by Terry Spear
But he could tell from her expression, she was already distancing herself from him.
"Or we could meet down in the restaurant," she said.
That clinched it. But he wasn't letting her go, just yet. He shook his head. "I'll knock on your door at six."
When she left his room, he waited at his open doorway while she unlocked her door, but then she just stared into the room. He hoped she was changing her mind about staying with him a little longer, and not that something more was wrong.
"Faith?"
"I think the clerk let someone else into my room." Her voice was a little shaky.
Cameron crossed the floor to check out her room when his door automatically shut behind him. He swore under his breath, realizing at once his room key was lying on the desk.
She raised her brows at him. "Did you leave your key—"
"Yeah."
"You could stay here and watch Underworld with me while you're waiting for another room key."
He chuckled and rubbed his hand over her back, but every muscle remained rigid with tension. "You've got a deal. How do you know someone came into your room?" He escorted her inside and shut the door.
"My suitcase was open. My bathroom door was closed. And my overnight bag is on its side now, not standing upright."
"Check and see if anything's missing." He stalked over to the phone and called the front desk and asked to speak with the manager.
"Nothing's missing that I can tell."
A businesslike male voice responded on the phone. "Yes, this is Mr. Dodson, the manager on duty. How may I help you?"
"The clerks on the front desk had given Ms. O'Malley the key to my room and twice, had given a key to her room to other customers."
"I'm so sorry for the trouble, Mister…"
"MacPherson."
"May I speak with Ms. O'Malley, Mr. MacPherson?"
Cameron handed the phone to Faith as she finished looking through her bags. "Yes, this is Faith O'Malley."
Cameron watched the expression on Faith's face change from annoyance to surprise as she glanced up at him. "A complimentary room for the night is fine. Thank you. And can someone send up a room key for Mr. MacPherson in Room 317? Thanks." She hung up the phone. "They'll be right up with your key." She motioned to the bed and turned on the TV. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait."
"No one stole anything, I take it?"
"No." But she was back to looking perturbed.
"If you want me to, I'll spend the night."
That got a big smile from her, which brightened her whole expression, her eyes beaming with amusement, her glossy lips turned up in a big way. He figured she wasn't buying it.
"I'll bolt my door after you leave. I should have done so when I was taking a shower."
He was glad he hadn't bolted his door when he was taking his shower.
He was quick to settle in the bed with her as she turned on the television and found the channel they'd been watching. He hoped the hotel staff would forget the key, but in short order someone knocked on the door, probably trying to accommodate them after all the fiascoes tonight.
He wanted to ignore whoever was at the door, but Faith gave him a little smile. He sighed. "We have a date for the morning," he reminded her.
"Six a.m. sharp."
He leaned over and kissed her lips, just a brush of flesh against flesh, her mouth soft, warm, sweetened with lemon-lime, and way too enticing.
Whoever was at the door knocked again. Faith almost looked hopeful the intruder would vanish as she leaned a little into the kiss, her eyes closing slightly, her breathing nearly nonexistent, her hand barely touching his thigh. But when Cameron went to do the kiss more justice, she pulled away. "Tomorrow, bright and early."
His hands cupped her face, brought her to him, and he pressed his lips harder against her mouth. He gave her something to remember him by, just like he'd be thinking about the enticing woman when he was alone in his room tonight, wishing for more. Then he left the bed.
When he answered the door, a man dressed in a suit apologized profusely.
Cameron glanced over his shoulder before he left Faith, and he thought she looked like she needed more of a kiss, her lips slightly parted, begging for more attention.
But she quickly said, "'Night," as if that would keep her out of trouble.
Smiling, he shook his head. "'Night, Faith. See you in the morning." He just hoped he could wake up in time. He had better arrange for a wakeup call and hope the staff would at least get that right or he'd have somebody's head.
Okay, so Cameron was really a dreamy hunk, but did that mean Faith was supposed to lie awake half the night thinking about his kisses? The first one as light and airy as it was promised so much more. And the second one, he was ready to stay the night for sure. She touched her lips again for the hundredth time, wondering how his kisses, as sweet as they were, made her whole body tingle, when she'd felt barely anything with Hilson's. Maybe because Cameron was new? Something unexpected?
That's what it had to be. An uncanny attraction that made her whole body heat up, again, with delicious anticipation.
Breakfast, that's all this was. And then she'd be on her way to find Hilson, and Cameron MacPherson would be on his way to whatever business he had to conduct. And regrettably, she'd never see him again.
With her bag packed and sitting next to the door, Faith glanced at her watch, and then the room clock one last time. Cameron MacPherson was twenty minutes late. She couldn't wait any longer, no matter how sexy or intriguing the guy was. She whipped out a note on the hotel stationery telling him to meet her if he made it in time and planned to slip it under Cameron's door when she saw the tip of a note under hers.
She opened her door and found a folded note. Inside, the message on hotel stationery said, "Sorry to have missed you. Had to leave earlier than expected. If I return before you have breakfast, I'll meet with you in the restaurant. Cameron."
She sighed, left her room, and closed her door, then headed for the elevator, rolling her suitcase along behind her. Probably for the best. Although self-doubt began to worm its way into her thoughts. Had she turned him off by one too many rejections? She groaned at herself, always overanalyzing everything.
After the hostess seated Faith in the mostly empty lodge restaurant, where the dark brown furniture and décor made her feel as if she were in a bear's den, she watched the entryway. Hoping for a glimpse of Cameron's sparkling eyes and his roguish smile that would brighten up the place considerably, she couldn't help wondering what he might be wearing this morning. From nothing, to a towel, to a pair of jeans and nothing else, to boxers, and jeans again with an open shirt, he seemed like the kind of guy better suited to a hot weather climate.
She delayed ordering her cinnamon roll for a good twenty more minutes. But he never showed. Trying not to feel any disappointment or think anything more about Cameron, she finally gave up, had her green tea and roll, then got into her rental vehicle and drove in the direction of Back Country Tours. She had business to take care of, after all, and Cameron wasn't part of the deal.
When she reached the office, Faith found that the hotel clerk was right. The carved white wolf sign hanging off the building couldn't be missed. Pictures of snow-covered peaks hung in the windows and everything was white—the trim, the brick façade, even the roof was nearly white, which made it blend in with the snow accumulated against the buildings as if it were an ice cave in the Antarctic.
A light was on inside and her spirits lifted. According to Hilson's itinerary, he was coming here first. And maybe she'd finally get some answers to where the hunter guide, Trevor Hodges, was. The man who had taken her father on the tour that changed her father's life forever had to have seen something. Or at least confirm that nothing extraordinary had happened. But when her father had returned home, he began writing the research paper with such zeal, she suspected whatever had happened here had triggered his need to write it. And, besides locating Hilson and the
flash drive, she wanted to know the story from Trevor's point of view.
As soon as she walked into the office, she sensed something wasn't right. The place was entirely too quiet. A massive oak desk sat near the entrance, like a fortified barrier to keep the riffraff from going any further into the labyrinth of offices. Or at least that's the way it appeared to Faith.
Then she heard a rustle of papers and a drawer sliding open down the hall. "Hello?" she said, moving toward the hallway leading to several rooms.
The noise instantly ceased. She really didn't have a good feeling about this.
She backed up and turned around to leave the building pronto, when she saw a man's shoe sticking out from behind the massive desk near the entryway.
It's just a shoe, she told herself. A door somewhere else in the building opened, then closed. She hurried around the desk and started, seeing a white-haired old man lying still on the floor, clothed in a suit, missing one shoe, his face gray, his eyes staring at the ceiling, lifeless. She reached for his wrist, felt no pulse. His skin was cold. He'd been dead for a while.
She couldn't see any sign of a struggle, or foul play, but if someone had killed the man and was still in the building, she could be next. She headed for the door, jerked it open, and came face-to-face with Cameron MacPherson.
She gave a wispy gasp, threw her hand to her chest, and took a step back.
Tousled by the wind, sandy blond hair fell to the top of his plaid collar, softening his stern look a hint. His parka was open, a soft cabled sweater hugging his broad chest, the sky blue color electrifying his eyes even more. But his eyes widened at the sight of her, and he quickly reached out to steady her.
Her mouth dropped open and he stared at her with a look of disbelief.
"Faith O'Malley?" he said, as if he was so shocked to see her here, he had to confirm it really was she.
"I… there's…" She pushed against him to get out of the building. The killer, if there was one, could be inside, and might decide to finish them off next.
Cameron took hold of her arm and stopped her, the strength of his touch defeating her panic. "What's wrong? You look as white as this building."
"A dead man's in there. Not that I haven't seen a lot of them in the work I do, but the police always call me to the scene after they've dealt with it. I'm never the first one at the scene."
"The work you do?"
"I'm a forensic scientist."
His brows raised a little, but she swore a hint of admiration appeared in his expression.
"Did you touch anything?"
"Sure, the man's wrist. To make sure he's dead. Been that way for a while. Skin's cold."
"You're sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine. He's not, and if he was murdered, the guy might be still in the building. I heard noises in one of the offices off the hall."
Cameron reached under his jacket and drew out a gun, but he still hadn't released her, as if he feared she'd collapse or something. "Go outside and call 9-1-1."
Her lips parted, she stared at the weapon, then looked up at Cameron.
"Private Investigator. I have a permit to carry one. Former police officer, too." Cameron pulled out some ID to confirm it.
She closed her mouth, looked back at the other offices, then slipped her cell phone out of her purse. "Then I'm staying right here." She figured she was safer with him since he had the gun and credentials, than away from him.
"All right." However, instead of checking for the intruder, Cameron did a quick check of the body.
Faith got the 911 operator and said, "I'm Faith O'Malley and I'm at Back Country Tours where I found a dead man behind the receptionist's desk."
The operator asked a million questions, or at least it seemed like it, before Faith finally ended the conversation to see what Cameron had discovered about the victim. "Do you see any evidence of a crime?"
He pointed to the man's shirt. "Speck of blood on the front of his dress shirt. I don't see any evidence of any kind of trauma, blow to the head, strangulation, nothing. Looks like he might have been injected with something. No way to confirm my suspicions without stripping him down and looking for a needle mark, and then identifying something foreign in the body. Stay here, or go outside and wait for the police. I'll be right back."
Cameron strode off down the hallway.
"Wait! Don't you think that's a little dangerous?"
"That's why you're to wait here or outside for the police." He didn't say another word, but headed down the hall.
A cold breeze from the open doorway thoroughly chilled her, and she rubbed her arms, then leaned over the body again and opened the buttons on the man's shirt. Peeling the shirt away just a little, she examined his chest. Cameron was right. He'd been poked with a needle and the area had bled slightly before the man died. But what was really bizarre was a drip of shiny silver glistening at the point of entry.
A couple of sirens wailed down the road, and she quickly rebuttoned the man's shirt, then wiped the buttons clean with a tissue.
Before the police arrived, Cameron hurried back into the office, took hold of her arm as if he were her knight to the rescue, and led Faith out of the building. But even outside, he didn't loosen his grip on her. She could envision him as a former police officer rescuing women in distress and taking great pride in his work. "Did you see any sign of anyone?" she asked.
He looked a little blank.
"When you went into the back offices. Did you see anyone?"
"No. A door was wide open at the back of the building. He or she probably got out that way."
Instantly, Faith was suspicious. Not just of the person who had been in the building looking for something, who probably killed the old man, but of Cameron. Because she could swear he was holding out on her.
As soon as the police arrived, Faith and Cameron showed their credentials to the officers. She thought they acted oddly. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because they didn't seem too surprised. Or because they didn't appear very much concerned that Faith and Cameron might be the murderers. Which may have been because the police were dealing with a serial killer and they knew Faith and Cameron couldn't have been involved because they were out-of-towners and both worked or, in Cameron's case, had worked, with the police. Or maybe it was because the men were jaded—just another dead guy case.
The one had brownish butch hair, his light brown eyes glued to her, as if he was interested in more than her story in regard to her finding a dead body. As if he recognized her, or was intrigued with her, but not as a suspect or witness. Officer Mick Whitson. She couldn't figure out the mixed messages. The other, Bert Adams, moved around the room, his gaze darting about, taking everything in. Several times he sniffed the air. His hair was darker, his eyes hazel, and he had a heavier build. He was the one who asked the questions, as if he was in charge, while Whitson watched Faith's reactions. Not Cameron's, just Faith's.
Officer Adams finished his preliminary cursory examination of the room, then faced Cameron. "And why were you here?"
"Looking for friends of mine, fellow private investigators in a partnership, who haven't returned from a hunt."
"With Back Country Tours?"
"Yes. They made the arrangements with the staff here and are a week overdue back in Seattle. No word, except for a garbled call to our partner in Seattle, which isn't like them."
She was impressed. If she worked for an outfit like that, she'd never expect one of her partners would come looking for her. Just a few calls made, and wait it out a while longer to see if she was just delayed.
Neither of the officers commented concerning Cameron's story, though, which bothered her. She'd hoped they'd reassure him that his friends were okay. She truly thought they'd say something about a recent snowstorm that might have delayed them, or how bad communications were out in the wilderness, but they said nothing, both just seemed to stiffen a little.
Officer Adams shifted his attention to Faith. "And your business here?" Curt, abrupt, busi
nesslike.
She hesitated. Everyone watched her, anticipating her answer. She was sure she'd alerted them something about her story wouldn't quite be on the up and up.
Well, she could say the same about Cameron. The part about looking for his friends was probably true, but he wasn't just checking for the killer in the building either when he went to investigate. And she felt something wasn't quite right about the two cops either.
"Can I see your ID again?" she asked the men.
From their non-reaction, she figured she'd stunned them. Although Cameron managed a small smile.
The officers exchanged glances, and then the one in charge, Officer Adams, pulled out his ID. After she looked at it, at him, and at the ID again, she nodded and handed it back. His face stern, he never broke a smile. But the other one, now he did. The smile showed dark amusement. He handed his ID over, made a point to touch her hand, and when she returned his ID, he managed to sweep his hand over hers, lingering a little longer, a little more invasive, as a prelude to something more.
Cameron looked miffed, even stepped closer to her, and glowered at Whitson as if to remind him to act professional and stay away from Faith.
Not needing the rescue, she tilted her chin up, gave Whitson a look like this was strictly business to her, when Officer Adams reminded her he was waiting for an answer.
"I'm searching for a tour guide who took my father on a hunt last year," she told the officer. "I wanted to take the same trip he'd taken. The guide worked for Back Country Tours." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if she told the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her God.
She thought about mentioning her father's research paper, that her former boyfriend had stolen it, and was in these parts close by, but she knew the police wouldn't be interested in any of it. But if they were, they'd ask what the paper was about, and she wouldn't be able to explain. How crazy would that sound? It was better not to bring it up.
More than that, and for whatever reason, she didn't want Cameron to know she had a boyfriend. Well, he was an ex, but she hadn't officially told Hilson that. Although she was pretty sure Hilson knew already. And had planned it that way. Unless he was dumb enough to think she couldn't figure out who stole her father's flash drive and hard drive and then intended to come back to her. She couldn't forgive him though.