by Cassie Miles
He came out from behind his desk to shake hands with both of them. His gaze fixed on her face. “Why does your name sound familiar?”
“I’m a legal assistant working with Damien Loughlin. I’ll be attending the investors’ meetings this week.”
“Of course.” His professional smile gave the impression of warmth and concern. “I’ve worked with Damien. His help was invaluable when we were setting up our wine lists.”
“Mr. Chandler,” Brady said, “I’d like to talk with your hotel security.”
“Sorry, the man in charge has gone home for the day. We’re still in the process of hiring our full security team.”
“His name?”
“Grant Jacobson. He’s from one of our sister hotels, and he comes highly recommended.”
“Call him,” Brady said. “In the meantime, I need access to all video surveillance as well as to several of the guest rooms on the fifth and sixth floors. There’s reason to believe a violent assault was committed in one of these rooms.”
“First problem,” Chandler said, “most of our video surveillance isn’t operational.”
“We’ll make do with what have.”
“And I’d be happy to show you the vacant rooms,” he said. “But I can’t allow our guests to be disturbed.”
“This is a police investigation.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t—”
“Suit yourself.” When Brady drew himself up to his full height, he made an impressive figure of authority. “If you refuse to help, I’ll knock on the doors myself and announce that I’m from the sheriff’s department.”
Chandler’s smile crumpled. “That would be disruptive.”
Brady pivoted and went toward the office door. “We’re wasting time.”
She followed him to the elevator. His long-legged stride forced her to jog to keep up. Chandler came behind her.
On the fifth floor, Brady turned to her. “It wasn’t the corner room, right?”
She nodded. “Not the corner.”
He went to the next door. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.
Hurriedly, Chandler stepped in front of him and used the master card to unlock the door. “This room is vacant. Can you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”
Without responding, Brady entered the room and switched on the light. The decor was an attractive mix of rust and sky-blue, but the layout of the furniture wasn’t what Sasha had seen through the binoculars. “It wasn’t this room,” she said. “There was a small table near the window. And a ficus tree.”
“You’re describing one of our suites,” Chandler said. “Those units have more living space and two separate bedrooms.”
“I don’t see signs of a disturbance,” Brady said. “Let’s move on.”
“The room next door is a suite,” Chandler said. “It’s occupied, and I would appreciate your discretion.”
“Sure thing.”
Brady’s eyes were cold and hard. It was obvious that he’d do whatever necessary to find what he was looking for, and she liked his determination.
The door to the next room was opened by a teenage girl with pink-and-purple-striped leggings. The rest of the family lounged in front of the TV. Though this didn’t appear to be the place, Brady verified with the family that they’d been here for the past two hours.
“No one is booked in the next suite,” Chandler said.
“Could someone unauthorized have used it?” Brady asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Open up.”
Though the layout was similar to the one she’d seen, Sasha noticed that instead of a ficus there was a small Norfolk pine. Brady made a full search anyway, going from room to room. In the kitchenette, he looked for dishes that had been used. And he paid special attention to the bedrooms, checking to see if the beds were mussed and looking under the duvet at the sheets.
“Why are the beds important?” she asked.
“If he carried a body from the room, he might need to wrap it in something, like a sheet.”
A shudder went through her. She didn’t want to think of that attractive, vivacious woman as a dead body, much less as a dead body that needed to be disposed of. The excitement of acting like a cop took on a sinister edge.
On the sixth floor, they continued their search. As soon as she entered room 621, Sasha knew she was in the right place. There was a table by the window, and she recognized the leafy green ficus that had obscured her view of the man in the turtleneck. The room was empty.
“As you can plainly see,” Chandler said, “there are no plates on the table. According to my records, this room is vacant until Friday night.”
Brady’s in-depth search came up empty. No dishes were missing, the beds appeared untouched, and there wasn’t a smear of blood on the sand-colored carpet. But she was certain this had been the view she’d seen. “This is the right room. I know what I saw.”
“What were they eating?” Brady asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Think, Sasha.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated. In her mind’s eye, she saw the dark-haired woman gazing across the table as she set down her glass on the table. She poked at her food and lifted her chopsticks. “Chinese,” she said. “They were eating Chinese food.”
“I believe you,” Brady said. “I can smell it.”
She inhaled a deep breath. He was right. The aroma of stir-fried veggies and ginger lingered in the air.
“That’s ridiculous,” Chandler said. “None of our hotel restaurants serve Chinese food. And I don’t smell anything.”
“It’s faint,” Brady agreed.
“Even if someone was in this room,” the hotel manager said, “they’re gone now. And I see no evidence of wrongdoing. I appreciate your thoroughness, Deputy. But enough is enough.”
“I’m just getting started,” Brady said. “I need to talk to your staff, starting with the front desk.”
Though Chandler sputtered and made excuses, he followed Brady’s instructions. In the lobby, he gathered the three front-desk employees, four bellmen and three valets. Several of them gave Brady a friendly nod as though they knew him. He introduced her.
“Ms. Campbell is going to give you a description. I need to know if this woman is staying here.”
Sasha cleared her throat and concentrated, choosing her words carefully. “She’s attractive, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Her hair is black and long, past her shoulders. When I saw her, she was wearing a white jumpsuit and a gold bib necklace, very fancy. It looked like flower petals.”
One of the bellmen raised his hand. “I carried her suitcases. She’s on the concierge level, room 917.”
“Wait a minute,” said a valet. “I’ve seen a couple of women with long black hair.”
“But you don’t know their room numbers,” the bellman said.
“Maybe not, but one of them drives a silver Porsche.”
“Get me the license plate number for the Porsche.” Brady nodded to the rest of the group. “If any of you remember anything about this woman, let me know.”
The employees returned to their positions, leaving them with Chandler. His eyebrows furrowed. “I suppose you’ll want to visit room 917.”
“You guessed it,” Brady said.
“I strongly advise against it. That suite is occupied by Lloyd Reinhardt.”
The name hit Sasha with an ominous thud. Reinhardt was the most influential of the investors in the Arcadia development. He was the contractor who supervised the building of the hotel and several of the surrounding condos. Knocking on his door and accusing him of murder wasn’t going to win her any Brownie points.
Chapter Three
Frustrated by the lack
of evidence, Brady wished he had other officers he could deploy to search, but he knew that calling for backup would be an exercise in futility. For one thing, the sheriff’s department was understaffed, with barely enough deputies to cover the basics. For another, the sheriff himself was a practical man who wouldn’t be inclined to launch a widespread manhunt based on nothing more than Sasha’s allegations. Brady hadn’t even called in to report the possible crime. Until he had something solid, he was better off on his own.
But there was no way he could search this whole complex. The hotel was huge—practically a city unto itself. There were restaurants and coffee shops, a ballroom, boutiques, a swimming pool and meeting areas for conferences, not to mention the stairwells, the laundry and the kitchens—a lot of places to hide a body.
Sasha tugged on his arm. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
He guided her away from Chandler. “Give us a minute.”
In a low voice, she said, “There’s really no point in going to the ninth floor. The man I saw wasn’t Mr. Reinhardt. He was taller and his hair was darker.”
“How do you know Reinhardt?”
“From the same meetings where I met your uncle.” She shook her head, and her blond hair bounced across her forehead. “There are four investors in Arcadia—Uncle Dooley, Mr. Reinhardt, Katie Cook the ice skater and Sam Moreno, the self-help expert.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Mr. Reinhardt isn’t what you’d call a patient man. He’s going to hate having us knocking on his door.”
Brady didn’t much care what Reinhardt thought. “What are you saying?”
“It might be smart for me to step aside. I don’t want to get fired.”
He tamped down a surge of disappointment at the thought of her backing out. During the very brief time he’d known Sasha, he’d come to admire her gutsiness. Many people who witnessed a crime turned away; they didn’t want to get involved. “Have you changed your mind about what you saw?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“Then I want you to come to room 917, meet this woman and make sure she isn’t the person you saw being attacked.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I think you know the answer.”
“Without my eyewitness account, the investigation is over.”
“That’s right.” He had no blood, no murder weapon and no body. His only evidence that a crime had been committed was the lingering aroma of Chinese food in an otherwise spotless room.
“A few hours ago,” she said, “everything in my life seemed perfect and happy. That’s all I really want. To be happy. Is that asking too much?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She understood what was at stake. As she considered the options, her eyes took on a depth that seemed incongruous with a face that was designed for smiling and laughter.
“It’s your decision,” he said.
“I’ve always believed that life isn’t random. I don’t know why, but there was some reason why I was looking into that room at that particular moment.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I have to see this through. I’ll come with you.”
She was tougher than she looked. Behind the fluffy hair and the big blue eyes that could melt a man’s heart was a core of strength. He liked what he saw inside her. After this was over, he wanted to get to know her better and find out what made her tick. Not the most professional behavior but he hadn’t been so drawn to a woman in a long time.
Chandler rushed toward them. Accompanying him was a solidly built man with a military haircut. He wore heavy boots, a sweater and a brown leather bomber jacket. Though he had a pronounced limp, his approach lacked the nervousness that fluttered around the hotel manager like a rabble of hyperactive butterflies.
“I’m Grant Jacobson.” The head of Gateway security held out his hand. “Chandler says there was some kind of assault here.”
When Brady shook Jacobson’s hand, he felt strength and steadiness. No tremors from this guy. He was cool. His steel-gray eyes reflected the confidence of a trained professional with a take-charge attitude. Brady did not want to butt heads with Grant Jacobson.
“Glad to meet you,” Brady said. “I have some questions.”
“Shoot.”
“What can you tell me about your surveillance system?”
“It’s going to be state-of-the-art. Unfortunately, the only area that’s currently operational is the front entrance.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “By Friday everything will be up and running with cameras in the hallways, the meeting rooms and every exit.”
If the hotel security had been in place, they’d have had a visual record of anyone who might have entered or exited room 621. “Was there a security guard on duty tonight?”
“There should be two.” Jacobson swiveled his head to glare at the hotel manager. “When law enforcement arrived on the scene, those men should have been notified.”
Chandler exhaled a ragged sigh. “I contacted you instead.”
“Apparently, we have some glitches in our communications.” Jacobson looked toward Sasha. “And you are?”
“A witness,” she said. “Sasha Campbell.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sasha.” When he returned her friendly grin, it was clear that he liked what he saw. “And what did you witness?”
Wanting to stay in control of the conversation, Brady stepped in. “We have reason to believe that a woman was attacked in her room. Right now we’re on our way to see someone fitting her description.”
“Where?”
“Room 917.”
“Reinhardt’s suite,” Jacobson said. “I’ll come with you.”
With a terse nod, Brady agreed. He could feel the reins slipping from his grasp as Grant Jacobson asserted his authority. The head of security was accustomed to giving orders, probably got his security training in the military, where he had climbed the ranks. But this was the real world, and Brady was the one wearing the badge.
Jacobson dismissed the hotel manager, who was all too happy to step aside as they boarded the elevator. The doors closed, and Jacobson asked, “Where did the assault take place?”
“One of the suites on the sixth floor,” Brady said.
“I assume you’ve already been to that suite.”
“We have, and we didn’t find anything.”
“What about the Chinese?” Sasha piped up.
He shot her a look that he hoped would say Please don’t try to help me.
“Chinese?” Jacobson raised an eyebrow.
Brady jumped in with another question. “What can you tell me about the key-card system?”
“Why do you ask?”
“No one was registered to stay in that room.”
“And you’re wondering how they could get access,” Jacobson said. “The hotel has only been open a week on a limited basis, which means the new employees are being trained on all the systems. In the confusion, someone could have run an extra key card for a room.”
“You’re suggesting that one of the employees was in that suite.”
“It’s possible.” Jacobson shifted his weight, subtly moving closer to Sasha. He looked down at her. “Are you staying at the hotel?”
“I’m in a corporate condo,” she said. “I work for the Denver law firm that’s handling the Arcadia ski-resort business.”
“Interesting.” His thin lips pursed. “How did you happen to witness something on the sixth floor?”
Before Brady could stop her, Sasha blurted, “Binoculars.”
“Even more interesting.” He hit a button on the elevator control panel, and they stopped their upward ascent. The three of them were suspended in a square box of chrome and polished mirrors. They were trapped.
Jacobson growled, “Do you want to tell me what t
he hell is going on?”
“Police business,” Brady asserted. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
For a long five seconds, they stood and stared at each other. Their showdown could have gone on for much longer, but Brady wasn’t all that interested in proving he was top dog. He had a job to do. And his number-one concern was finding a victim who might be bleeding to death. Though his instinct was to play his cards close to the vest, he needed help. He’d be a fool not to take advantage of Jacobson’s experience in hotel security.
“Here’s what happened,” Brady said. “Ms. Campbell happened to be looking into the suite. She saw a man and woman having dinner—”
“With chopsticks,” Sasha said.
Brady continued, “There was an argument. Ms. Campbell didn’t see the actual attack, but there was blood on the woman’s chest. She collapsed. The man caught her before she hit the floor.”
“A possible murder,” Jacobson said. When he straightened his posture, he favored his left leg. “How can I help, Deputy?”
Ever since they got to the hotel, Brady had been moving fast and not paying a lot of attention to standard procedures. At the very least, he should have taped off the room as a crime scene. There was enough to think about without Sasha distracting him. “You mentioned that you had two men on site. I’d appreciate if you could post one of them outside room 621 until we have a chance to process the scene for fingerprints and other forensic evidence.”
“Consider it done.” Jacobson pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his leather jacket and punched in a number. While it was ringing, he asked, “What else?”
“I want to check the surveillance tapes from the front entrance,” Brady said.
“No problem.” Jacobson held up his hand as he spoke into the phone and issued an order to one of his security men. As soon as he disconnected the call, he turned to Brady again. “Anything else?”
“Where’s the closest place to get Chinese food?”
“Don’t know, but that’s a good question for the concierge on the ninth floor.” He pushed a button on the elevator panel, and they started moving again. “Now I have a request for you. I’d like to do most of the talking with Reinhardt.”
