by Sheryl Lynn
She chuckled softly. “I know he’s worried about leaving us shorthanded. Tell him to call his supervisor in a few days. Don’t worry about his paycheck or his job. I understand about emergencies. You take care of yourself, all right? I hope your husband gets to feeling better soon.”
She hung up and sighed. “We can eliminate Phil Rowe as a suspect. His father had a heart attack. He left the resort yesterday evening. Hand me his file, please.” She opened the folder and made another call. She ordered flowers sent to his parents’ address.
“That’s two down.” She made a frustrated noise and eyed him expectantly.
Another suspect, a housekeeper, had twisted her ankle last night while dancing. Her supervisor had taken her to the emergency room. Unless she’d somehow managed to vandalize the Tahoe while hobbling on crutches and doped-up on painkillers, Daniel felt satisfied she wasn’t Pinky. He wished he could narrow the suspect list further.
Daniel joined the family in the private dining room for lunch. The meal consisted of leek soup, turkey salad and crusty whole-grain rolls still warm from the oven. As Daniel ate the delicious food he warned himself to watch out or he’d gain twenty pounds during his stay at Elk River. He still hadn’t taken his run or worked out in the gym.
Elise and Kara fussed over him, expressing their fear about the death threat carved into the Tahoe’s paint job. The colonel assured him that the resort would pay for the damage. Daniel liked the attention; he liked this family. He especially liked the way Janine planted herself between him and her sister.
“I’ll include the damages in my final bill to Janine.” He smiled blandly at her. When she ignored him he guessed she hadn’t informed her family about their barter deal. He savored the idea of vacationing in the Honeymoon Hide-away—with Janine wearing jewel-colored lingerie while bathing him in champagne.
Keeping an eye on the open doorway, he lowered his voice. “I’ve narrowed the list of suspects to seven.” The family leaned toward him, listening intently. “Brian Cadwell, Devon Hightower, Jill Pruett, Ellen Schulberg, Lanny Lewis, Craig Johnson and Jason Bulshe. Any comments?”
Elise looked confused. “Can you explain why you believe they are suspects? They’re all pleasant, hardworking young people. We haven’t had a speck of trouble from any of them.”
“Yeah.” Kara wrinkled her nose. “That’s a weird list.”
“First off, understand these are the most likely suspects. Pinky could prove to be an exception.”
“Why these particular people?” Elise asked.
“First, they are all new hires. All of them are single—”
“Jill isn’t,” Kara said. “I mean, she isn’t married, but she is engaged. She’s got a ring and everything. Her boyfriend has visited a couple times. I’ve met him. He works in Cripple Creek.”
“Good, we’re down to six.” He crossed Jill Pruett’s name off the list. “Anyone else?” When everyone remained silent, he continued. “All of them list Colorado Springs addresses before working here. All of them are under twenty-five years old.”
“Isn’t that rather discriminatory, Daniel?” Elise chided gently. “Young people have such a bad reputation these days. I believe it is undeserved.”
“Pinky definitely suffers from an antisocial personality disorder. He could be a full-blown sociopath. The behavior shows up early. He may have stalked another victim, or committed other crimes. He may have a drug or alcohol abuse problem. That none of your employees has a criminal record tells me he isn’t old enough to have been caught. Unfortunately, I don’t know a legal way to check juvenile records. The authorities may or may not find a sympathetic judge to unseal the records. We can’t depend on that happening.”
He waited for other questions or objections. “All the suspects hold unskilled jobs that require minimum contact with the public. The people in maintenance and housekeeping have free run of the lodge. Devon Hightower, in the stable, and Brian Cadwell, in the kitchen, are more restricted. I included them because they’re new and so probably spend a lot of time running errands and fetching supplies.”
“Have you given this list of suspects to the police?” Elise asked.
“I have.”
“None of them are crazy,” Kara said.
“Understand, personality disorders, even sociopathy, don’t make people insane. That Pinky managed to get hired and conceal his identity tells me he’s extremely high-functioning. He may have so compartmentalized his life that he’s totally unfazed by the cops. If he’s a sociopath, then he understands he’ll get in trouble if he’s caught, but he doesn’t believe his actions are wrong. He’s an effective liar.”
“Based upon what you’re telling us,” the colonel said, “is there enough evidence to muster out this group of people?”
“We can’t even consider that, dear,” Elise said. “It would be unwarranted and unfair for all of them to suffer for the actions of one.”
Janine nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t solve the problem, anyway.” She glanced at Daniel and he urged her to continue. “Losing his job might slow him down, but it won’t stop him. Plus, it’ll give him that much more reason to hate you, Colonel.”
“Then he might burn down the lodge.” Kara darted nervous glances at the door. “But, Daniel, it can’t be anyone on your list. They’re all so...normal. They’re nice. Well, except for Devon.” She made a disgusted face. “I can’t understand him when he talks. He’s so shy it’s pathetic.”
Daniel made a note of her comment. “What I want is for Janine to hold a meeting with these employees.”
“Will Pinky confess?” Kara asked.
“I doubt it,” Daniel replied. “I want to see their reactions. Pick up some clues.”
Janine shook her head as if chasing flies. “I can’t hold a staff meeting with you present. It’s unprofessional.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
The colonel cleared his throat. “We have a specific SOP, Daniel.”
“What’s that?”
“Standard operating procedure,” Elise translated. “This is an exception, dear. It falls outside our policy manuals.”
“Way outside.” Daniel touched the side of Janine’s hand with the tip of his little finger. He tried to tell her with his eyes that he understood her reluctance to make her personal life public. And he was sorry. “We’ll put the onus on me. I’ll play the bad guy. Maybe I can provoke a reaction.”
“How do I justify accusing these six?”
He leaned his chin on a fist and mulled over what would really drive Pinky crazy. The stalker knew he’d broken the law and could go to jail. He wished he had Pinky’s correspondence back from the police. As cagey as the stalker was about concealing his identity, he revealed pieces of himself in his writing. Rage was the key, but there was something else, too.
“Well?” Janine freshened his coffee cup. “What’s your big plan?”
It hit him. Pinky believed Janine knew his identity. In his deluded state, he thought they shared a secret. Shattering the illusion should rattle Pinky’s cage.
“I’ll do the accusing. I’ll play the jerk boyfriend and you play the eager-to-please cupcake trying to make me happy at Pinky’s expense. It’ll drive him nuts.”
“It’ll never work,” Janine said. “All you’ll accomplish is offending valuable, innocent employees. And if you think finding good workers willing to live so far from the city is easy, think again. We’re understaffed as it is.”
“They’ll be offended by me, not you. You have to do something else. You have to make it clear you do not know who Pinky is.”
“But I don’t know.”
“He thinks otherwise. If I had the letters, I could show you what I mean. I have a hunch that by double-teaming him, we can make him angry enough to reveal himself. You have to convince him you aren’t on his side.”
“That won’t be difficult.”
The colonel stirred his coffee so hard that the spoon rat- tled the cup. “I do not approve of this tactic.
”
“I don’t, either,” Elise said. She held up a hand as if to ward off interruptions. “But I understand where Daniel is going with this.” Her calm gaze touched each person before settling on Daniel. “Will he attack you? Or attack Janine?”
A stalker’s greatest weapon: fear of making him angry. Stalking and harassment were as much mental and emotional crimes as they were physical. He understood the family’s reluctance. They were nice people who played by the rules. They couldn’t comprehend the stalker’s mental processes. “I’m prepared for that eventuality, ma’am. If he gets physical, I will stop him.”
The colonel harrumphed louder and more grumpily than before. Before he could object, Janine spoke. “All right. You know what you’re doing, Daniel, so I have to trust you. I’ll set up the meeting.”
Feeling good about the possibility of forcing Pinky into tipping his hand, Daniel strolled out of the dining room. He slid an arm around Janine’s waist. She shoved his arm away. She walked quickly, her heels snapping like gun shots. He lengthened his stride to keep up with her.
“You just love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
He lifted an eyebrow at her non sequitur. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“No.”
He caught her arm. She half stumbled before catching her balance, but he maintained his hold. “You’re mad at me again.”
She averted her gaze. Her lower lip pushed out, very young and very kissable. He wished he could take her away from here. Someplace with a beach and fruity drinks and glorious sunsets.
“I’m not mad at you.” She spoke softly, for his ears only. “I’m just...angry.”
“Pinky’s really screwing up your life. I understand.”
The anger seemed to drain from her face and body, leaving her with slumped shoulders. Moisture shone in her eyes and her chin trembled. He guided her toward her office. Without a word she unlocked the door and entered. She went to the watercooler, but made no move to fill a cup. Instead she stood with her back to Daniel, her head lowered, her body perfectly still.
He wanted to comfort her, but instinct said she needed privacy to pull herself together.
Finally she sighed and turned around. “How did you stand it when you were stalked? How did you cope? I’m finding it harder and harder to leave my room. I have nightmares. I want to scream at people. Everyone looks guilty.”
He perched on the corner of her desk. Her office was too utilitarian, he decided. She needed some toys to liven the place up. Or a nice philodendron in a colorful pot. “My problem was the opposite of yours. My life’s an open book. If you want to know something, just ask. When she started stalking me I talked to her, but attention reinforced her delusion. My family blamed me for encouraging her. So did my friends. The cops showed more hostility toward me than toward her. Everyone was a critic. I’m too friendly, I flirt too much, I lead women on. I send mixed signals.”
“I bet that hurt.”
“What hurt the most was the guilt. I began second-guessing everything I did or said. I felt isolated. Trapped. I didn’t know who my friends were. When she committed suicide, I blamed myself. It took me a long time to get angry over the way she manipulated me. Mental illness aside, she knew exactly what she was doing. She had no right.”
“Is that why you keep reminding my father how Pinky isn’t my fault?”
“I’m reminding you. Stalkers get away with their crimes because it’s so hard for people to realize who the real victim is.” He held out a hand. As if tugged by a string she approached and laid her slender hand on his palm. He folded his fingers over hers. “I don’t want anybody to suf fer the way I suffered. Nobody should ever feel that alone, or that helpless.”
“I am glad you’re helping me.” She lifted her gaze. Her violet eyes were sad. “You’re not an easy man to work with.”
He stroked her fine skin with his thumb. Visions of her wearing green satin lingerie filled his imagination, then faded behind more vivid images of her smiling and happy and glad to be alive. Images he yearned to make reality. “I’m a nice guy.”
“With an ulterior motive.”
He nodded earnestly. “As soon as I get rid of Pinky, I’m going to work on you.”
She jerked her hand away from his.
“I’m not making a pass.” He showed his palms in a gesture of innocence. “I’m not being crude. But if you’ll take the time to get to know me, you’ll like me.”
“Like you?”
“And more.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Pardon the cliché, but this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Her luscious mouth curved in a tight, dangerous smile. She moved around the desk, each action deliberately taunting him. He followed the sway of her hips and the movements of her hands. She settled daintily on the chair and stroked a finger against a stray curl, brushing it away from her cheek. “You’re wasting your time. I am not interested. My life is full. I have everything I want.”
Maybe she didn’t want to admit it, but she was definitely interested. He rested on an elbow, putting them at eye level “Not interested at all?”
“Not in the slightest. You aren’t my type.” She reached past him. Her hand brushed his arm. He felt her heat through his sweater. His skin tingled.
“What is your type?”
“Not you.” She pulled a stack of papers from the Inbox. “Get off my desk.”
“Tell me what your type is.”
She plucked a pen from a holder and began reading an order form. She kept her gaze firmly on the paper, but Daniel knew she was aware of him. Faint color had appeared on her cheeks, and she exhaled loudly.
“You know I’m your type,” he whispered. “You’ve been waiting for me all your life.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
He pushed off the desk and sauntered to the couch. He flopped on the cushions and hooked his hands behind his neck. “You’re thinking about me right now. I can tell.”
“Of course I’m thinking about you. You will not shut up. So, please, be quiet.”
With a prissy expression on her face, she wrote on the order form, folded it, inserted it in an envelope and sealed it. Her daintily flicking tongue turned him hot and cold inside. She affixed a stamp and a return address label. She began writing on the next sheet of paper, then frowned and scribbled on a scratch pad. Still prissy, she stuck the pen in the electric pencil sharpener.
Anguished grinding made her jerk the pen out of the sharpener.
“Good thing you aren’t thinking about me,” Daniel mused. “Might do something dumb.”
JANINE SWALLOWED two aspirin neat. She suspected they wouldn’t help. Curing her apprehension about the upcoming confrontation would take a lot more than over-the-counter analgesics. She downed the requisite glass of water and shifted on the chair. Paperwork spread out on the conference table demanded her attention, but her concentration was shot.
Not that she feared confrontations. Running Elk River smoothly and seeing to the comfort of occasionally difficult guests meant daily confrontations of some type or another. Over the years she’d grown adept at handling conflicts in a cool, even-handed manner. Business conflicts. Impersonal conflicts.
She checked her watch. The six employees on Daniel’s suspect list would be arriving soon. Her temples throbbed.
Despite Daniel’s arguments to the contrary, she did blame herself. If only she hadn’t carelessly lost her Day-Timer... if only she’d aggressively ferreted out Pinky’s identity when he first began sending letters and tapes...if only she had somehow recognized him before she hired him...if only she’d controlled her temper despite Les Shuemaker’s provocation...if only she hadn’t agreed to Daniel’s crazy plan and angered Pinky so much that he’d burned down the garage.
Her bumbling threatened her father’s life and her fam ily’s livelihood. How could she not feel guilty?
She especially hated being cornered into putting her private life on display. Within hours after this meeting everyone
on staff would know about Pinky. She’d be the subject of gossip. Behind her back people would laugh and point fingers and delight in how Little Miss Perfect got her comeuppance.
She looked around the room. The lodge had three conference rooms; this was the smallest With only one table and eight chairs, bare walls and every bank of fluorescent lights turned on, it looked rather forbidding. The flat carpeting did little to dampen noise. The sound of her breathing seemed to echo off the high ceiling.
“Head hurt?” Daniel asked.
Impotent anger and fear were giving her chronic headaches and perhaps an ulcer. She couldn’t remember what feeling good felt like. “I’m okay.”
She shuffled papers aimlessly. The anniversary party loomed, and she still had a zillion details to tend to. She needed to track down the cases of champagne she’d ordered, but which hadn’t been delivered yet. The decorations weren’t ready.
Throw Daniel Tucker with his sexy smiles and piercing copper eyes into the mix and her life was shot.
Damn him.
She did not like him. No way, no how. She didn’t like pretty men. She didn’t like flirts. She didn’t like being pursued. She knew what he really wanted, a one-night stand. A hot, heavy, temporary tryst. Fun and games. After suf fering nights of fantasizing about him in his fancy boxer shorts, he tempted her far more than she’d ever admit to anyone.
Double damn him.
As if he hadn’t a care in the world, he lounged on a chair with his feet kicked up on a table. He played with a small wooden puzzle, twisting and turning the pieces in an attempt to shape it into a ball.
“All those aspirin will eat holes in your stomach,” he said. “Do you get migraines?”
“No. It’s probably my eyes. I think I need reading glasses.
He chuckled. “I had to get reading glasses last year, but they make me look like a nerd. I’m thinking about laser surgery.”
His vanity bemused her. He treated his conceit like a joke.
The door opened and Jason Bulshe poked his head into the conference room. Pinky? Janine wondered as she beckoned for him to enter. In her nightmares Pinky looked like a lizard, dark and sly, never blinking, slithering through the shadows. Craig Johnson, Ellen Schulberg and Brian Cadwell followed Jason into the room. Jason and Craig looked like typical Colorado ski bums with their longish hair, sunburned faces, baggy jeans and cock-of-the-walk athleticism. Brian was dark, short and pudgy as if he freely sampled the goodies he helped create in the kitchen. Ellen, still wearing her housekeeping uniform, nervously tucked strands of lank brown hair behind her ears.
