by Cassie Miles
He shouldn’t be kissing her but had no regrets. When they separated, his gaze held hers for a long moment. In the damp, mysterious atmosphere of the cave, they shared a silent communication. The attraction that was building between them didn’t need words.
His hand clasped hers, and he aimed the flashlight beam toward the end of the long room. “This goes back thirty feet, and then it links with another through a narrow split in the rock.”
“Are we going there?” she asked.
“Not today. These caves twist and turn for a long distance. I’ve never been to the end.”
“I’d like to come back and explore,” she said.
“Maybe we will.”
But now they needed to return to the real world. When he wriggled through the small opening leading from the cave, the late-afternoon sun seemed strangely cold and harsh. Out here they had very little protection from the brutal killer who had taken a woman’s life. So far this investigation was reaping more questions than answers.
Brady straightened his shoulders. He had to make the best of a bad situation with a sheriff who couldn’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground and a killer who always stayed several steps ahead. No matter how much he wished he’d been better trained for a homicide investigation, Brady had to work with the tools he’d been given.
“After we’re done at the dude ranch,” he said, “I want to go back to the hotel and look at those surveillance tapes. Our best chance of finding the killer is if you can identify him.”
“I hope I can,” she said.
“And I wouldn’t mind talking through the investigation with Jacobson. He’s got good insights.”
“I’ve got insights,” she said. “You can talk to me.”
“I know. And you’re smart.”
“Smart and professional.”
“But I don’t want to drag you any deeper into this.” His number-one priority was to protect her. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could talk you into going back to Denver.”
“And lose my job?” She shook her head. “I’m staying right here until the meetings are over.”
In the SUV, he backed up, turned and drove back toward the road leading to Jim Birch’s dude ranch. He couldn’t help but notice that Sasha was staring at him. She was a chatty person who liked to talk things through, and he really hoped that she didn’t feel compelled to discuss the meaning of that kiss in the cave. It had happened. As far as he was concerned, they should leave it right there.
When she cleared her throat, he braced himself. All he could tell her was the truth. He liked her a lot, and that kiss seemed like the right thing to do in the moment.
She said, “What do people do at a dude ranch?”
Relief surged through him. He liked her even more. “They want the Old West experience. Riding horses and eating beans and burgers from a chuck wagon around a fire. The owner of this place, Jim Birch, plays a guitar and sings.”
“Sounds like the Old West in a movie. Do real cowboys do any of those things?”
“I ride,” he said. “I’ve eaten beans. And I even play the guitar a little.”
He parked his SUV in a line of other vehicles at the side of a long bunkhouse. There seemed to be a lot of guests at the dude ranch. Together he and Sasha walked toward the main house, where Jim Birch and two other old cowboys were sitting on the front porch drinking from mugs. It was a little too chilly to be outside, and Brady guessed that Jim’s wife had shooed the men out of the kitchen while she prepared dinner.
Jim rose to greet him. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Is deputy work agreeing with you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Sure you can.” Jim Birch was big and tall and everything about him was boisterous, from his thick red muttonchop sideburns to his silver rodeo belt buckle the size of a serving platter. “I’d complain if I had to see Sheriff Ted McKinley every day. That man has the vision of a cross-eyed garden slug.”
His buddies on the porch chuckled and raised their mugs. Brady figured they were drinking something stronger than coffee.
Jim gave Brady a hug and welcomed Sasha, telling her that she was as pretty as a sunflower in spring. Jim was known for having a way with the ladies. All the women loved him, but Brady knew for a fact that Jim had never betrayed his marriage vows. His wife—an energetic little woman who was as plain as a peahen—was the love of his life.
Brady said, “I saw a couple of your ATVs out in the field. Do you have many guests staying here?”
“Only one family. The rest are visitors.” He lowered his voice. “You can tell your uncle Dooley that he’s not the only one getting rich off the new development. I’m thinking of selling this place.”
“Who’s the buyer?”
“I’ve got a couple of buyers on the hook. One of them is kind of flaky and wants to turn the ranch into a sanctuary for unwanted house pets. The other is serious. I’m not supposed to say who he is until the deal is final, but he’s one of the partners in the Arcadia project.”
“Sam Moreno,” Sasha said. “He wants to develop an ashram where his followers can live.”
“How’d you guess that?”
“I work for the law firm handling the resort business.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“Legal assistant,” she said.
Jim patted her shoulder. “Smart and pretty. Brady should hang on to you.”
“How’d you get to know Moreno?” Brady asked.
“I can tell you one thing,” Jim said. “It wasn’t from taking any of his seminars. That stuff is a truckload of hooey.”
Brady agreed. He’d taken an immediate dislike to the smooth, handsome Moreno when he first met the guy, and that hostility deepened when he thought of the dude ranch being turned into a New Age enclave. “Has Moreno been visiting you this afternoon?”
“Him and a bunch of his people. They seem okay for city folks. They wear too much black for my taste, but they took to riding the ATVs like kids on a playground.”
* * *
THEY FOLLOWED JIM into the house, where his wife provided steaming cups of strong coffee and a plate of sliced zucchini bread. She barely had time to say hello before she rushed back into the kitchen to deal with one of Moreno’s people, who was making sure the food met all the organic standards the guru required.
Sitting at the dining room table with Jim Birch, Brady asked, “If you sell this place, what will you do?”
“For one thing, I’ll quit worrying about paying my bills. It’s been a rough couple of years with the economy slowing down and people cutting back on their vacations.” He rested his elbows on the table and shrugged. “What’s your uncle going to do?”
“I’m not sure.” Brady looked toward Sasha. “I’ll bet she can tell you more than I can.”
“He won’t quit ranching,” she said. “He’s made that clear from the very start.”
“There you go,” Jim said. “Maybe I’ll go to work for Dooley. Wouldn’t that be something? Us two codgers out riding herd.”
Sasha excused herself from the table. “I just checked my phone, and I have a couple of messages I should answer.”
As soon as she left the room, Jim gave him a grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re sweet on her.”
“She’s a witness.”
“And a pretty young woman,” he said. “Is there anybody else you’re seeing right now?”
Brady glared at the grizzled old man with red sideburns. “Who do you think you are? Dr. Phil of the Wild West?”
“It’s about time for you to settle down and start raising a family.”
No way was he discussing his personal life with Jim Birch. “I didn’t see a for-sale sign on your property. How did Moreno know to get in touch with you?”
“I’ve bee
n quietly shopping around. There’s a couple of people from Denver who are interested. I talked to my real-estate lady this afternoon, and she thought she might be able to get the buyers into a bidding war.”
“What’s her name?”
“Andrea Tate.”
She was Reinhardt’s black-haired companion. An interesting link. “How long have you been working with her?”
“I met her a couple of years ago. She showed up when the Arcadia development was under way, looking for more property that could be used for condos.”
The dude ranch and the acres attached to it wouldn’t be suitable for skiers, who would want to be closer to the slopes. The drive from here on the road that followed Red Stone Creek was twenty minutes in good weather. And it would be a shame to tear down the big house and the barn, which were kept in good repair.
When Sasha came back into the room, her mouth was tight, and twin worry lines appeared between her eyebrows.
“That was the property manager at the condo,” she said. “There’s been a break-in.”
* * *
SASHA WAS GLAD that Brady put her problem first. Though he had intended to wait at the dude ranch until he had a chance to question Moreno, they left immediately to survey the damage at the condo.
The route he took avoided the high road where the body had been found. Instead, the SUV zipped along a snowplowed asphalt road that followed the winding path of a creek. The late-afternoon sunlight shimmered on the rushing water as it sliced through a landscape of bare cottonwoods and aspens. After two days of good weather, the snow had partially melted away, leaving the rocks bare.
Brady used the police radio on his console to contact the sheriff and tell him about the change in their plans. After a quick discussion, Sheriff McKinley decided to let the security company employed by the property manager investigate the break-in, dusting for fingerprints and picking up forensic clues.
Though Brady didn’t look happy about the decision, he had no choice but to accept it. All the deputies working for the sheriff’s department were busy at the crime scene or dealing with a three-vehicle accident on the highway. This small county wasn’t equipped to handle complicated investigations.
“One more thing,” the sheriff said over the radio. “We have an ID on the body. You were right. She’s Lauren Robbins, age thirty-seven, from Denver.”
“I’ll stay in touch,” Brady said.
When he ended the call, his jaw was tight. The moment of calm they’d experienced in the cave had been replaced by a new layer of tension. She wished she could do or say something to help him relax, but the situation seemed to become more and more frustrating.
The only bright moment had come when he’d kissed her. Holding her in the darkness, he’d been so amazingly gentle. At the same time, she’d felt the power of their attraction as though they were drawn together, as though they belonged together. She knew better than to expect another kiss. Not while there was so much going on. He glanced over at her. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.” She looked down at the laptop she held on her lap, thinking that she should contact Damien and tell him what had happened. “What if you had dropped me off at the condo instead of taking me with you to the crime scene?”
His brow tightened. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Was the intruder after me?”
“The break-in wasn’t a coincidence,” he said. “I don’t care what the sheriff says or how stretched our manpower is. Until this is over, you are my assignment. I’m your bodyguard 24/7. Remember? That’s our deal.”
Did that mean he was going to stay at the condo tonight? In spite of a logical ration of fear, her heart took a happy little leap. Spending the night with Brady wouldn’t be the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
“Tell me about the phone call from the property manager,” he said.
“She said that the security company notified her as soon as the alarm went off.”
“When was that?”
“She gave me a precise time, but I don’t remember what it was. A few minutes before she called me.” Sasha liked to have things right. She should have written down the time. “She went directly to the condo. There isn’t any damage that she noticed, but she’s waiting for me to get there before she files a report.”
“How did the intruder get in?”
“They picked the lock on the balcony door.” She clutched her laptop to her chest. “I’m glad I had my computer and the Arcadia files with me.”
Brady glanced over at her. “To enter through the balcony, the intruder would have had to climb up the side of the building to reach the third floor.”
“That’s crazy,” she said. “Who would do that? A ninja?”
In spite of the tension, he chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re being stalked by ninjas.”
And she hoped they’d left some kind of clue.
Chapter Eleven
At the condo, Sasha spoke to the property manager and took a look at the balcony door. Since the lock had been picked, the door didn’t show any damage. If the security firm hadn’t received an electronic alert, she might never have known that the place had been broken into.
Brady was talking to the security men, who were shining some kind of blue light on the wall, dusting for fingerprints and inspecting the side of the building where the intruder had climbed from one floor to the next. Now was her chance to take her laptop into the bedroom for a private conversation with Damien. She placed the computer on a small table by the window and sat in a chair facing it. The bed would have been more comfortable, but she needed to look professional.
Every time she talked to Damien, it seemed as if she was telling him about another problem. Her job was to avoid negative situations, not to create disasters. The least she could do was present a neat appearance. She even took a moment to brush her hair and apply a fresh coat of lipstick.
It took a few minutes to pull her boss out of a meeting with the Westfield family. When his face popped up on the screen, he looked angry.
“I’m busy, Sasha. What is it?”
She didn’t apologize for interrupting him. He needed to know about damage to corporate property; her call was appropriate. “The condo was broken into.”
“What? Why?”
She was painfully aware that the break-in could be blamed on her involvement in the murder investigation, but she didn’t want to spin it that way. “Nothing appears to be stolen, but I’m not familiar with everything that’s in here. Could they have been looking for something valuable?”
“You mean like a safe? Or documents?” He frowned as he thought. “Not as far as I know. I’ll check with the other partners at the firm.”
“When I fill out the insurance claim, I’ll reserve the right to add more items until after you’ve had a chance to make an inventory.” She’d handled forms like this before. It shouldn’t be a problem. “The intruder came through the balcony door, and the lock isn’t damaged. Should I have it changed anyway?”
“I want a dead bolt installed,” he said. “And I want it done this afternoon.”
“I’ll inform the property manager.” So far, so good. She might be able to end this conversation without mentioning the murder. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Were you there when the break-in occurred?”
“No, sir, I wasn’t.”
“Where were you?”
The accusing tone in his voice irritated her. Shouldn’t he be concerned about her physical safety? She tried not to glare at his image on the computer screen. “I was at a crime scene. The police discovered the body.”
“Oh, yes.” His upper lip curled in a sneer. “Is this about the apparent murder you witnessed?”
“It’s a real murd
er.” She could accept his dismissive attitude toward her, but she wouldn’t allow him to belittle the horrible crime that had been committed. “She was killed in a callous and cold-blooded manner. They found her remains stuffed inside a piece of luggage. Her name was Lauren Robbins.”
His eyes widened and he drew back from the screen. “What was that name again?”
“Robbins, Lauren Robbins. She’s thirty-seven and lived in Denver.”
“She’s Lloyd Reinhardt’s ex-wife.”
Stunned, she felt her jaw drop. “No way.”
“Damn it.”
“Did you know her?”
“An attractive woman with long black hair, very classy. She looks a lot like her cousin, who is also in real estate. In fact, I think they worked together for a while.”
“Andrea Tate.” She choked on the name. “Her cousin is Andrea Tate.”
“Yes,” he said.
“She’s here in Arcadia, staying at the hotel. She’s dating Mr. Reinhardt.”
Damien’s face got bigger as he leaned close to the screen. “Listen to me, Sasha. Our firm can’t be involved with this investigation. You need to back away from this as quickly as possible.”
She wished that she could. “That won’t be possible.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I have to cooperate with the police.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to be in their pocket. Stay as far away from the investigation as you can.”
What about Brady? What about her need for a bodyguard? She wanted to keep her job, but she wouldn’t risk her life to stay employed. Her brain clicked through possibilities. “Do you think Mr. Reinhardt will be a suspect?”
“Cops always go after the ex-husband.”
“Then it’s important for me to stay on their good side,” she said. “I witnessed the murder, and I know Reinhardt didn’t do it. I’m his alibi.”
* * *
WHEN SASHA STUMBLED out of the bedroom, she’d changed out of her business suit, which was much the worse for wear after hiking along the dirt road and climbing into a cave. She’d slipped into comfortable hiking shoes, jeans and a maroon ski sweater with a snowflake pattern on the yoke.
