by Tracy March
Bryce ripped off a large chunk that exposed the door handle, and shifted his gaze to her. “Wanna try it?”
She reached for the burnished latch handle and pressed it down, expecting nothing but resistance.
Click.
The latch gave way and Holly’s heart hitched. She pushed the door open a few inches, and stepped aside. Bryce could take the lead through the hole they’d torn in the paneling. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go in at all, and she certainly didn’t want to go first.
“I can’t believe it’s not locked,” she said. “Why would someone go to the trouble of putting paneling over the door and then leave it open?”
“Guess they figured that once the gig was up, a lock wouldn’t make much difference.”
“Not to you and your cowboy boots, that’s for sure.”
Bryce shook his head. “That door would’ve been a different story.” Mischief danced in his eyes. “I would’ve picked the lock.”
“You’re a man of many talents, aren’t you, Mr. Bennett?”
Stepping close, he brushed a wood chip from a long layer of her hair, swept his fingers down its length, and tugged gently the ends. “Bet on it.”
Holly swallowed hard. She was betting on it all right. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d be all in way too soon.
He tipped his head toward the door. “You comin’ with me?”
At the moment, curiosity held a slight edge over creeped-out. “I didn’t help bust through that wall just to stand out here and look at the hole,” she said, sounding way more confident than she felt.
Bryce smiled slyly. “I like your spirit.” He handed her the lantern and grabbed the flashlight, aiming it at the slice of darkness beyond the doorway. Ducking low beneath the shards of paneling, he pushed open the door and wrested his way through the opening. Holly inched in behind him, her nerves in knots. Nothing good had ever come from the lodge in the past. Hopefully what they found in the suite would not follow suit.
Her heart thudded as she took in the scene in the lantern’s glow. The living area was fully furnished like an upscale mountain chalet—a caramel-colored leather couch, a cushiony chair upholstered in crimson suede. A thick artisan rug featured the same colors in a tasteful tribal pattern accented with ivory and brown. There was even a flat-screen television mounted on the wall above a rustic-yet-refined console. The place smelled closed-up, yet not as musty as the rest of the lodge.
“No way,” she murmured, still stunned by the contrast between what she’d expected and what they had found.
The dismayed look on Bryce’s face spoke for him. Shaking his head, he turned and walked into the bedroom. Holly stepped farther into the living area, imagining the view from the boarded-up windows and door, and the balcony outside—gorgeous Turquoise Lake down the mountain, the panorama of craggy mountain peaks in the distance.
But right now all she could see was what was on the inside, in dim and fuzzy light. She swung the lantern closer to the end table next to the couch where several yellowed, tabloid-sized newspapers were neatly stacked—the Thistle Bend Times, one from each week preceding the closing of the lodge nearly five years ago. Front-page articles about the lodge had been circled with a thick red marker, the color faded to nearly brown.
Strange…
On the lower shelf of the table was the only antique-looking item in the otherwise modernly appointed suite—a heavy-framed, 5x7 sepia-toned photograph of a distinguished-looking man, taken in a bygone era.
Late 1800s?
Holly picked up the picture and took a closer look. The man faced a little to the side, highlighting his strong nose and the upward tilt of his chin. His eyes were bright despite the serious set of his jaw, and his white hair was combed away from his face. He wore a high-collared shirt, with a dark tie and jacket—appearing confident and ready to get down to business.
Holly was certain she’d seen the same photograph before, yet she couldn’t place where. She set the picture on top of the newspapers, pulled her phone from her pocket, and took a snapshot of it. Any other time, she wouldn’t be so curious about the man’s identity. But since she’d found the photograph in this suite…
The more she saw, the more determined she was to learn the reason why these rooms were sealed off and preserved. Her instincts told her that indulging her curiosity would only lead to more animosity toward Adam Evanston and the lodge, but this secret suite was too strange to ignore.
She put the picture back on the bottom shelf of the end table and stepped into the bedroom, the lantern illuminating a fully made king-sized bed, complete with crimson accent pillows and a cozy, loosely woven throw lying across a rich ivory duvet. Bryce stood in front of a bureau, opening drawers and skimming the flashlight beam across their contents.
Holly inhaled deeply. “I smell women’s perfume.”
Stale, yet way too spicy with overripe florals.
She scrunched her nose, wishing she’d taken a much shallower breath. The scent was only a tinge in the musty air, but it definitely had some staying power.
“Because some woman left a bottle of perfume on its side in the top drawer and it must’ve leaked,” Bryce said. “It still smells strong—even after five years. So we’ve got stinkin’ perfume, drawers full of women’s clothes, and even a jewelry box over here, full of all kinds of bling.”
“She left her clothes and jewelry?” Holly joined him in front of the bureau, the modern black-lacquered jewelry box sitting on top and opened. “Who brings a jewelry box this size to a hotel—and then leaves it behind?” She checked out the glimmering bracelets, shiny necklaces, and flashy earrings. The styles were relatively recent, yet most were too fancy for Thistle Bend’s casual fashion scene. Several showy rings were lined up in the top tray. At the end of the row was a simple tarnished silver one, engraved with swirly script.
Holly brought the lantern closer to the jewelry box, and leaned down for a closer look. “There’s a monogram on this silver ring—VRS.”
Bryce stepped next to her, bending to get a glimpse, their bodies touching biceps to shoulder and thigh to thigh. She liked the sturdy feel of him—the hard lines of muscle, rock-solid and ready.
“Know anyone with those initials?” He stood straight, his brow furrowed.
“Not that I can think of.” Even so, something scratched at the back of Holly’s mind, eager to get to the front. She stepped over to the closet and opened it, finding the racks packed tightly with hanging clothes—dresses and blouses and slacks—most bold-colored or black. A shoe rack on the floor held at least a dozen pairs of heels, boots, and sandals, with more stored in boxes behind it. “Seems like the woman lived here,” Holly said. “There’s too much stuff here for her to have been just a guest.” Her stomach clenched and she scanned the room, wide-eyed, her jaw gone slack.
“What?” Bryce asked.
“There’s this rumor about the lodge that I never gave any credence to.” Truthfully, she’d had such an aversion to the place that she’d paid little attention to what anyone said about it. She’d worked to put the lodge out of her mind altogether, until Bryce had shown up and told her he was buying it. “But now…”
He leveled his gaze on hers, a new level of intensity in his eyes. “What’s the rumor?”
Tingles crept across her scalp. “That a woman disappeared from here shortly before it closed five years ago.”
Despite his tough exterior, Bryce seemed to go a little green, apparent even in the half-light.
“But she wasn’t reported missing, and the story was never verified.” Holly hurried to reassure him, considering he would be the new owner soon. “Some lodge employees were gossiping about it at the High Country Pub one night.” She’d stopped by their table to say hello and gotten an earful. “They were definitely a beer or two beyond their limits, and it was close to Halloween.” She lifted her shoulders. “Everyone likes to have a spooky story.”
“I’m not particularly up for that one,” Bryce said with an edge in hi
s voice.
Holly almost regretted having mentioned the rumor, but he was likely to hear it from someone. And if he was trying to make sense of this sealed-off suite…She shuddered.
Bryce shone the flashlight into the closet, shook his head, and strode over to the bedroom door. “I’ve seen enough. You ready to get out of here?”
Chapter 6
Bryce stepped out onto the lodge’s sprawling front deck with Holly gripping his arm lightly, just as she had all the way down from the fourth floor. He squinted against the blazing sun. Everything looked electric after the drab and dusty atmosphere inside—neon-blue sky, rich green trees, color bursts of wildflowers in yellow and pink and orange. He blinked a few times, taking a second for his senses to adjust.
If only it was as easy for my mind.
Holly hadn’t asked questions when he’d been ready to leave the suite upstairs. His plan for spending a carefree afternoon with her—and changing her mind about the lodge—had backfired as soon as they’d busted their way into the hidden suite. He hadn’t known what they’d find on the other side of that ragged hole in the wall, but he damn sure hadn’t expected it to be some creepy time capsule.
The jewelry. The clothes…even lingerie.
And several years’ worth of weekly newspapers in the bottom drawer of the bureau, random articles marked with thick, reddish circles. Bryce inhaled deeply, hoping the fresh air would get the hint of that cloying perfume out of his nose.
He and Holly had found a huge piece of plywood in the fourth-floor stairway foyer—likely meant for covering a window—and placed it over the hole in the paneling leading to the suite. There’d been no way to secure it, but odds were slim that anyone would break in, find their way up here, and figure out there was a hidden suite. If it hadn’t been for Holly’s keen observation, he wouldn’t have found out about it for a while himself. During inspections, or maybe even renovations. But it was best that it had happened now while he had some time to make sense of it—except that it had happened with Holly.
Bryce’s heart thrummed. Now she’d be curious, talking and asking people about it—especially considering the rumor she’d mentioned. But how could he convince her to keep quiet about it without telling her secrets he never wanted her to know?
You have no choice.
He had only a limited amount of time before someone else saw the suite. Holly was familiar with Thistle Bend, with its rumors and history and characters. They could figure this out together if she was willing. It would be their little secret and, if he was careful, he might be able to keep his big secret buried. He’d have to stay close to her, which he was eager and willing to do. Whatever she found out, so would he. Then, if needed, he could shift into damage control.
Did a woman disappear from the lodge?
His shoulders tensed as he mulled over several unanswered questions. Maybe together he and Holly could make sense of the suite and its former occupant. But there were some things he couldn’t allow her to see, such as the item he’d found in the bedroom and stowed in his backpack while she’d been in the living area. He’d have a closer look at it later, but he hoped she’d never see it at all.
He led her to a shady spot at the edge of the deck, where the railings were missing. Overhanging aspen branches formed a natural canopy, and the lake and mountains made for a killer view.
“Wanna sit?” he asked.
“Sure.” She gracefully leaned down, sat, and dangled her feet over the edge of the deck.
Bryce joined her, sitting close. “About that suite.” He risked a sidelong glance at her, hoping his eyes wouldn’t reveal the true depth of his concern. “I’ve gotta figure out why it was sealed off that way, why all those things were left behind, and who that stuff belongs to.” He struggled to stay positive, using present tense. But what woman would leave all those clothes and shoes behind—not to mention the jewelry and lingerie?
“I’d feel the same way if I was getting ready to buy this place,” Holly said.
He narrowed his gaze. “You curious about it?”
“Who wouldn’t be? Especially since I saw it for myself.”
Bryce rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“My curiosity?”
“No,” he said with a half grin. “I’m good with that—glad you’re here to share the strangeness. Maybe you can help me make sense of it. But the last thing I need is for a dead rumor to come back to life right about now.” He rested his hand just above her knee and squeezed gently. “Think we can keep this between us?”
Holly pressed her lips together tightly and gazed at the view for way too long. Bryce had almost become uncomfortable enough to say something when she shook her head and said, “I doubt it.”
His stomach lurched and he slid his hand away from her knee. Bowing his head, he stayed silent for a few seconds then cleared his throat. Heat flared in his face with each beat of his heart. He thought they had a good vibe going, and that she would understand. Granted, he hadn’t known her long, but he hadn’t pegged her as the gossipy type, nor the type that would sabotage his effort to get a positive start on his project. How deep was her animosity toward the lodge? Clearly his mission to change her mind about the place had failed.
“We’re going to need help,” she said. “But I think we can trust the people we’ll need to involve.”
A rush of relief poured through Bryce, leaving him feeling drained. Questioning his own judgment wore him out more than any extreme sport he’d ever tried. But he had to brace himself. He was likely to do plenty of second-guessing about his decision to buy the lodge. He could only hope he wouldn’t have any doubts when it came to Holly. She’d proven his intuition right this time, but they were just getting started.
“I think that deserves a toast.” He slid the straps of his backpack off his shoulders, unzipped it, and pulled out the bottle of Cottonwood Creek Pinot Noir he’d bought in town last night.
“You brought wine?” Her golden-brown eyes sparkled.
He handed her the bottle.
She read the label, nodding as he took two glasses from another compartment of his backpack. “I love Roy’s Pinot Noir. He drives here from Paonia every Sunday morning from June through September to sell his wines at the farmers market.”
Happy he’d made a good choice, Bryce leaned to one side, straightened his leg, and dug his camping knife out of the front pocket of his jeans. “Got a fancy corkscrew here,” he said, popping it out with a flick of his thumb.
She handed the bottle to him, her playful gaze set on his. “I’m counting on it.”
Bryce laughed, releasing some of the tension that had built up in his shoulders and neck. He opened the wine like a pro, even with a pocketknife corkscrew.
“Looks like you’ve had some practice with that thing,” Holly teased.
“Practice makes perfect.” He gave her a sultry smile. “At least that’s what they say.” He poured their glasses half full, corked the bottle, and set it beside him on the deck.
“Who is they?” She raised one eyebrow.
“The people who make up motivational mantras like that.” He handed Holly a glass, her fingers skimming over his as she took it from him.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you meant your girlfriends.”
“Hmm…Right now, there are none of those—singular or plural.” And there hadn’t been since his so-called relationship with Whitney had crashed and burned four months ago. There he’d been, thinking she was a hot, talented tech girl who had the luxury of working remotely one week out of every six, and the means to spend those weeks at his lodge in Costa Rica. She’d also had the means to rock his nights—silky dark hair, sultry brown eyes, a curvaceous body, and bold moves to match. Not usually his type, but he’d been willing to let her convince him otherwise. After her second visit, he’d invited her to bunk down at his villa.
During a year of consistent visits, he’d fallen good and hard for Whitney, even though she’
d preferred lounging by the pool to active adventures. Satisfied by their after-hours exploits, Bryce had adapted to their differences, buying into the age-old adage that opposites attract. He’d planned to ask her to move to Costa Rica and live with him. But when the time had come for her next visit, he’d gotten a short text from her…
Can’t make it this week.
And that had been the end of it. For weeks, his calls and texts to her went unanswered. He had no clue what had happened until he drank too much one night, checked her Facebook page, and saw that her cover photo had been changed to a shot of her engagement announcement.
Bryce shook off the memory, and lifted his glass to Holly, hoping like hell that he was finally moving on. “So I guess you’ll have to be the judge.”
Holly gave him a demure look that would slay even the strongest-willed, red-blooded man. It got him right between the pecs and shot straight down, stirring up trouble.
“Here’s to solving the suite mystery with people we can trust,” he said.
She tapped her glass against his, took a long sip of wine, and savored it, her lips poised for kissing.
Good God, how long can I resist?
Bryce took a slug of his wine, the second best thing he could think of to do with his mouth right now. At least it was a pretty darn good Pinot.
“I liked the walk-through,” she said. “You’ve got some great ideas for the place. It sounds as if you know a thing or two about the hospitality business.”
He relaxed a little, since the suite subject was settled for now. “You could say that.”
She looked up at him and grinned. “I just did.”
Bryce nudged her shoulder and stayed close. “I’ve had a little practice. I own an adventure lodge in Costa Rica.” He could’ve sworn she tensed, but he couldn’t be certain.
“Wow. Costa Rica?” She toyed with her long, chunky necklace, seeming lost in thought as she rolled one of the lavender stones between her fingers and stared at the view.
“Yep. I didn’t know jack about running a lodge until I inherited Los Halcón and got tossed into some intense on-the-job training.”
