“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.”
“He drives a black Range Rover,” Faroe said.
“I’ll do a walk-through of the garage,” one of the operators said. He pulled a worn dog leash out of his belly pack. “You know, ‘Here, Muffin, come to Daddy, you wretched little shit.’”
“Good,” Rand said. “But don’t crowd the security guys. I told the lobby guard that Kayla was being stalked. He’s off-duty Phoenix PD. I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls in real badges. He looked worried enough.”
The two operators nodded and set off toward the garage at a lope.
“I’ll take the other direction,” Faroe said. “There can’t be more than two or three exits on the south and west sides. I’ve got another crew coming in from Scottsdale north. So relax, Rand. We’ve got her covered.”
“If it was Grace at risk?”
Faroe didn’t answer. He just set off at a run to cover the exits opposite the garage.
Phoenix
Sunday
The corridor was empty. Foley crowded Kayla down the hallway to his own office, keyed in, and locked behind him. It took less than twenty seconds. She hoped the guard had seen her on the corridor camera, but she wasn’t counting on it.
Foley shoved her into a chair.
“Move and I’ll feed you this gun,” he said.
Kayla didn’t move. She was still tasting metal and gun oil in her mouth, and her throat was raw from being raked by the end of the pistol. She watched him go to his desk, unlock a file drawer, and pull out a stack of manila folders.
A grim smile changed his tan, closely shaved face into a death mask. He tapped the files on the desk, then slid them into his briefcase.
KYC files.
Kayla’s stomach flipped. Obviously Foley didn’t expect to come back. Those kind of files weren’t supposed to leave the bank. Ever.
He looked at her. “Bet you wish you’d thought to take the bank references and corporate documents of every suspect private banking client with you.”
“I don’t have any suspect private clients. I turned down their business or bucked them up to you for refusal.”
“Have I thanked you for those referrals? Profitable for the bank. Very profitable for me. I’m especially pleased with Jesus Del Santos and Ramon Herrera Parra. Did you know who they were when you bounced them up to me?”
“No.”
“Del Santos was the lieutenant governor of Jalisco, and Herrera was chief of the federales in northwest Mexico. They both have eight-figure accounts in our bank now.”
“How did you wash the blood off their money?”
“Power, babe, power and politics. Don’t cry to me if you weren’t smart enough to get them on your books.”
Foley unlocked another file and pulled out a flat aluminum case that could have held cameras. He was undoing the catches on the lid when the phone on his desk began to ring. He glanced at the console.
“It’s your line,” he said. “Your boyfriend?”
Kayla stared blankly at Foley.
Foley glanced at his watch, then cocked his head, listening.
“They’re going to start looking pretty soon,” he said, more to himself than to her.
The phone rang.
He opened the case.
Kayla saw that it was lined with plastic foam that had been cut out to hold certain shapes.
The phone rang.
The pistol on the desk would have fit one of the empty cutouts. Next to it lay a black metal cylinder that she guessed was a silencer.
The phone rang.
Black on silver is out this season, she thought. But she didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t trust her voice.
The phone rang.
Foley fit the cylinder to the end of his pistol and spun it into place.
The phone rang.
He picked up a loaded magazine from the case and dropped it into the pocket of the dark wind shell he wore over his white silk T-shirt.
The phone rang.
Methodically he closed and relocked the drawers.
The phone didn’t ring.
“You have got two choices,” Foley said. He forced the cold bulb of the silencer between her lips. “You can come with me and keep your mouth shut or you can die here.”
His expression told her that he meant it. He was coming apart in front of her eyes. There was only one thing he cared about right now.
Getting out.
“I’ll go with you,” she managed around the silencer.
Finger on the trigger, he stared at her for several long breaths. Then he shoved her away.
“We’ll take the elevator. If we run into anybody-your boyfriend or a security guard or a maid-I’ll kill them.”
Kayla believed it. She could wait to make a break for it until he got her to the garage. Rand would be there. She was certain of it.