m a big-picture man.” More listening. He glared at Kayla, set down the cell phone, and with no warning backhanded her again.

Kayla lifted her hands to block another blow, but instead of hitting her, Foley grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted.

“What did you do with the money?” he demanded.

She lashed at him with her left hand, curling her fingers over her thumb the way she had been taught by her dad, aiming for Foley’s throat as she surged up off the floor. He managed to block the blow, but had to let go of her to do it.

“Nothing, you bastard,” she said in a raw voice. “You get nothing from me.”

“I’ll kill-”

“Yada yada yada,” she cut in savagely. “I’m the only one who knows where the money is. Kill me and Bertone is broke. Is that what he wants?”

Foley stared at Kayla. He wanted to kill her so badly that he could taste blood. He made a fist, but picked up the cell phone instead. Killing her was Bertone’s privilege. He’d made that real clear.

“She’s done something to the money,” he said to Bertone, “but it will take a guy like Gabriel to get it out of her.” He listened, nodded. “Good plan. See you.” He punched out.

Kayla stood with a defiance that came from temper and fear. Fear, mostly. The more Foley talked to Bertone, the meaner her boss became.

“On your knees, bitch. Or do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?”

Slowly she sank to her knees again.

Foley stepped behind her.

She tensed against the blow she was sure was coming.

Cold steel slammed around her wrists, clicked, locked. Handcuffs.

Her heart turned over. She fought not to throw up, to keep her head, to think.

“Stand up,” he said.

When she didn’t move fast enough, he yanked on the cuffs, wrenching her arms, pulling her to her feet. A hard shove between the shoulder blades sent her staggering toward the door.

“Open it. If you scream, I’ll kill whoever hears it. And I’ll hurt you real bad. I’d enjoy that. A lot.”

Kayla took a deep breath and opened the door. No one in sight. No elevator doors opening or closing.

No point in screaming.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

A shove between the shoulder blades was her only answer. She staggered, straightened, and looked at the wall clock.

Time’s up.

62

Phoenix

Sunday


1:35 P.M. MST

As Rand reached the bank’s front door, he composed his features into the open, casual expression of an ordinary guy looking for his ordinary gal. He knew that cops and security guards made their livings by drawing lines in the sand. Respect their lines and make a friend.

Challenge those lines and go to jail.

“Hey, Officer,” he said as he pushed through the door. “Did you see a good-looking girl called Kayla Shaw come through here about fifteen minutes ago? We’re way late for our lunch.”

The guard smiled. “Everybody in the world is looking for that girl. And I can see why. Hoo-yah, what legs!”

Rand forced an answering smile. “Hoo-yah is right. Where’d she go?”

“I signed her in to the third floor. She said she’d be right back down.”

Rand crossed the lobby to the guard desk and leaned against it casually, glancing down at the log book that was still turned toward him. Kayla’s name was the only one on the page with a sign-in time but no sign-out.

“Don’t suppose you’d let me go up and drag her out, caveman style,” Rand said.

“Not unless you’ve got employee ID from American Southwest Bank,” the guard said.

“Hell. We’re going to miss our reservations.”

“Sorry. But she ought to be along shortly. Somebody from Operations just called down and said he was looking for her, too. Apparently they had a meeting laid on, but he said it wouldn’t be long.”

The fire ants on Rand’s neck went into overdrive. “Well, damn. She didn’t say anything about meeting somebody else.”

“Maybe she’s seeing somebody on the side,” the guard suggested with a grin.

Rand pointed at the log. “I don’t see anybody else signed in.”

“Yeah, well, you know how these high-powered executives are. He came in through the card lock from the garage. They’re supposed to come by and sign in with me. He said he would when he and your girl were finished.”

“Did you get a name?” Rand asked.

The guard stiffened. He was used to asking questions, not answering them. “I always get names.”

Rand took off his sunglasses, letting the guard see his eyes clearly. It was a gesture designed to win trust. The fact that the guard’s eyes narrowed told Rand that he wasn’t looking warm and fuzzy.

“And you don’t want to tell me the name,” Rand said.

“It’s not my job.”

“Right. Your job is to protect employees, as well as the bank itself.”

The guard stared at him.

“So if a good-looking young female banker got hassled or worse on your watch, your ass would be in a crack,” Rand said.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Kayla told me that she’s been having trouble with a bank employee, a supervisor. She hasn’t complained to Human Resources because she didn’t want to get the grabby dude in trouble. Frankly, I’m worried that he might be up there right now, stalking her.”

“What’s the man’s name?”

“Foley.”

The guard shook his head. “Wrong name.”

“Is it? Or did he give you a bogus one?”

The guard reached for a spiral-bound book on the desk in front of him and thumbed through the roster of employees. He found H, examined every name, and looked up. “The son of a bitch lied to me.”

Rand started for the elevators.

The guard blocked the way. His hand was on the butt of his pistol. “Ease back, mister. For all I know, you and Kayla and this other dude are running some kind of scam.”

Rand fought an urgent need to dump the guard on his ass. “Call her office. If she answers, tell her to lock the door until you get there and not let anybody in.”

The guard took Kayla’s extension from the registration log. He listened to it ring five times.

“She’s not answering, but that doesn’t mean she’s in trouble,” the guard said, meeting Rand’s hard eyes. “Right now, mister, I want you to go back outside while I get some help in here.”

“Use me.”

“Can’t. Against the rules. Move it. Longer you stand here, the longer it’ll take me to sort this out.”

With a silent curse, Rand spun and strode toward the front door. As he opened the heavy glass panel, a Mini Cooper convertible darted into the parking space beside Kayla’s car.

Rand jogged down to the car as Faroe stood in the driver’s seat and stepped out without opening the door.

“She’s inside,” Rand said. “So is somebody who logged in through a card lock.”

“Bertone?” Faroe asked immediately.

“More likely Foley. I’m assuming he’s armed.”

“Given what we’ve found out about him, that’s a good assumption,” Faroe said. “He’s got a thing for guns.”

Beside the Mini, another St. Kilda vehicle braked to a halt. Two streetwise operators in T-shirts and shorts piled out. Each wore a belly pack big enough to carry a pistol.

“The lobby guard won’t let us in, but we can block all the exits,” Rand said. “You two guys get around the corner. Foley came in through the executive garage. Likely he’ll go out that way.”