Innocent as Sin

65

Phoenix

Sunday

Rand fought Sunday-afternoon traffic on Scottsdale Road, cursing and wheeling from lane to lane until he almost overran a police cruiser and had to clean up his act. He wanted to smash his fist through the windshield. Instead, he concentrated on being a good citizen and courteous driver.

The cruiser finally turned onto the freeway.

Rand put the accelerator on the floor.

As he raced under the 101 Freeway, headed north toward Cave Creek and Pleasure Valley, his cell phone went off. He fished it out and punched up the speaker.

“What?” he demanded.

“What the hell are you doing?” Faroe shot back.

“Driving.”

“Don’t piss me off. Where are you going?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Then I already know. Sky house, right?”

Rand didn’t answer.

“Make sure you can do the time for any crime you commit,” Faroe said.

“I’ll bury it deep.”

Faroe’s end was silent for a moment. Then a low curse and “In your place I’d do the same. Let me know if I can help.”

“Did the cops find anything at the bank?”

“Negative, so far. They’re trying to trace the helicopter.”

“They won’t find a thing. The pilot wasn’t Bertone.”

“You sure? He used to fly helos before he could afford to hire someone else for the dirty jobs.”

“Too lean. Long hair, wrong color.”

“Damn. One of our guys works a regular job at the FAA regional center,” Faroe said. “He may be able to get a line on the bird.”

“They’ll stay under the radar. If I see the helo at the house, I’ll tell you, but I doubt that it’s there.”

“So why are you going?”

“Remember? You don’t want to know.”

“You met Mary. We’re getting her the tools of her trade as I speak. Keep it in mind.”

“I will.”

Rand punched the call off and drove hard until he turned onto the county road that led to the gated entrance to Andre Bertone’s house. He stopped on a high hilltop short of the gate and stared at the mansion on top of the mesa. From here he could see the garage and someone washing the bulletproof limo that drove Elena everywhere she and the kids wanted to go. He could also see the helipad.

Empty.

He wasn’t surprised. Foley had left more wreckage behind than even Bertone’s diplomatic passport would clean up.

But Elena was still there.

Maybe Bertone was, too.

Be there, you bastard.

He grabbed the cell phone and punched up Faroe’s number.

“Where do you want Mary?” Faroe asked.

“Not yet. I need a helo. I’m going to test Kayla’s certainty that Elena is a good mother.”

“Huh.” Faroe breathed out hard. “You want the helo open or stealth?”

“Bells and whistles all the way,” Rand said. “Hell, bring in a news chopper.”

“Okay.”

“What?” Rand asked, confused.

“I told you yesterday.”

“Tell me again.”

“The camera crew from The World in One Hour put the squeeze on a local network affiliate for a weather and traffic chopper. They’re doing background shots of Phoenix, the businesses Bertone owns, and as much of the Bertone house as they can legally get.”

“Thank you, God,” Rand said.

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“You know anyone who isn’t?”

“No. I’m on a hilltop about a half mile south of the castle. If I can’t get inside, is the helo pilot good enough to pick me up?”

“Ask Martin. You have his cell?”

Rand didn’t bother to say good-bye. He just cut out, called Martin, and waited for the okay man to answer.