Dangerous Refuge

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Hill and my captain would trip over their own shoes trying to kiss ass first, last, and best, Tanner thought. Wish I could learn the knack.

  Or even want to.

  “Jobs are important,” Tanner said. “Hard to live without them.”

  “A man of intelligence,” Hill approved. “I have many plans for the state, and Refuge in particular, but I need to ensure that the government only promotes and doesn’t interfere too heavily.”

  The aide knocked again, lightly, and didn’t open the door.

  “Blast,” Hill muttered. “I’m sorry, Shaye, Mr. Davis, but my aide said that you needed some information about security?”

  “Are you familiar with a man called Antonio ‘Tony’ Rua?” Shaye asked.

  Hill looked blank. “Forgive me, I meet so many people. Rua . . . Rua.” He shook his head.

  “He was recently hired in connection with your security,” she said.

  “Oh. That explains it. Rhonda handles security staffing. Has there been a problem?”

  “Nothing major,” Shaye said. “Could you clear it for us to talk to Rhonda?”

  Hill frowned. “This is rather odd.”

  “Rua was murdered last night in Meyers,” Tanner said calmly. “The Conservancy would hate to see some eager reporter slime your campaign by connecting the two of you. There would be nothing to it, of course, but headlines are headlines.”

  Shaye couldn’t believe what she had just heard. This was Tanner’s idea of being nice?

  “What my associate means,” she said, smiling, “is that we’re trying to find out the relationship between you and a member of your security detail. Unfortunately there is evidence to suggest a connection between him and a recent crime.”

  Hill smiled. “I have to say, I’d been having a terrible day before this. But this . . .” He struggled not to laugh. “This is rich. Where are your little cameras—you’re recording this, right?”

  “Um, no cameras,” she said, trying to think of a tactful way to tell Hill there was no joke, either.

  “Where are you from, Mr. Davis?” Hill asked with a snicker.

  “Los Angeles.”

  “Gotta love that California sense of humor. Not everyone appreciates it, but I enjoy a joke, even at my own expense.”

  “Does Rhonda have a sense of humor?” Tanner asked easily. “Or do you do the final security-staff hiring yourself?”

  Hill laughed again. “That’s like asking me if I hire the gardeners. I do love the innocence of a citizen when it comes to the complexities of politics. I encourage my staff to hire locally when the skill set and talent allow. After that, it’s up to individual department heads.” He gave Tanner a smile. “If you’re looking for a job, I’ll put you in touch with Rhonda. You certainly look fit enough for security work. I’ll have to warn her about your sense of humor, though.”

  Tanner smiled back. “I’d like that. Working for someone with a sense of humor would be a happy change. But that still leaves you with a murdered man on your security staff who is under suspicion of receiving stolen goods.”

  Hill frowned at the unwelcome reminder.

  Tanner wasn’t surprised. He had a knack for irritating important people.

  “I’m sure there’s no real problem,” Shaye said, touching Hill’s arm. “Rhonda will sort it out, if you give her permission.”

  After a moment of uneasiness, Hill’s face settled into its usual smile. “Yes, Rhonda. No problem.” He turned his head to the side and called out, “Rowan!”

  The aide popped open the door like she’d been praying for the summons. “Yes, sir.”

  “Take my guests to see Rhonda.”

  “Of course, sir. The representative from—”

  “In a few moments,” Hill interrupted her. “I’m expecting a call on my private line. I’ll let you know when I’m available. Shaye, I’m sorry this was so brief. Again, Mr. Davis, my condolences.”

  “Please come with me,” the aide said. “Ms. Spears just returned from lunch.”

  Shaye envied her. Breakfast was a savory memory.

  And Tanner looked good enough to eat.

  Again.

  Twenty-eight

  Rhonda Spears was aptly named. She looked like she could cut steel with her fingernails.

  “What is this nonsense about my staff and murder?” she asked.

  That told Tanner the security staff had Hill’s private offices wired for sound and probably cameras as well. Good idea, as long as you deleted the data daily, if not more often.

  “One of your recent hires was murdered in Meyers last night,” Tanner said. “He is connected to another murder as well. Antonio Rua isn’t the kind of man you want connected with the future governor. What made you hire him?”

  “You’re talking about Tony Rua?” Rhonda asked.

  Tanner nodded.

  She opened up some kind of PDA, entered a few words, and read the file. “No wants, no warrants, no arrests, no jail time, no outstanding bills worth mentioning, excellent ratings in unarmed combat, good rating with a pistol, licensed to carry, tested negative for drugs.” She looked up. “I don’t see the problem.”

  “Is Mr. Hill expanding his security staff?” Shaye asked before Tanner could point out the obvious—murder was a problem.

  “Not at this time. If the odds in Hill’s favor go up several more points, we’ll hire.”

  “But you hired Rua recently. Was there an unexpected opening on your staff?” Shaye asked.

  “We get recommendations and requests from backers,” the other woman said, shrugging. “If possible, we accommodate them.”

  “Who recommended or requested Rua be hired?” Tanner asked.

  Rhonda hesitated, her manner plainly saying that if Hill hadn’t cleared it, she wouldn’t be giving out the information. After a moment she scanned through the file until she found the notation she was looking for.

  “Jonathan Campbell,” she said. Her attitude said she was out of patience.

  Tanner would like to have used the Rhonda-Hill connection to get in to see Campbell, who was no doubt as busy as every other mover and shaker they’d cornered today. But he knew when he’d worn out his welcome.

  Shaye had known before they ever got to Rhonda.

  “Thank you for your time,” Shaye said. “I’m sure Mr. Hill’s lead in the race will have you out hiring more staff in no time. The Conservancy very much appreciates his support.”

  The subtle reminder that Shaye represented one of Mr. Hill’s significant supporters put a smile on Rhonda’s face. “You’re welcome. Mr. Hill has great personal and professional admiration for the Conservancy.”

  Silently, Tanner and Shaye walked back through the building, discreetly watched by a member of security.

  The instant they were alone in the truck, she said coolly, “May I remind you that I have to work in this valley when you’re gone? The more wells you poison, the harder it will be for me to live.”

  He started the truck and drove onto the highway, thinking carefully about his answer. She was mad enough to skin him out and clean toilets with his hide.

  And he wasn’t as eager to get back to L.A. as he should have been. The night with Shaye had only sharpened his need, not sated it.

  “Maybe a place with such easily poisoned wells isn’t a healthy area to live,” he said carefully.

  “Why do you think I left San Francisco?” she shot back. “I have to make it work with the Conservancy or I sign up for food stamps. Got it?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I was the one to ask the really unhappy questions. I can take the heat.”

  “There doesn’t have to be any heat to take! We’re civilized people working with civilized people.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news—again—but murder is damned uncivilized.”

  “Surely you can ask questions without angering people.”

  “Look. We could have made nice and kissed ass until Hill rushed off to another important meetin
g and we were left standing there with tired lips and no place to go but out to lunch. Hill needed a good reason to open his staff files for us. I gave him one.”

  Her head hit the back of the seat. “You’re saying there’s no polite way to ask questions people don’t want to answer. And no answers means somebody literally gets away with murder.”

  He gave her a wary look. “Right now we have what amounts to a handful of beads. They’re intriguing, but without a way to string them together, they’ll slide through our fingers and get lost in the cracks of everyday life.”

  “You’re assuming that Rua was a tool, and the gold was purely incidental to Lorne’s death, not the reason for it,” she said.

  “So far, that’s the most logical way to assemble the beads.”

  “What on earth is logical about Hill being directly connected to Rua’s murder, and therefore, logically we hope, to Lorne’s murder?”

  “I don’t know,” he said impatiently, glancing in the mirrors repeatedly. No one had taken the bait. “That’s why I’m asking questions, touching pressure points. Sooner or later, the killer will start getting jumpy. Jumpy people make mistakes.”

  She began to understand just why August had wanted her to stay home. Waving a red flag at a killer bull was a good way to get hurt.

  Tanner didn’t let the silence bother him. Much. Instead, he started looking for a place to eat lunch. Maybe her outlook would improve if she got some food in her. People with turbo-metabolisms didn’t do well without fuel. He knew because he was one of them. He had learned that Shaye was another. Watching her destroy breakfast had been a revelation.

  He’d discovered that he liked feeding her. Primitive, but there it was. Under some circumstances, he was a real primitive sort of guy.

  Silence settled into the cab of the truck. The lack of conversation was neither easy nor uneasy, it simply was.

  Shaye looked out the passenger window, trying to decide whether she should scream or laugh or swear, and if so, in what order. Or run and hide.

  No.

  Lorne deserves better than that.

  And so do I. If I have to spend the rest of my life seeing his ruined face, at the very least I want to know why.

  Trying not to think about how she had found Lorne, she focused on watching Carson City’s fine old state buildings and casinos slide by, reminding her of a mingling of moneyed gentlemen and brassy tarts. In the side mirror, a smudge of smoke caught her eye. She watched the smoke grow quickly into a column.

  Somewhere between Tahoe and Reno a fire was burning. Judging by the rate the column was spreading, it was wind-driven and out of control. It had been a bad fire season already. Now it would be worse.

  A nagging sound pulsed in the cab of the truck. The noise was somewhere between that of an early-morning alarm and the grate of sheet metal dragged on a gravel road.

  “What the hell?” Tanner asked.

  “Crap,” she said. “That’s my ring tone for Kimberli. Hope she isn’t going to yell at me because Hill yelled at her.”

  “You can always sic me on her.”

  Shaye ignored him and answered her phone. “Hi, Kimberli. What’s up?”

  “Are you with Lorne’s luscious nephew?”

  “I’m working to uphold the Conservancy’s interest in the Davis ranch, if that’s what you mean.”

  Kimberli laughed. “Well, that’s no reason not to enjoy the man. I could just grab him and lick him all over.”

  I already did, and went back for seconds. He returned the favor until I screamed. But that’s not something I want to talk to my boss about.

  “Is Tanner feeling more charitable toward the Conservancy?” Kimberli asked.

  “Hard to tell, but I’m working on it.”

  “Do you have any idea how quickly you can win him over?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “I’ll check back later,” Kimberli said. “Ace may have a line on another rancher who’s tired of fighting taxes and bureaucrats. The land is out in the middle of nowhere and would make a great mustang preserve. Apparently the rancher is a crusty old cocker, just like Lorne was.”

  Shaye filled the gaps in Kimberli’s conversation and said, “Tag, I’m it?”

  “You do so well with those backcountry sorts. If you have any breakthroughs on your end, call me soonest.”

  “Of course.”

  Tanner gave Shaye a sideways look as she ended the call. “What did Queen Botox want?”

  You. Naked.

  “A progress report and a hint of another project for me,” Shaye said.

  “I’m your full-time project.”

  “Kimberli is big on multitasking.”

  “Good idea,” he said.

  “It is?”

  “Yeah. We’ll grab some sandwiches and figure out how to get an appointment with Jonathan Campbell. Multitasking.”

  “I’ll make an appointment the usual way,” she said. “I’ll call.”

  “He’s another friend of the Conservancy?”

  “He owns one of the biggest development companies in Nevada. He works off any bad karma with regular, hefty donations to the Conservancy. Business has been in the toilet lately, but he’s still an important contributor.”

  “The Conservancy is starting to sound like the confessional,” Tanner said.

  “A guilty conscience is an expensive thing.”

  Twenty-nine

  We’re lucky Campbell lives close to Carson City,” Shaye said to Tanner. “His main office is in south Reno, but he lives here.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Tanner asked.

  “In a heartbeat.”

  The Sierra Nevadas thrust into the sky, forming a glorious backdrop to a handful of low buildings. Long-limbed horses with clean lines and lustrous coats grazed in pastures with white fences. A hot spring steamed invitingly within a luxurious man-made pool. The buildings themselves were done in a semiranch style with stone and wood and desert-colored stucco.

  “The one on the left,” she said. “See the small parking area?”

  “Yeah.”

  He drove toward the building, which was a lot bigger than it looked, because the mountains dwarfed everything in their shadow. Two golf carts with sunshades were parked in the lot, along with several modest sedans. There was space for at least twenty more cars.

  “I wish the Conservancy headquarters had a parking lot like this,” she said.

  “Paved?”

  “Big enough for more than two cars at a time. It’s so bad that we all leave a second set of keys on the keyboard so nobody gets trapped in the lot. Some days it’s like solving a puzzle to get out.”

  Tanner’s mouth curled up at the corner. “Any car ever get ‘borrowed’?”

  “I wish. The only one worth stealing is Kimberli’s Lexus.”

  “Rhinestone wheels?”

  Shaye snickered and shook her head. “Not yet.” She looked around at the lush, beautifully tended landscape. “I’ll bet Campbell writes off all but the main house as a business retreat. There’s as much of a resort vibe here as anything else.”

  “Is that what the Conservancy does?” Tanner asked as he parked the truck.

  “We’re not-for-profit. We just borrow beautiful places for our retreats.”

  “And the owner writes off a chunk of overhead as a donation,” he said, turning off the engine.

  “That’s the way the tax system works.”

  “Works the same in L.A., if you get far enough up the bureaucratic food chain.”

  Shaye balled up the remains of their lunch and stuffed everything into the carryout sack. “I’m glad we didn’t have to go to Reno. I’m not dressed for city business.” She yawned. “And I’m hoping for a nap. Something kept me up most of the night.”

  “That’s because someone kept me up most of the night.” His long arms reached out, wrapped around, and pulled her into a hug. “Too bad Campbell was able to see us so quickly. I was looking forward to fooling around in the truck after lunch.”


  She gave him a sidelong glance from dark eyes. “You’re too big for the cab.”

  “Ever take yoga?”

  “No.”

  “Neither have I, but I’m told they can do it in a glove box.”

  Laughing, she kissed him and then got out of the truck before she kissed him again. Harder, deeper, hotter.

  He caught up with her at the front door, which looked like it could lead into the lobby of a small resort hotel. The receptionist was in an alcove to the left, entranced by his computer screen. From his expression and quick, repetitive hand movements, he was playing some kind of game.

  Shaye waited to be noticed. She was still waiting when Tanner cleared his throat. Loudly.

  The receptionist started. His eyes went wide as he realized he had company. Hastily he shut down the game.

  “You made good time,” he said hurriedly. “I—uh—” He looked down at his phone. “Unc—uh—Mr. Campbell is still on that conference call.” He stood up, displaying the gawky limbs and social unease that were as much a hallmark of geek as his neon shoes and matching shirt. “I’ll—uh—I’ll take you to the conference room.”

  “Thanks,” Shaye said, smiling.

  The receptionist blushed, making him look too young to drive.

  Tanner watched the kid as he took them to his leader. The geek didn’t walk so much as shamble, like he could only be bothered to move three-quarters of his body at a time. He could probably type faster than most people could think. On the computer, he was invincible. In reality, he was chained to a boring job.

  Get used to it, kid. People invented games because reality sucks.

  They walked down a long hallway broken by occasional doorways on either side. Several doors were half open, showing glimpses of what looked like a video room, then a room with displays and models of various Campbell projects, and a room with a large pool table and racks of cues on the wall.

  “My unc—uh—Mr. Campbell’s office is at the end of that hall,” their guide said. “The conference room is over here.” He opened the door to a medium-size room with a wall of glass facing the mountains and a circular table with upholstered leather chairs around it. “Can I get you some soda—uh—coffee or water?” When there were no takers, he said, “He’ll be here as soon as he’s off the phone.”