Blue Smoke and Murder

13

SEPTEMBER 14

2:21 A.M.

As usual, Dwayne Taylor had night duty. He liked it that way. The calls were more interesting and the view from Ambassador Steele’s office was one of the best in the city. Two of the office’s six walls overlooked Manhattan. The odd sheen of the bulletproof glass only added to the dramatic color-and-black view of skyscrapers. Three other walls held screens with satellite views of places where St. Kilda had operatives and/or things were going to hell. The final wall held a door and various reference books.

Ambassador Steele sat in his high-tech wheelchair, talking through a headset, debriefing someone in Paraguay. Mission accomplished. International executive returned largely unharmed to his worried family.

The “hot” phone rang.

Steele covered his microphone. “Get that, will you?”

Dwayne switched the channel on his headset and picked up immediately. “St. Kilda Consulting. Who or what do you need?”

“This is Jillian Breck. Joe Faroe told me to call this number if I was ever in trouble.”

Dwayne noted the tension in the woman’s voice, typed his best-guess spelling of her name into the computer, and simultaneously asked, “Are you in danger at this moment?”

“Only of losing more money to the penny slots.”

Dwayne smiled. “Not much danger, then.”

“My car is cut to pieces. Someone put a note under the windshield that said go away or die.”

Dwayne’s smile vanished. Information on Jillian Breck began to roll up on his computer screen.

Highest priority.

Joe Faroe.

“Where are you now?” Dwayne’s voice was a lot calmer than he was feeling. If Faroe said something was important, it was important.

“I’m in the Eureka Hotel, outside Mesquite, Nevada, in the casino. I figured it was safest here. Lots of guards.”

“Excellent choice. Do you have a room?”

“Yes.”

“Number, please.”

Jill hesitated.

Dwayne waited for her to realize the obvious-if she didn’t trust St. Kilda Consulting, why was she calling?

“Four-three-five,” she said.

“Ask a guard to escort you to your room. Make sure the drapes are shut before he leaves. Lock the door, both dead bolt and chain. Joe Faroe will call you within fifteen minutes.”

“Wait. I’m okay, just scared and mad. No need to wake him up. I’ll just-”

“Get escorted to your room,” Dwayne cut in firmly. His ruby signet ring glowed against his chocolate skin as he keyed instructions into the computer. “Fifteen minutes, Ms. Breck. If your room phone doesn’t answer, Faroe will”-have a shit-fit-“be very concerned.”

Silence.

“Ms. Breck? Are you all right?”

She made a tight sound that could have been a laugh. “Yes. I’m just not used to taking orders.”

Dwayne almost chuckled. From what he was reading about her on the screen, he wasn’t surprised. “Sorry. Let me make that a request. Please go to your-”

“I’m on my way to the elevator,” she cut in.

“With a guard?”

“A bellman. I waved a ten and he appeared.”

Not used to following orders, either, Dwayne thought. Should make life interesting for whichever operative is assigned to her.

A name came up on the screen. Zach Balfour was the op who was closest to Mesquite, Nevada. On vacation.

Not anymore, Dwayne thought.

He punched in Zach’s number on line 4.

“I’ll hold until you’re safe in your room,” Dwayne said to Jill.

“Really, there’s no need for that. I feel foolish enough as it is.”

“Better to feel foolish than be hurt.”

“The bellman is really big,” Jill said. “And I’m going to lose you in the elevator.”

“Take the stairs.”

“You sound like Joe Faroe.”

“I’m much better looking,” Dwayne assured her.

She laughed.

Steele finished debriefing the operative and glanced over at the man who was his administrative assistant and right hand. Joe Faroe was his left. Grace Faroe was his alter ego in the field.

Dwayne gestured with his head toward Steele’s desk and kept typing, transferring information into Joe Faroe’s priority file, copy to Steele, while Jill and an increasingly breathless bellman climbed stairs to her fourth-floor room.

Line 4 dropped Dwayne into Zach’s voice mail. Dwayne paused in his typing long enough to punch in the override code.

Jill’s breathing didn’t change during the climb. Dwayne heard a door opening, then closing, and the sound of a bolt going home, followed by the rattle of a chain.

“All safe and tight,” Jill said into the phone.

“Stay there, please, until a St. Kilda operative knocks on your door. Don’t open for anyone else, including room service, maids, hotel security personnel-”

“Or Santa and his busy elves,” Jill cut in. “I get it. I’ll wait for St. Kilda.”

“We’ll call and tell you which operator to expect.”

When Dwayne switched his headset over to line 4, Steele said, “And?”

“The river guide who saved Lane’s life just called. Someone gave her a screw-off-or-die note.”

“Interesting. Where is she?”

“Mesquite, Nevada. Eureka Hotel casino when she called, now locked and bolted into her room, same hotel. Zach Balfour is our closest bullet catcher.”

Steele’s light, clear eyes absorbed information from his screen. Zach was St. Kilda’s valued utility infielder and a man whose instinct for when an op was going south was legendary.

“Unhappy ex?” Steele asked, skimming Jill’s file.

“She didn’t say.”

“Call Faroe.”

“Just put in his number, line two. Zach Balfour hasn’t picked up his-there you are, Zach. It’s Dwayne. You’ve got a code two waiting in Mesquite, Nevada, Eureka Hotel, 435, Jillian Breck, death threat. You’ll know more when we do. Move it.”

Dwayne hung up in the middle of Zach’s rant about bimbos and bullet catching.