by Cassie Miles
The SUV was a little beat-up on the inside, showing its age, and he wondered if Lauren wasn’t as successful as she tried to appear in her gold necklace and classy outfit. She might have parked out here on the street so the valets wouldn’t notice her less-than-glamorous car.
Wearing his gloves, he made a quick search of the car, front and back and under the seats. When he opened the glove compartment, he found a black patent leather notebook about the size of a paperback novel. He snapped a couple of photos on his phone of the notebook inside the glove box. Then he removed it. Bulging with Post-its and scribbled notes, the sides were held together with a fat rubber band.
The notebook was the nonelectronic, messy way people used to keep track of their appointments and phone numbers. Lauren Robbins had hung on to these scraps of paper and notes to herself for some reason.
His fingers itched to search through the pages. He should turn this evidence over to the CBI, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a look inside first. At least, that was what he told himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Brady knocked only once on the door to Sasha’s hotel room before she flung it open. She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him inside—a surprising show of strength for such a tiny little thing.
“I’m staying with you tonight,” she announced. “I’m all packed and ready to go. We can drop my suitcase off at your cabin after the meeting at Dooley’s.”
“Fine with me.” Better than fine—this was exactly what he wanted. “What changed your mind?”
“I don’t want to be accessible to these people. Last night Moreno showed up at my door. Then I got a call from Andrea, begging me to come up to her room. She really laid on the guilt, talking about how it’s so hard to be a woman working in a man’s world, and how ambition killed her cousin. Maybe I should have gone to her, but I was too scared.”
“You were smart.”
“I don’t feel safe here.” Her shoulders tensed. “I saw a woman get killed in this place. This hotel doesn’t exactly whisper ‘home, sweet home’ to me. I was even too nervous to call room service this morning.”
“So you haven’t had breakfast?”
“I attacked the minibar and had a couple of granola bars and some orange juice.”
“There’s plenty to eat at the ranch.”
He grabbed the handle on her suitcase. Before they left the hotel room, he inhaled a deep breath. “Peaches, smells like peaches.”
“It’s my shampoo.”
Light glinted off the golden highlights in her hair. For a moment, he pretended that they weren’t caught up in a murder, that they were just a couple planning to spend the night together. Too bad that life wasn’t that easy.
They left the room and went down the hall to the elevator. In the lobby, Moreno separated from a small group of his followers and came toward them. Trying to read his expression, Brady concentrated on his intense dark brown eyes. Moreno hardly seemed to blink. He circled Sasha like a great white shark.
His mesmerizing gaze fastened on her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough,” she said politely. “And you?”
“I required two meditation sessions to relax my mind enough to achieve REM sleep. It’s difficult to process a murder. The energy in the hotel needs a psychic adjustment.”
“Better not let Reinhardt hear you say that,” she said. “Not while he’s getting ready for the grand opening.”
“I was concerned about you.”
Brady’s protective senses went on high alert. If Moreno so much as touched Sasha, he’d knock the guru flat on his buttocks.
Moreno continued, “You shouldn’t stay here, Sasha. This place is not conducive to your goals and aims. You’ve made great progress for someone your age, and I’d hate to see you hurt. My people and I will be moving to Jim Birch’s dude ranch. I propose that you come with us.”
“I’ve made other arrangements,” she said.
“Please reconsider. I have your best interests at heart.”
Brady inserted himself between them. “She’s made other plans. Back off.”
Moreno’s eyes flared with anger. The corner of his mouth twisted into a scowl. He wasn’t accustomed to being told he couldn’t have what he wanted. Turning his shoulder to exclude Brady, he spoke to Sasha. “When you need me, I’ll be here for you.”
He pivoted and rejoined his people, who waited in a dark cluster like a flock of crows.
In a low voice, Brady said, “I don’t trust that guy.”
“Same here.”
“What was he saying about your ambitions?”
“The usual line. If you conceive it, you can achieve it.”
He took her elbow and walked her through the lobby. “Do you believe that?”
“Sure I do. That’s the thing about Moreno. Most of his philosophy makes sense, and I like taking a positive approach. But you can’t control everything. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And sometimes you look through a window and see a murder being committed.”
Across the lobby, he spotted Sheriff McKinley accompanied by two strangers carrying suitcases. Brady guessed they were the agents from CBI. The appointment notebook he’d picked up in Lauren’s SUV burned against the inner pocket in his jacket. Police procedure dictated that he turn the evidence over to them, but he wanted a chance to look at it first. He hustled Sasha toward the exit, hoping to avoid the agents.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I’d like to get a cup of coffee before we go.”
A reasonable request. He had no logical reason to say no. Still, he tried to divert her. “We could stop at the diner.”
“No need to go to extra trouble.” She veered in the direction of an espresso kiosk that was set up near the black marble waterfall. “The aroma is calling to me.”
Keeping his back to the check-in desk, he went to the kiosk. With any luck, they could grab a coffee and get the hell out of the lobby before the sheriff saw him. If Brady was introduced to the CBI agents, he’d have no excuse for not handing over Lauren’s notebook. He would be purposely obstructing their investigation.
At the kiosk, Sasha stared up at the dozens of possible combinations. “Let’s see. What do I want?”
“Coffee, black,” he suggested.
She licked her lips. “I’ll have an extralarge double-shot caramel macchiato with soy milk.”
He groaned. “I almost forgot you were a city girl.”
“My neighborhood barista knows me by name.” She stared through the glass case at the pastries. “And throw in one of those low-fat blueberry muffins.”
Brady felt a tap on his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to face Sheriff McKinley. Standing to his left were two men in conservative jackets and sunglasses.
“I thought that was you,” McKinley said. “Deputy Brady Ellis, I’d like to introduce Agent Colton and Agent Zeto from the CBI.”
Brady shook their hands and tried to tell himself that he wasn’t really lying. Yes, he was withholding evidence. But it was only temporary. Sooner or later he’d hand over the notebook. “Pleased to meet you.”
When Sasha was introduced, her beaming smile lightened the mood.
Agent Zeto held her hand a few seconds too long. “We’ll need to take a statement from you.”
“No prob,” she said. “Right now I have to run. But after the meeting with the resort investors, I’m totally available.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
On that less-than-promising note, Brady whisked her through the lobby. They’d be seeing the agents again. He’d have to come up with an excuse for why he’d mishandled evidence. Maybe there wouldn’t be anything useful in those pages, and he could ignore the notebook altogether. But that wasn’t the way police procedure worked. He had to take responsibility.
Outside, the temperature had dropped and snowflakes dotted the air. He bundled Sasha into the SUV and set out on the familiar route to Dooley’s ranch. Though there was less traffic than usual on the streets, more skiers were out. Some were riding a shuttle to the lodge by the gondola and chairlift. Others were walking with their gear in tow.
Sasha sipped her fancy coffee drink. “Anything new with the investigation?” she asked.
“Nothing I’d know about.”
“What does that mean?”
His natural inclination was to keep his mouth shut. She didn’t need to be bothered by his problems, but she’d find out soon enough when Agent Zeto interviewed her. “I’m off the case.”
“Why?”
“The sheriff handed jurisdiction to the CBI. They have better resources.”
“What about me? Are you still my bodyguard?”
“You bet I am.”
He’d demanded that position. McKinley wanted to assign Brady to traffic duty, but he’d flat out refused. Sasha needed his full-time protection.
Even if he hadn’t been attracted to her, he’d have felt the same way about protecting a witness. The main reason he’d gone into law enforcement was to keep people safe. It might be corny, but he still believed that it was his duty to serve and protect.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” she said. “You’ve already made a lot of headway.”
He wanted to believe that was true. Though he lacked the formal training to conduct a homicide investigation, he had a lawman’s instincts and an innate ability to see through alibis and find the truth. Like his uncle had said, poker sense. Brady needed to learn to trust his gut.
“There’s only one thing that’s important,” he said, “finding the killer and making sure no one else gets hurt.”
“You’re not giving up, are you?”
He glanced over at her. She was as pretty and as sweet as a cupcake with sprinkles, but her big blue eyes were serious. “You ask the hard questions.”
“Well, it’s important to me. As you keep pointing out, I’m in danger. I could get killed. And you could...” Her voice faded, and her delicate hand fluttered.
“What? What could I do?”
“I haven’t known you for a long time, but I believe in you. I believe you’re a good detective.” She shrugged. “At the risk of sounding like Moreno, you need to believe how good you really are.”
“You’re saying I shouldn’t quit.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“I’ll try to work with the CBI.” Even if giving up jurisdiction made him feel like a second-string player, he had a unique perspective on the crime. Because of his uncle and Sasha, he was intertwined with the suspects. Answering the 911 call meant he’d literally been in at the start.
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t quit his investigation.
* * *
WITH EVERYONE GATHERED in the huge front room at the big house on the ranch, Dooley took a position in front of the big moss-rock fireplace where a gas fire radiated heat. Brady stood at the back of the room, watching. Moreno sat on a heavy leather chair that looked like a throne while three of his minions perched in a row on the sofa, drinking herbal tea. Katie Cook and her distinguished white-haired husband shared a love seat. Reinhardt, looking as tense as a clenched fist, sprawled on another sofa, with Andrea Tate sitting as far away from him as she could at the opposite end.
Sasha had set up the computer with Damien Loughlin’s face on a table near the fireplace.
Dooley hitched his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and started talking. “I was planning to saddle up a bunch of horses and get all of you outside where you could appreciate this mountain land and understand the need to preserve our resources. But I’m not going to drag you out in the snow.”
“Thank you,” Katie said. “I would have been concerned about being injured.”
“Wasn’t worried about you,” Dooley said. “I didn’t want any of the horses to take a tumble.”
Brady stifled an urge to chuckle. His plan had been to watch the start of the meeting and then go into Dooley’s office, where he could study the contents of Lauren’s notebook. But he’d changed his mind. His uncle was up to something, and he wanted to know what it was.
“I figure you all know what I want out of this partnership,” Dooley said. “I’ve been consistent. Every time we talk about our needs, I tell you that I want a percent of profits to go into land management.”
“And we’re on your side,” Reinhardt said. “We all agree that we need to hire a qualified person to coordinate with the BLM, the EPA and the Forest Service. It’s in everybody’s interest to care for the land and the wildlife.”
There were murmurs of support that ended with the computerized version of Damien saying, “Now that we have that wrapped up, I’d like to discuss our current problem.”
“Whoa there, counselor.” Dooley bent down to talk to the computer screen. “I’ve got something more to say. We had a murder in Arcadia. And our sheriff’s department ain’t equipped to handle the investigation. Law enforcement needs to expand, and we need to pay for it.”
“I disagree.” Reinhardt raised his hand. “That’s a problem for the county.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. If you’d had your hotel security up and running, we’d have arrested the killer.”
“I paid for it,” Reinhardt grumbled. “My security man, Grant Jacobson, has complete surveillance on the hotel. Hey, that’s an idea. Instead of funding the local law enforcement, why not hire Jacobson to handle security for all the ski resort properties.”
“Including the condos?” Damien asked.
“Most of them already employ a security company.”
“What about the ice rink?” Katie asked.
“And outlying areas,” Moreno said.
“Relax.” Reinhardt spread his hands in an expansive gesture. “Jacobson is a pro. He could set up a police force that would make this the most secure area in Colorado.”
Brady didn’t like where this conversation was headed. The very idea of a private police force should be nipped in the bud. If Dooley didn’t say something to put them on the right track, he’d have no choice but to step forward.
“How much would this cost?” Moreno asked.
One of his followers piped up, “It’d be worth the price. We have high-profile people who attend our seminars—movie stars and politicians. Their safety is of paramount concern.”
“Same here,” Katie said. When it came to name-dropping, she would not be outdone. “I’m bringing in famous athletes and champion skaters, many of whom need bodyguards.”
From across the room, Dooley met his gaze and gave him a grin. “Let’s hear what Deputy Brady Ellis has to say.”
Brady stepped away from the wall. “First of all, let me make it clear that I appreciate Grant Jacobson’s skills, his leadership ability and his experience. He’s a hero.”
“Damn right,” Reinhardt said.
“But the Arcadia partners can’t set up their own private vigilante force. You can’t station armed guards on every street corner, and you wouldn’t want to.”
“He’s right,” Katie said. “Arcadia should be about recreation and fun. I’m acquainted with many athletes from Russia and China, and their bodyguards are very subtle. We should consult with them.”
Ignoring her, Brady continued, “Our sheriff’s department usually works just fine. The 911 system is efficient. Our efforts are well coordinated with mountain rescue, helicopter evacuations and ambulance services. Still, Dooley has a point. We could use more personnel, more equipment and more funding.”
“If I’m going to pay for it,” Reinhardt said, “I want to be in charge.”
“That’s exactly why a private police force doesn’t work,” Dooley said in his dece
ptively soft drawl. “If you run the police, it puts you above the law.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re a suspect in this murder.”
Reinhardt surged to his feet. “Wrongly accused. I’ve been wrongly accused.”
“I understand why the police are looking at you,” Katie chirped. She almost sounded cheerful. “Lauren Robbins was your ex-wife.”
“I didn’t kill her. Tell them, Andrea.”
Without looking up, she murmured, “He was with me.”
“You people have it all wrong. I didn’t hate Lauren.” He glared like a trapped animal. “I respected her. She was more than a wife. We worked together. She wasn’t much of a salesperson, but she was the best bookkeeper I’ve ever had.”
Sasha stood. “Excuse me. Damien has something to add.”
“Wait,” Moreno said. “I want to hear more from Reinhardt. If he’s charged with murder, it tarnishes all our reputations.”
“What murder charges?” Reinhardt snapped.
“I heard the police were about to arrest you.”
“You heard wrong.”
“Excuse me,” Sasha said more loudly. “Please take your seats.”
Grumbling, they did so. She turned up the volume for Damien’s computer image. “Thank you,” he said.
They muttered a hostile response.
He continued, “Over the next few days, you’re all going to be questioned by the police and the CBI. Do not—I repeat—do not speak to anyone without having me present. Even if you choose to bring in your own attorney, I wish to be included at all of these interviews.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Dooley gave a snort. “You’re a hundred and seven miles away.”
“I’m leaving Denver within the hour,” Damien said. “I’ll be in Arcadia this afternoon. In the meantime, may I remind you that there’s a law enforcement officer in the room with you? Do not speak of the crime in his presence. Is that clear?”
Their heads swiveled as they turned toward Brady. He put on his hat and gave a nod. “I was just leaving.”
