Innocent as Sin

15

Phoenix

Saturday

Kayla sat at her desk and wanted to scream. The American Southwest Bank building was pretty much deserted. The only sound she’d heard in hours was the elevator opening and closing while guards or cleaners made their rounds. Everyone was off to enjoy the weekend.

Except her.

Damn it, Foley, where are you?

She hadn’t seen her boss for twenty-four hours. As far as she could tell, Foley had left work shortly after he’d talked to her.

Cash the check. I’ll put the rest of it in motion.

She had.

Had he?

Anxiety crawled over her like needles, first hot and then cold.

As she’d already done countless times already, she clicked on her e-mail icon. The answer hadn’t changed.

Nothing new from her boss.

Almost desperately she opened the last e-mail from Foley, the one from yesterday.

Relax, Kayla. I’m working on it.

“Okay, great,” she said under her breath. “But how hard can it be to consult with the corporate counsel and compliance department? Even if you have to bring in the rest of the high-powered executives, it shouldn’t take a whole day. Everyone is in town. I checked. So where the hell is my boss?”

She took several long, slow, deep breaths, willing her nerves to settle. Foley might be slick as snot, but he wasn’t a fool. Neither were his bosses. They would understand that she was innocent.

Wouldn’t they?

She closed her eyes and gripped her desk until her fingers ached. She was the lowest creature on this particular food chain. If anyone was eaten, it would be her.

God, how could this have happened?

Silently she rehearsed the facts she’d have to retell over and over again before this mess was cleared up. And while she did, she prayed she wouldn’t have to give her frail explanations to some cold-eyed federal agent.

Part of her wanted to grab her backpack and passport and get on a plane.

Part of her wanted to scream.

Most of her wanted to kill Bertone and dance at his funeral.

Automatically she checked her phone for voice mails, hoping that one from Foley would be there, telling her everything had been handled.

Nothing.

She checked her e-mails again.

Nothing.

Grimly she stared at the screen.

This is all a bad dream, right? It isn’t real.

It can’t be.

She typed her way into the bank’s master database. With shaking fingers she called up the Bank of Aruba correspondent account she had established at Foley’s instruction. The screen flashed into focus, then blinked, as if updating itself.

Forty-five million, five hundred thousand dollars.

Air left her lungs in a rush. “That can’t be. The check was only for twenty-two million.”

With a growing sense of sickness, she scanned down to the banker’s code authorizing the second deposit.

It was hers.

No! I didn’t make a second deposit.

She refreshed the screen once, twice, three times. Nothing changed except the speed of her heartbeat.

Not a bad dream after all.

Just a bad reality.

Someone was using her bank code to make unauthorized deposits into the Aruban correspondent account that she had created.

Damn it, Foley. You said you would help.

She hit her e-mail button one last time.

Nothing new.

And there was nothing she could do about it right now except trust Foley to get off his ass while she went to the Fast Draw paint-off and smiled so that her picture could be taken with her equally smiling blackmailers.