by Hope White
Scott redirected his attention to his laptop. Something in here had to offer a clue as to why he had water samples and who wanted them. Sifting through a few files, it became apparent he was in personal security for Phillip Oppenheimer, owner of Global Resources International—GRI. Scott found daily activity logs that outlined which security agents would be shadowing Phillip and his senior managers. There were at least two bodyguards assigned to the CEO at any given time. Scott wondered why a CEO would need such tight security.
He did an internet search on GRI and a few news stories popped up. Apparently Phillip Oppenheimer was some kind of genius and his company had developed a refinery that converted various types of waste products into diesel fuel.
“Thanks, Harvey,” Bree said and turned to Scott, pocketing her phone. “Harvey said as a personal favor to me, he’d let us review the video.”
“That’s good, that’s good,” he said, distracted by an article on Global Resources International.
“What’d you find?” She sat beside him again.
“I work for one of the top guys in alternative energy development.”
“Nice.”
“Maybe I was investigating a competitor or someone who was trying to put him out of business?”
“Could be. What kind of energy?”
“A refining process that turns waste into diesel fuel.”
“Wow, that’s amazing. I wonder if that has something to do with the new plant up north.”
“New plant?” He glanced at her.
“It opened earlier this year, but they didn’t hire any locals. We all thought that was weird, but apparently it’s automated and needs very few employees to run effectively.”
“Huh.” He clicked on the GRI website and found a page that identified their production locations. “Is it in Wallace County?”
“Yep.”
“That’s twenty miles north of here. So, if I’m investigating something related to the plant, what would I be doing in Echo Mountain?”
“Well, there aren’t many hotels near the plant.”
“Right, but the day you found me I was hiking in Woods Pass, nowhere near the plant. If I could get up to Wallace County and do a little digging...” He sighed. “I need to find my rental car.”
“You could call the park service and ask if any cars have been abandoned in the past three days.”
A knock echoed across the room.
“Aiden must have sent lunch,” she said, getting up to answer the door.
He touched her arm. “No, I’ll get it. You stay back.”
As Scott went to the door, his mind clicked off possible reasons why he was here in Washington and didn’t want to call his boss to tell him what was happening. Scott probably didn’t want to disappoint him and risk losing his coveted position. Memories began to surface, like the boost to Scott’s confidence when Mr. Oppenheimer had hired him to lead his security team. Scott hadn’t want him to think he’d made a mistake by putting Scott in charge.
He glanced into the peephole and saw Chief Washburn.
“It’s not lunch,” Scott said to Bree, then opened the door. “Good morning, Chief.”
Chief Washburn marched into the room and turned to Scott. “The gun you found in your room?” He glanced at Bree, then back at Scott.
Scott pressed his back against the door, bracing himself.
“Go on,” Scott said.
“It was used in a shooting two months ago.”
TEN
Bree wouldn’t believe Scott had anything to do with a shooting, but she knew better than to argue with the chief, so she kept quiet.
“Was anyone killed?” Scott said in a defeated tone.
“No fatalities.”
Scott sighed. “So you’re taking me in, after all?”
“No.”
Scott glanced up.
“The gun wasn’t registered to you and the shootings were gang-related so I’m mystified as to how the weapon ended up in your room. It’s almost like someone planted it here.”
“If it isn’t my gun, whose is it?”
Chief Washburn pulled out a small notebook. “It was registered to an Arthur Brown of Chicago, but he reported it stolen a year ago. You know him?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so.”
“There’s more.” Washburn consulted his notebook. “I spoke with detective Joe Rush at the Chicago P.D.—”
“My ex-partner.”
“He said Scott James was your undercover alias. You left the department last year to work in private security after the death of a teenager.”
The frozen expression of Miguel Domingo still haunted Scott.
“You were cleared of any wrongdoing,” the chief added.
Which didn’t ease the guilt, guilt for not solving the case fast enough.
“A few months ago the chief of detectives asked Detective Rush for your contact information. When I called to inquire about your alias, Rush said maybe the chief has you working on something.” Chief Washburn studied Scott. “Does this ring any bells?”
Scott shook his head. “I wish I could help.”
“I’ve left a message for the chief to get back to me and your partner vouched for you. Apparently you’re a good cop.” Chief Washburn pulled Scott’s wallet out of his jacket pocket. “You can have this back, but use your real identification from now on, okay?”
“Yes, sir. So, am I free to leave the premises?”
“I suppose I can’t stop you. That said, I’d rather not have you running around town with guys using you as target practice.” The chief glanced at Bree. “And I surely don’t want her getting caught in the cross fire.”
“No sir, that won’t happen.”
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
“I am, sir. Like you said, I was—” he paused “—a good cop. I’ll keep her safe. But I have to get out and conduct an investigation in order to solve this.”
“I wish I could offer some help, but we’re strapped for manpower as it is. I had to borrow from the reserves to keep an eye on you.”
“And I appreciate that, sir.”
“Where will you start your investigation?”
“First I’m going to retrace my steps beginning with the day I checked into the resort.”
With a nod, the chief walked toward the door. “Good plan. But do not go into those mountains without backup.”
“You just said you were strapped for manpower.”
The chief turned to Scott. “I’ll figure something out if you plan to head back up there. We’ve got some professional climbers in law enforcement who’d jump at the chance to accompany you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Be safe,” the chief said, and nodded at Bree.
“Bye, Chief,” she said.
Scott turned to Bree, pressing the heel of his palm against his temple.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” She went to him.
“Headache’s back. Maybe all that computer work.” He went to the bed and stretched out on top of the covers.
“I’ll get a cool washcloth. When was the last time you took an aspirin?”
“Last night.”
“Well, you need one of those, but you should probably have food first. I’ll call Aiden.”
Scott draped his hand over his face. Bree worried about him, worried that the headache had consumed him so quickly. Perhaps this warranted a trip back to the E.R. After all, the stranger’s attack this morning could have exacerbated his head injury.
First things first. She hit speed dial on her phone and called her brother.
“Yes, Bree,” Aiden answered, his voice clipped.
“You okay?”
“Toilet broke in 337 and
water’s been leaking two floors into the rooms below. Not a fun morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it okay if I order room service for Scott and me? I know you said you were going to, but you sound busy.”
“Sure, go ahead. Ask Nia to personally bring it to your room, that way you’ll know it’s legit.”
“Will do. Chief Washburn stopped by with good news. He confirmed with Chicago P.D. that Scott’s a good cop, so you can stop worrying about me.”
“Sorry, kid, that ain’t happening. Gotta go.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks, you, too.”
She hung up and smiled to herself. Well, at least their conversation was more pleasant than the last time they spoke. She didn’t like being at odds with her brother, but wasn’t sure how to get him to ease up on the overprotectiveness.
“What do you want for lunch?” she said, glancing at Scott.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Soup and sandwich okay?”
“Sounds good.”
She placed the order with Nia and asked her to deliver the cart personally. While they waited for lunch, Bree ran a washcloth under cool water and placed it on Scott’s forehead.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Good, better.” He reached up and placed his hand over hers. “I hate feeling so weak.”
“It’s okay. Listen to your body. It wants to heal.”
“I wish it would heal faster.”
“You shouldn’t push it. Maybe we should take it easy this afternoon. Not do any running around.”
“Can’t. Have to figure this out,” he said, sounding a little anxious.
“We will, we will,” she hushed.
Bree started humming, but this time it wasn’t to calm herself. She hoped the sound might give Scott a little peace.
“I know that one,” he said, his voice soft.
She realized she was humming “Silent Night,” which had been one of her favorites since she was a little girl.
A few minutes later Scott’s hand slid off of Bree’s and landed on the pillow beside his head. He’d fallen asleep.
“Rest, my friend. Rest and heal.” Bree hummed beside him for a bit. She removed the cloth from his forehead and placed the back of her hand against his skin. He wasn’t overly hot, so she didn’t think he was running a fever.
After rinsing the washcloth under cool water yet again, she reapplied it to Scott’s forehead and closed her eyes to say a silent prayer. Dear God, thank You for this moment of peace, amen.
Gratitude prayers always seemed to bring balance to a tenuous situation. Even in her worst days under Thomas’s thumb, she’d find things to be grateful for: a sun break on a cloudy Seattle day or a little girl pushing her doll in a buggy alongside her mom. Gratitude kept Bree sane during an emotional whirlwind of turmoil.
Eyeing Scott, she wondered what things he had to be grateful for. She sensed there was darkness in his past, but she hoped he’d be able to focus on the light, which would surely help him heal faster.
After a few minutes, she decided to continue his investigation by going through some of the files on his laptop. Since the eyestrain might have spiked Scott’s headache, she’d save him that discomfort and take over the project.
She positioned herself at the table and noticed he hadn’t signed out of his email. Scanning his inbox, she spotted one from a rental car agency. Apparently he’d reserved a mid-size car for pickup at Sea-Tac airport over a week ago. She jotted down the phone number of the agency and the confirmation number. She’d call to determine what type of car he actually drove off in that day, which would then help them track it down.
Someone tapped at the door. If it was Nia with lunch, that certainly was quick.
She went to the door, glanced through the peephole and spotted Uncle Chuck pacing in the hallway. Terrific. She didn’t need another lecture, but wouldn’t be rude.
Bree snatched a key card from the nightstand and went to the door. She didn’t want to wake Scott.
She stepped into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind her. “Hey, Uncle Chuck.”
“Your mom’s been worried about you so I said I’d stop by the resort.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I talked to Mom last night.”
“She told me you’re still hanging out with trouble in there.”
“He’s a cop, maybe on an undercover assignment. Ask Chief Washburn, he’ll explain it.”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Uh, what isn’t appropriate?”
“Whatever you’re doing with him in there.”
“I was putting a cool washcloth on his forehead and humming a Christmas song. He’s still suffering from headaches thanks to the concussion.”
“He is not your problem,” he said in a firm voice.
She clenched her jaw against the shame crawling down her back. But this was Uncle Chuck trying to make Bree’s mom happy by checking on her daughter. This wasn’t about control or manipulation or—
“You need to stay away from him,” he continued. “You don’t know what he’s into or who will come after him next. I heard about the room service incident, and you were standing right outside the door. You could have been seriously hurt.”
“But I wasn’t. Scott protected me.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Bree tried not to let the harsh words affect her, but she got that shrinking feeling again, the one that made her feel small and foolish.
No. No one was allowed to make her feel that way again.
She planted her hands on her hips. “I appreciate your concern but this is my business, Uncle Chuck. If Mom has a problem with how I’m conducting myself, she’ll let me know.”
“She’ll be devastated if anything happens to you and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t.”
“Actually, it’s mine,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I’m responsible for myself, my decisions and actions.”
“You’re not thinking straight. That ex-boyfriend of yours has you twisted all up inside.”
“Excuse me?” she said, horrified by the reminder.
Uncle Chuck must have realized he’d crossed the line. He sighed and leaned back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you know what kind of people you’re dealing with here.”
“Hi, Bree,” Nia called as she wheeled a cart toward them.
The concierge couldn’t have come at a better time. Bree had had enough of Uncle Chuck’s criticism and lectures. He meant well, but his delivery was hurtful.
“Hey, Nia,” Bree said, turning to her friend. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”
“My pleasure. Hey, Chief,” she greeted Uncle Chuck. Most resort employees knew him because Chuck would bring Mom to the resort for dinner a few times a month.
Nia rolled up to the door and waited for Bree to open it.
“He’s resting so I’ll take it inside,” Bree said.
“Great.” Nia eyed Uncle Chuck. “What brings you to the resort, Chief?”
“Checking on my friend, here.” He nodded at Bree.
“I appreciate the visit,” Bree said. “I’ll call Mom later.” She swiped the key card and pushed the cart into Scott’s room. She grabbed the door before it slammed shut, and eased it closed.
With a frustrated sigh, she wheeled the cart next to the dining table. Mom hadn’t seemed overly worried last night when they spoke, certainly not worried enough to send Chuck to check on Bree.
Maybe it was Chuck’s way of earning points with his girl, at least that’s how he liked to think of Margaret McBride. Bree suspected Mom didn’t consider her relationship with Chuck a serious one. Mom had shied away from romance ever since Dad passed away, saying she was blessed with true love once and didn’t need to
go looking for more.
True love. Did it exist in Bree’s future? She’d pretty much given up on love after the disaster with Thomas. That nasty experience had proven to Bree that she had the worst judgment where men and love were concerned.
She glanced over her shoulder at Scott—still sound asleep. Talk about bad judgment. She could feel herself starting to care about him more than she should, yet she knew the unrealistic nature of their relationship. She took care of him during a frightening and vulnerable time. After this was over, he’d move back to Chicago and forget all about her.
He may have asked her out for a future date, but she couldn’t count on him following through once he got his life back. Still, it was a nice gesture.
She pushed the curtain aside and spotted Ruby, one of the grounds crew, stringing Christmas lights along the split rail fence. The wrong lights. Rats, Aiden had given her specific instructions and she thought she’d clearly explained them to her coworkers. She’d better correct the issue before Aiden got on her case about neglecting her job.
Scott would probably nap for a while, giving Bree time to speak with Ruby and return without him noticing she was gone. Just in case, she left the bottle of pain reliever on the table and wrote him a note. She placed it prominently on the laptop and headed out.
* * *
The shrill sound of a siren tweaked his eardrums. Scott opened his eyes and glanced up at the gray sky. Light flakes of snow dropped into his face as he lay flat on his back.
“Help me, somebody help me,” a soft, high-pitched voice said.
Scott couldn’t move. It was like his body was glued to the pavement.
“Please, won’t somebody help?”
He turned his head to the right....
And spotted Miguel Domingo, looking exactly the way he did that cold February night when Scott found him in the street, shot by a gang member’s bullet.
A gut-wrenching sob caught in the back of Scott’s throat. Why did the kid have to get involved? Scott told him he’d find evidence against the guys who killed his brother, but Miguel couldn’t wait.
“How could you let me die?” Miguel said.
“Why, Scott, why?” a female voice said from the other side of Scott.
With great effort, he turned his head to the left....