Her hands trembled and she curled them into fists.
“If he did,” she said. “They never called him. They never wrote him a letter. The marshals monitored everyone who made contact with Nick while he was in prison. According to them, at the time of Nick’s death, he hadn’t had a visitor in over three years.”
She massaged her temples. The questions just kept circling and circling. Walt had always been protective of her. Had the killer come for her and stumbled upon Walt instead? How much danger was Shane in?
“Well,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “We’re not going to figure it out tonight. The best thing we can both do is get some rest and tackle this in the morning with a clear head.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. I don’t blame you for being scared. I’m doing everything I can to monitor the situation. I’ve got security in place. I doubt this guy will make a move without an escape plan, and that’s at least another day out.”
He did look exhausted. He was trapped here without any backup and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Everyone in the borough depended on him.
Who did Shane lean on when he needed a break?
Adding to his burden, he had the safety of the people at the resort to think about. There’d been a slim chance the murderer hadn’t taken refuge at the resort. The postcard changed everything.
Now they were faced with a resort full of suspects—any one of them could be the killer, and they were all in danger.
Shane’s words kept ringing in her ears. Is there anything you like about me?
That was the problem—she liked too much about him. If her cover was blown, she’d have to start over again. That meant a new name and a new location. That meant leaving everything behind, including Shane.
The only way she’d have a secure future was by erasing the past completely once more. This was his home and his community. She couldn’t drag him into the danger and uncertainty of her future. Their breakup was for the best and he deserved better. Except there was a heaviness in her chest that hadn’t been there before.
He’d closed his eyes and rested the back of his head on the chair. On impulse, she circled around him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
His eyes startled open.
She swept one hand gently down his face, guiding them closed once more.
The space between them dissolved. She kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders, then pressed her thumbs against the tight cords of his neck. He whistled a soft sigh through his teeth.
She slid her fingers into the soft strands of his hair and massaged his scalp. The scent of his hair teased her senses. He smelled like the outdoors, of winter days. She thought back to all the hours she’d spent on the dog sleds at Denali. There were days when she didn’t see another person. Days when the dogs would curl up to rest and the only sound had been the wind whistling through the pine trees. Those had been good times. Peaceful times.
She slid her hands to his shoulders once more. His head was tipped back though he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared. There were lines around the edges of his mouth marking the quiet burden of concern he carried with him constantly.
He crossed one arm over his chest and caught her fingers, stilling her hand. “It’s all right.” He carefully tugged her around to stand before him. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”
Her face heated and she stepped back. “I know how hard you’re working. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner.”
He pushed himself to sit up straight. “It’s been a long day for everyone.”
“Yes.”
Not since the trial had she told anyone about what happened to Jack that day. Even when Jack was facing death, he’d been looking out for her. He’d tried to protect her knowing he couldn’t save himself. His final gesture had been one of sacrifice.
What had Walt been thinking in his final moment?
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hear his words. Just the echoes of his voice. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her brain to recall something. Even a single word. Anything that might give them a sliver of a clue.
“There’s something else. I’m not sure how to explain it.”
She tried to wrap her head around what she wanted to say. She kept seeing Jack’s face but Walt’s voice. Why?
“What’s that?” Shane nudged her.
“Walt and the other man were arguing.” She closed her eyes. “It didn’t sound as though either of them had the upper hand, you know?”
His forehead creased. “I’m not sure I do.”
She opened and closed her hands, reaching for the right words. “When Nick was pointing the gun at Jack, he was confident. He was in control. Jack was scared. He was pleading.”
Her voice caught and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the rush of emotion.
“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Shane said. “Walt’s voice sounded angry instead of afraid.”
“Exactly! Walt was mad, sure. But he didn’t sound scared.”
Then again, Walt had worked with the marshals at one time in his life. He’d had professional training in dealing with dangerous situations. Which still didn’t explain the anger. She’d expect Walt to cajole or pacify—not escalate the situation.
“I’ll make a note of what you said. It might be important for intent.” Shane started toward the door, then stopped and pivoted. “Are you okay? You’ve been through a lot already, and that’s a lot to dig up.”
For a precious moment she allowed herself to imagine that things were different. That she was different. She allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be loved by Shane. He embraced the town with his whole heart. What would it be like to have him love her the same way?
When she feared she was sinking too deep into the fantasy, she stepped away. “I’m tired.”
The past was never really the past. That was the one constant in her life. Whenever it looked like things were going well, disaster struck. Shane was a part of her life she’d treasured, and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn’t want to see his disappointment if he discovered the whole truth about her.
She’d already seen the doubt in his eyes when she spoke about the WITSEC program. The more they dug into her case, the more likely he was to find out about her own criminal history. She didn’t want to risk losing Shane’s trust, not when they were trapped with limited resources.
“Rest is the best medicine,” he said. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”
Though she hadn’t seen Walt killed, when she closed her eyes, she pictured the scene from all those years ago—only it was Walt’s face instead of Jack’s.
She clasped her hands before her. “Would you stay until I fall asleep?”
Asking him was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. If he refused, she’d be humiliated. She held her breath, her heart beating as hard as it had when the killer was shooting at them.
“Yes,” he replied.
Her pulse spiked. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ve got about ten thousand emails to sort through on my phone. I needed a chance to catch up anyway.”
She’d gotten herself worked up for nothing. There was no great concession on his part. He’d have been doing the same thing right next door. No wonder he’d agreed. Still, she appreciated his presence.
She crossed the room to the bedroom suite, then grasped the handle to close the door behind her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The moment her head hit the pillow, she felt as though she was falling and falling and falling.
She’d survived a lot of things in her life, but she didn’t know if she’d survive being the cause of Walt’s death.
* * *
Shane lingered in the hallway outside Kara’s d
oor the following morning. She’d fallen asleep the previous evening almost immediately. He wasn’t surprised. She was physically and emotionally drained. He’d arranged for security outside her door when he wasn’t available.
Now that they had proof the killer was at the resort, the safety of Kara and the other guests was paramount. Though he believed Kara was the only target in true danger, he had a responsibility for everyone’s safety. He’d spoken to his stepbrother and Graham had alerted the guests of the danger. They’d instructed the guests to use extra caution and to travel in pairs. Beyond that, there wasn’t much more he could do.
The hotel security guard had brought a folding chair and a book and stationed himself facing the door. Shane recognized him from town as Ryan Redington, though everyone called him Red. He was in his thirties with a boyish face and a wispy ginger beard that he’d been trying to grow since he was nineteen.
Red flipped the page and glanced at Shane. “Do you need something?”
What did he need? Why was he still standing here?
“No, um, you’ve got my number if there’s any trouble.”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
He was tired of operating on the defensive. Jeff had more resources back at the station, but Shane had been doing research on the computer in the business center. He’d wanted to see what he could dig up on Nick Amato and his “associate.” See if there’d been any updates. Given his current isolation, he was operating on a trust-but-verify basis from now on.
The business center was located in a deserted wing off the first floor. In summer the cavernous room hosted retirement parties and wedding receptions. The business center was usually deserted. While guests liked to know they had a printer at their disposal, they rarely took advantage of the perk.
Shane was punching in the key code for the door when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Keeping his head bent over the keypad, he pretended he hadn’t noticed.
After counting to ten, he turned in the direction of the movement. Since he wasn’t exactly light on his feet or inconspicuous, he decided to give whoever it was a head start.
He turned the corner and followed the hallway to the exit sign. He’d explored every inch of this hotel as a kid. While the security camera footage had been updated from video cassettes to DVDs to digital files, the layout was the same. There were plush carpeted hallways for the guests and tile corridors behind the scenes to make it easy to move staff and supplies discreetly from one end of the resort to the other.
Stepping through the metal door to the staff area was like entering a different world. The air was chilly instead of a comfortable seventy-two degrees, and his boots echoed off the tile instead of sinking into soft pile carpeting.
A serviceable open staircase led to the penthouse suites on the third floor and to the service corridors in the basement, one floor down.
While much of the rest of the building was covered by security cameras, he didn’t spot any in the stairwell. There hadn’t been any growing up, either. Something he and his friends had exploited more than once to sneak out.
Acting on instinct, he took the stairs down to the service corridors. The lights were on, and a rush of nostalgia took him by surprise. The hotel had been remodeled numerous times over the years. Down here, nothing had changed. The walls were painted the same industrial beige and the air had the same loamy basement scent he recalled from his youth.
Even the echo of his boots on the tile floor was familiar.
When he reached the center of the hotel there was a ramp to his right, which he knew led to the kitchen.
He turned left and took the stairs to the lobby. This area was the same. There was a security camera aimed at the front desk. Nothing covered the lobby exit.
This had been the best way to sneak out of the hotel when he was growing up. Back then, the cameras weren’t quite as state-of-the-art as they were now, but they’d been in the same places.
Mark, the resort manager, glanced up. “May I help you, sir?” he inquired in a tone that indicated he’d like to do nothing of the sort.
“Did you see someone come through here a moment ago?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Shane prodded. “Did you recognize the person?”
“I should hope so. It was my assistant, Marie. She was delivering sundries to one of the guests.”
Sure enough, a slight woman in a maid’s uniform appeared to the right of Mark and glanced at Shane expectantly.
“Is there something wrong, sir?”
“No. Nothing.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Did you discover who left the envelope for Dr. Riley last evening, Mark?”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “No. There are blind spots in the hotel.”
“You seem familiar with the blind spots.”
“Most of the hotel employees grew up in town. Their parents worked here before them. I’d say almost everyone in Kodiak Springs is aware of the blind spots in this hotel.” Mark bent his head and typed something onto the screen before him. “I recall hearing stories of your own exploits, Sergeant Taylor.”
Shane bounced his fist off the counter. “The tales of my exploits are greatly exaggerated.”
A slight smile appeared on the perpetually stoic manager’s face. “I’m sure they are, sir.”
Shane pivoted toward the stairs once more. What was wrong with him? He didn’t have time to chase staff around the hotel. Dissolving into paranoia wasn’t going to help anything.
Retracing his steps, he returned to the door for the staff exit once more and paused. There was still quite a bit of activity in the lobby. People drifted from the restaurant to the ornate bar. In warmth and safety, they watched as the blizzard raged outside the window. Edison bulb lights strung around the outdoor summer patio waved wildly in the wind.
He studied the myriad of faces, wondering who in the crowd might have a vendetta to settle. No one jumped out at him. They all looked wealthy and relaxed. Exactly as you’d expect someone to look at a seventeen-hundred-dollar-a-night resort.
He went back to the business center and typed his credentials into the computer. He sent an email to Jeff asking him to look up information in the national data exchange, then settled in for the long haul.
He spent the next two hours chasing links down endless rabbit holes. He’d done plenty of searches on Nick Amato already. Now he wanted to know more about the day of the killing.
The pad to his right was soon filled with pages of notes. He found nothing about Kara beyond a vague reference to a witness. True to their word, the DA had kept Kara’s name out of the papers. The killing of a repo man in Florida fifteen years ago had barely rated a story on the third page of the Florida Times-Union.
There was, however, an interview with a woman who described herself as the deceased’s girlfriend. Shane made a note of the name. Kara had mentioned that her mom had already broken up with Jack, but some people liked the attention of the news cameras. The woman had made a plea for donations to cover the cost of funeral expenses. There were no pictures of the funeral. If there had been, would he have found Kara in the crowd? What had she looked like, all those years ago? How much had she changed?
She was still holding something back. He didn’t need his detective skills to realize Kara was ashamed of her past.
There was nothing new to discover about Nick Amato. He’d been nothing more than a low-level thug for most of his life. Several untimely deaths had moved him up the ranks until he controlled most of the sketchier neighborhoods in Jacksonville.
Nick had kept a fairly low profile until a dustup in Miami. An undercover cop had been killed in the crossfire of a turf war. Just like that, Nick had gone from lowlife to the big time. He eluded arrest for five years before his son’s car was repossessed—with a number of stolen guns in the trunk.
S
hane jumped to the story of Nick’s funeral, which only “a handful of mourners attended.” He studied the scattering of faces. It appeared as though only a couple of reporters had covered it.
On a hunch, he searched for the name of the woman who’d claimed she was Jack’s girlfriend at the time of his death. The one who’d been collecting donations for the funeral. Six months after Jack’s murder, one Ms. Elena Williams pled guilty to felony theft by conversion after the money she’d collected never actually found its way to the funeral home.
He’d seen a lot of despicable people in his time as a trooper, and even he was shocked by people who stole in the name of the dead.
The woman was given two years in prison and eight months’ probation. That might explain why Kara had been willing to enter the program alone at such a young age. If Ms. Williams was her mother, she didn’t sound like much of a parent.
Shane added the information about Ms. Williams to his growing stack of notes. With a yawn, he arched his back and stretched, lifting his fisted hands above his head.
For old time’s sake, when he left the business center he took the tunnel again. Everything he’d learned over the past few days had made him melancholy. Maybe it was time to sweep some of the cobwebs out of his head. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t powerless. Any echoes of his childhood were just that—echoes.
He’d crafted a life where he was in control at all times. He did his best at his job, and when things didn’t turn out the way he wanted, he let it go. Most things, anyway. Some calls stayed with him. Mostly the domestic disturbance calls. They always came from the same houses. He always went through the same procedures. He always said the same prayers.
At least he was there to defuse the situations. The people he worried most about were the ones who didn’t make the call.
At the bottom of the steps, he hesitated. Maybe he’d swing by the kitchen and see if he could snatch a dessert, like he’d done when he was a kid. He knew just where cake was stored.
He’d made it as far as the landing when the corridor was plunged into darkness. His senses on alert, he reached for the flashlight on his utility belt.
Arctic Christmas Ambush Page 9
