Innocent as Sin

30

Royal Palms

Saturday

The last thing Kayla expected to find in the bungalow was a man and a pregnant woman quizzing a good-looking teenage boy about the Krebs cycle. She gave Rand a look.

He gave it back.

“Right down the rabbit hole,” she said under her breath.

“You expected sweaty, muscular men with real short hair cleaning guns and sharpening knives?” he asked dryly. “The mean-looking dude is Joe Faroe. The beautiful rapier-”

Grace snorted. “I’m pregnant, McCree.”

“-mind is Grace Faroe,” Rand said without missing a beat. “The lanky bottomless pit with computer attachments is Lane, their son. Meet Kayla Shaw, the banker Andre Bertone tried to kidnap.”

“That’s my cue,” Lane said, coming to his feet. “Pleased to meet you and I’m gone.”

“Go online and get a better explanation of the Krebs cycle,” Faroe said to Lane’s retreating back. “The textbook they gave you is lame.”

Lane waved and vanished through a bedroom door.

Grace smiled and held out her hand to Kayla. “Ignore Joe. He’s a little new to the teaching game. He thinks glucose metabolism is something exotic and inscrutable.”

“OIL RIG,” Kayla answered.

Grace blinked.

“Oxidation Is Loss, Reduction Is Gain,” Kayla explained. “There’s more, but that’s all I remember from my advanced-placement biology class.”

“Did you hear that, Lane?” Faroe asked the bedroom door.

“OIL RIG,” came faintly from behind the door, followed by train-wreck music.

Faroe grinned.

Grace shook her head. “Sorry, we’re home-schooling the heathen.”

“Beats having him kidnapped again,” Faroe said. “Coffee? Wine? Beer? Cheese and crackers? Peanut butter?”

“Bring it on,” Rand said. “The canapés wore off hours ago.” He looked at Kayla. “What about you?”

“Lane was kidnapped?” Kayla asked, shocked.

“We got him back,” Faroe said. His voice said it hadn’t been easy.

“A very powerful Mexican drug lord was killed in the process,” Grace said. “Joe is still at considerable risk.”

“So are you,” Faroe said from the kitchen area. “So is Lane. I wish Mary the Markswoman had had a chance to drop that cabrón’s nephew.”

Grace gave her husband a slicing, sideways look. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?” Faroe asked blandly.

Kayla glanced at Rand. “Even paranoids have real enemies, right?”

“Nonparanoids, too. They’re just too dumb to know it.”

“I don’t know how much McCree has told you about St. Kilda Consulting,” Grace began, giving Rand a hard look for saying anything at all without permission.

“Enough that I know you aren’t owned by politicians,” Kayla said. “And don’t want to be.”

Grace gave Kayla a considering look. “You’re not as innocent as you look.”

“I might have been two days ago.” Kayla shrugged. “Even sin was innocent once. The rest is timing and opportunity.”

Faroe’s surprisingly warm laughter rolled out of the kitchen area. “Innocent as sin, huh? McCree, you brought us a keeper.”

Rand smiled and touched Kayla’s dark hair so lightly she wondered if she’d felt it at all. “She grows on you.”

“So now I’m fungus,” Kayla said. “McCree, you really need to kiss the Blarney stone. Twice.”

Faroe brought out plates of crackers, cold cuts, cheeses, and fruit from a high-end deli. “Start on this. I’ll bring some drinks.”

“I’ll get them,” Grace said.

“Amada,” Faroe said, “sit down. You’re on your feet too much.”

“It’s a miracle I got through the first pregnancy without you,” Grace said under her breath. But she sat down, sighed with pleasure, and put her feet up on the coffee table.

“Where’s the nondisclosure agreement, Judge?” Rand asked. “Or don’t you have it ready?”

“It’s ready,” Grace said. “Is she?”

They looked at Kayla.

“I’ll know after I’ve read it,” she said. “Or do you expect me to sign something blind?”

“St. Kilda wouldn’t want to work with anyone stupid enough to sign before reading,” Grace said.

She picked a sheet of paper from the end table. Rand took the paper before she could give it to Kayla. He read it quickly, nodded, and handed it to Kayla.

“This is legal lite,” Grace explained, “but it will give protection to you and St. Kilda Consulting if the feds come calling.”

Kayla read the document quickly.

I, Kayla Shaw, do agree to discuss certain matters involving myself and Andre Bertone, as well as other matters arising from an investigation by St. Kilda Consulting. I do so freely and without duress.

I hereby promise not to disclose the nature of these discussions with subject Bertone or with any other persons not involved in St. Kilda Consulting’s investigation. I promise not to disclose St. Kilda Consulting’s proprietary information to any person not approved by one of the principals of the organization, namely James Steele, Joe Faroe, or Grace Silva Faroe.

In return, St. Kilda Consulting and its representatives agree not to disclose my cooperation with them. Under terms of this agreement, I accept the payment of one United States silver dollar and other valuable considerations.

Like saving my life? Kayla thought.

There was a signature line across the bottom with her name and the date typed beneath.

Faroe handed her a pen and waited while she signed. Then he gave her the silver dollar.

The coin felt heavy in Kayla’s hand, solid, real. She worked with money all the time, but it didn’t have substance. Not like this. With an odd smile, she flipped the silver dollar into the air, caught it, and slapped it down on the back of her hand.

Heads.

Whatever that meant.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Tell us about your relationship with Andre Bertone,” Grace said.