Innocent as Sin

58

Phoenix

Sunday

What are you doing here?” Foley demanded.

Kayla stared at the shiny pistol and thought of the trophies he had in glass cases in his office.

Games, that’s all. Paper targets or tin cans or bowling pins.

“Answer me!”

Fear slammed through Kayla. Fight or flee, and she couldn’t flee. Her inner bitch rose up and snarled. “It’s my office. What are you doing here?”

“Listen, bitch-” he began.

“Watch the sexist stuff,” she cut in, forcing her voice not to tremble. “The company manual is real clear on that.”

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you where you stand. What are you doing here?”

“Looking at you.”

His knuckles whitened on his pistol hand. “If Andre didn’t want you alive…”

“But he does,” Kayla said. And she sure hoped he didn’t change his mind before St. Kilda found her. “So don’t do anything stupid.”

“Killing you wouldn’t be stupid. It’s your fingerprints all over Bertone’s account. You’re alone in the world. I could bury you in the desert and play dumb. The bank and the FBI would look for a long time and finally decide you’re living in Venezuela or Brazil.”

Carefully Kayla raised her trembling hands and backed around her desk, away from Foley.

Toward the window.

“Stop!” Foley said.

She looked at the black circle aimed right between her eyes.

She stopped.

“Bertone is a bad enemy,” she said quietly. “If you kill me, he’ll kill you.”

“There’s a lot I can do that won’t kill you. You’ll wish it had. And what I can’t think of, Bertone will.”

No argument there, so she waited.

Rand, I need you.

Now would be a good time to bring on Plan C.

But Rand was in the parking lot, fifty yards and a world away.

“Sit at your desk,” Foley said sharply. “Hands in front of you.”

Kayla put a leash on her inner bitch and her fear. She sat with her hands in plain sight. Foley’s eyes were too wide, almost wild. She didn’t want to get him so mad he forgot he needed her alive.

But being angry felt so much better than the icy fear coiled in her gut.

He kept the pistol trained on her and walked to the window. A brief glance was all it took. “Couldn’t get your stud past the lobby guard, huh?” Impatiently he yanked the cord that closed the blinds.

Like the computer, it wasn’t something he was used to doing for himself. The blinds jammed partially open.

“He knows I’m here,” Kayla said. “He’s expecting me in about three minutes. He knows everything I know. It’s over, Steve. Put down the gun. I have friends who can help you. You won’t even go to jail. It’s Bertone they want, not you.”

“You went to the feds? I’ll kill both of you!”

“Kill me, and you’re a dead man. The only question is who gets to you first, the man in the parking lot or Bertone.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Foley backed away from the window. “Andre Bertone is one of the most powerful men on the planet. You’ll be a smashed gnat on his windshield.”

“So will you.”

Foley looked at the gun in his hand and smiled. “I can take care of myself.”

“You’ve shot a lot of paper targets. You’ve got a lot of trophies. Any of them have blood on them?”

Foley flinched. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you? And here I believed your girly-girl act.”

“Shit happens. People change.” And a whole lot of shit has come down on me lately. Stand tight or run.

Can’t run.

So she would do the best job of standing she could.

“Call up Andre’s account for me.” He pulled out a notebook with the account numbers Bertone had given him. Not once did the muzzle waver from the space between Kayla’s eyes. “I need to make some transfers.”

Too late, she thought with fierce triumph.

But she did what he asked.

“It’s up,” she said.

“Show me.”

She pivoted the screen so that he could see it. His glance flicked down to the bottom line. Widened.

“You’ve got the wrong account,” he said flatly.

She switched the screen back and made a show of looking at numbers. “No, this is Andre Bertone’s new account.”

“It can’t be. There’s nothing in it!”

“Yeah.” When in doubt, brazen it out. “I guess you’re not the only bank employee he bought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple,” she said, lying through her straight white teeth. “When I checked the account just before you came in, it was empty. Bertone must have bought someone else in our bank to do his account juggling.”

Foley was too shaken to question her words. He was staring at the screen and seeing his own death.

Kayla tensed to spin in her chair, hoping to knock the gun out of his hand, but Foley stepped back suddenly. He kept the silver pistol aimed between her eyes.

“Where’s the money!” he demanded.

“I told you. It was gone when I got here a few minutes ago.”

Foley’s face went red, then white. His hand jerked, but he didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he backhanded her so hard that his signet ring left a bloody line across her cheek.

“Bitch. I don’t believe you.”

She blinked against the tears that wanted to come. Not fear or hurt.

Pure bitch fury.

“Feel better now?” she asked.

He lifted his hand again, then saw that she was ready to spring.

“On your knees,” he said.

She thought about refusing. The sheen of his eyes didn’t encourage her. She slid out of her chair onto her knees.

Foley exchanged his notebook for a cell phone and hit speed dial. “Andre? Your account is empty.”