“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.”
22
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.
It felt like a flower-lined trap.
With a whisper of metal on metal, the gate shut behind her. The sound made her jump. She pushed at the gate, reassuring herself that the padlock hadn’t somehow leaped up and closed itself over the latch, locking her behind high walls.
The gate opened instantly.
With a relieved sigh, Kayla turned back to the garden. It was as beautiful as hard work and money could make it. Roses and gardenias, flowering vines and palms as graceful as dancers, heady fragrance and inviting stillness. The walkways were monitored by motion sensors so that every few steps she took lit up a new vision of artfully arranged plants. A fountain sang softly in the darkness ahead, drowning out the murmur of music from concealed speakers.
As she walked toward the fountain, more lights came on, making the water shimmer with life and possibilities. The gentle music of water soothed her nerves, as it was meant to do. Desert cultures realized how people became starved for the liquid promise of water.
Lights went out behind her, making her nerves jump. The motion sensors were on short timers. She felt like running around the garden, setting off all the landscaping lights.
Or just running, period, right out the gate and into her car.
Kayla fought with the impulse, telling herself that she was jumping at shadows. She’d met other bank clients in public parks and private homes, behind guarded doors and in skyboxes at sporting events, in parking lots after hours and at restaurants after ordinary diners were sent home. She shouldn’t be nervous about meeting the Bertones in their garden while a party chattered on a few hundred feet away.
Well within screaming distance.
She just wished that Bertone wasn’t a crook. But then, he wasn’t the only ruthless man in the private-banking world. He was simply the one who was her client.
Big honking deal, she told herself roughly. Settle down. Even the lapdog artist has real teeth.
She’d seen them a few minutes ago, when Rand watched Andre Bertone walk away from them. Rand’s words echoed in her mind: You have no idea what’s at stake.
Hardly the reassurance she needed.
Hardly the words of a foot-licking lapdog.
Uneasiness crawled over Kayla. She couldn’t just stand and wait for the Bertones to schmooze their way through the guests and down to the garden. Impatiently she paced the flagstones, light blooming softly in front of her and then fading behind her into scented darkness.
Disturbed by her passage, a canyon wren sang from the flowering vines growing thickly on the far garden wall. After a few moments the bird settled into an irritable kind of silence.
She looked at her watch. Seven after seven.
Overhead a billion stars glittered through the ambient radiance of the city night. She considered counting them to pass the time.
The hell with this. I’m not waiting around like some kind of goat staked out for the tiger’s gloating pleasure.
As she turned toward the wooden gate, the lights went out. The metal-on-metal sound of the gate’s padlock closing came like a gunshot.
Silence.
Then came the soft whine of hinges moving, a hidden garden door opening. The wren shrieked and exploded into the night, flying as rapidly as Kayla’s wild heartbeat. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.
A figure stepped from behind the vines into the faint radiance cast by a wall of pale flowers. The man was too thin to be Andre Bertone, too thin to be anyone Kayla recognized. He pulled the door shut behind him and stood motionless, letting his own eyes adjust to the faint light.
Kayla shrank back into a dark alcove, grateful she’d worn a black linen suit. Part of her waited to hear him call her name and tell her the Bertones had decided to delay the meeting.
The rest of her fought not to scream.
The man didn’t call out. Instead he prowled the garden like a skeletal ghost, poking at the tallest bushes.
He’s looking for me.
Kayla opened her mouth to scream for help, but before she could, rock music from the party crashed over the garden like thunder. Someone had ramped up the garden’s sound system to the point of pain.
If she screamed, the only one who would hear her was the man stalking her.
Slowly she put her hand in her purse and pulled out the Lady-Bug she used for opening envelopes and pulling staples. At three inches long, the little folding knife wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than fingernails and teeth.
She hoped.
23
Castillo del Cielo
Saturday
7:07 P.M. MST
Rand broke into a run as soon as he saw the lights go out by the garage.
“Where’s Jimmy?” he asked. “The lights just went out.”
“I’m driving toward the garage. He’s bringing an ATV from the back. He’s in uniform, so don’t—What the hell is that?”
“Music.”
“Sounds like a train wreck.”
�
�Louder than a scream,” Rand said roughly. He hurdled some plants to straighten out the meandering walkway.
“Not good.”
All Rand said was, “Light a fire and get there!”
“Limos are cluttering up the drive.”
“Put it in low range and make your own road,” Rand snarled. “Is the garden wall set to stun?”
A pause while Faroe radioed Hamm, then Faroe said, “Not electrified.”
“Thank you, God.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rand hit the gate at a run, grabbed the top, and vaulted over. The backpack caught on vines, pulling him off balance. He landed hard, went to his knees, and scrambled upright again.
“Talk to me.”
Rand didn’t answer. He didn’t know where his enemy was, but he was certain an enemy was there, waiting in the scented darkness.
“Two minutes to backup.”
When Rand spotted the thin figure against a bank of pale flowers, he knew Kayla didn’t have two minutes. He shucked his backpack, reached in, and pulled out a wicked folding knife. He opened it with a flick of his thumb. His other hand held a big, dark flashlight.
“One bogey,” he murmured. “I’m going in.”
“Wait for backup.”
Rand ignored his boss and shouted, “Kayla, stay hidden!”
Kayla heard Rand, but couldn’t see him. All she could see was the thin man coming closer to her with each step. She would rather have run, but she was cornered. Grimly she held on to her little knife and waited. She’d only get one swipe at the man. She wanted it to count.
Light speared out, pinning the thin man’s face in its blinding beam. He flinched and covered his eyes. He was wearing thin black leather gloves. Metal flashed in his hand.
A knife, not a gun.
Kayla didn’t wait for a better chance. She sprang out of cover and ran in the direction Rand’s voice had come from.
Rand turned off the light, opened his eyes, and went down the pathway with the gliding strides of a hunter.
The thin man went into a knife fighter’s crouch. Rand kept on coming. The man saw the gleam of metal in Rand’s hand, the length of his opponent’s arms, and decided to fight another day. He spun and ran.
Rand took off after him. Before he could gain any ground, the thin man scrambled up the vines, went over the fence, and vanished. Rand thought about going after him, but didn’t want to leave Kayla alone. No doubt Bertone had more than one killer on the payroll.
The screaming feedback from the speakers went silent.
“Jimmy killed the speakers. What’s your status?”
“One bogey over the fence, west side of garden. Can Jimmy get him?”
“He’s on the east, but he’ll try. How’s Kayla?”
Rand switched on the flashlight and ran it over Kayla. Pale, trembling a little, breathing hard. “No blood.” Then he smiled slightly. “Nice knife, honey. Just big enough to get the job done. You can put it away now.”
Kayla looked at the knife in his hand.
He folded it with a swift motion and put it in his pocket. “See? Totally harmless.”
She gave him a look of disbelief, but she folded her knife.
And waited.
“Jimmy says the bogey is gone. Poof.”
“Probably went home to Poppa,” Rand said.
Kayla started to say something, realized he wasn’t talking to her, and shut up.
“What?” Faroe asked.
“He’s Bertone’s. I saw the pass-off when Bertone sent him after Kayla.”
“What a sweet cluster this has become.”
“Ya think?”
The lights in the garden came on again.
“It’s Hamm,” a voice called out. “I’m coming in.”
Kayla flinched and opened her knife again.
“Easy,” Rand said, grabbing her wrist. “Hamm is on the side of the angels.”
“He works for Bertone.”
She yanked back suddenly, trying to free her wrist. Rand didn’t let go. Kayla went still, waiting for a chance to run.
Again.
24
Castillo del Cielo
Saturday
7:09 P.M. MST
Move slow,” Rand said clearly. “Kayla’s still on edge. She thinks you’re one of the bad guys. But don’t get all teary about it. She doesn’t trust me either, and I just saved her life.” He looked at her, smiled slightly. “You can say ‘Thank you.’ Really, I won’t faint.”
Kayla slanted him a glance that told him how not funny he was.
“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 hi
m 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.
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