Snow Blind

by Cassie Miles

  In the kitchen, she checked out the fridge. The lower shelf held four bottles of pricey champagne. Not a good sign. It was beginning to look as if Alex the grump had been right, and Damien had more than business on his mind.

  She should have seen it coming. This was Jason Foley all over again, strumming his twelve-string and singing about Trashy Sasha. If she wanted to squash rumors before they started, she’d get a room at the hotel. As if she could afford to stay there. And why should she run off with her tail between her legs? She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of.

  Her fingers wrapped around the neck of a champagne bottle. She was here and might as well enjoy it. She popped the cork and poured the bubbly liquid into a handy crystal flute that Damien had probably used a million times to seduce hapless ladies. And why not? He was single, and they were consenting adults.

  “Here’s to you.” She raised her glass in toast to her absent boss and took a sip. “This is one consenting adult you’re not going to bed with.”

  Taking the champagne with her, she changed into her bathing suit and went to the hot tub, where she soaked and drank. All she had to do was just say no. If people wanted to think the worst, that was their problem.

  The windows above the hot tub looked out on a pristine night sky. As she gazed at the moon and stars, her vision blurred. Was she getting drunk? Oh, good. Real professional. Clearly, three glasses of champagne were enough.

  Leaving the tub, she slipped into a white terry-cloth bathrobe that had been hanging on a peg. Though she wasn’t really hungry, she ought to eat. But first she needed to retrieve the binoculars Alex had left on the balcony.

  After a detour to the bedroom, where she stuck her feet into her cozy faux-fur boots, she crossed the room and opened the balcony door. The bracing cold smacked her in the face, but she was still warm from the hot tub and the champagne. She picked up the binoculars. Even if Damien was a womanizer, it was ridiculous to think that he might be a Peeping Tom. He probably couldn’t see into the hotel at all.

  Holding the binoculars to her eyes, she adjusted the knobs and focused on the nine-story building that was a couple of hundred yards away. Only half the windows were lit. The hotel guests might be out for a late dinner. Or maybe the rooms were vacant. The resort wouldn’t officially be open until after the Saturday-night gala.

  Her sight line into one of the floor-to-ceiling windows was incredibly clear. She saw a couple of beautiful people sitting at a table, eating and drinking. The woman had long black hair and was wearing a white jumpsuit, an elaborate gold necklace draped across her cleavage. She was stunning. The man appeared to be an average guy with dark hair and a black turtleneck. Sasha’s view of him was obscured by a ficus tree.

  Spying on them ranked high on the creepiness scale, but the peek into someone else’s life was kind of fascinating. Sasha noticed they weren’t talking much, and she wondered if they’d been together for a long time and were so comfortable with each other that words were unnecessary. Someday she hoped to have a sophisticated relationship like that. Or maybe not. Silence was boring.

  Despite telling herself to stop spying, she switched to a different window on another floor, where two men were watching television. In another room, a woman was doing yoga, moving into Downward-Facing Dog pose. Apparently, the floor-to-ceiling windows were in only the front room, which was fine with Sasha. She had no intention of peering into bedrooms.

  A shiver went through her. It was cold. She should go back inside. But she wanted one last peek at the dark-haired woman and her male companion. They were standing on opposite sides of the small table. The woman threw her hands in the air. Even at this distance, Sasha could tell she was angry.

  Her companion turned his back on her as if to walk away. The woman chased after him and shoved his shoulder. When he turned, Sasha caught a clear glimpse of his face. It lasted only a second but she could see his fury as he grabbed the woman’s wrist.

  Sasha couldn’t see exactly what happened, but when the woman staggered backward, the front of her white jumpsuit was red with blood. Before she fell to the floor, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of Sasha’s sight.

  She’d witnessed an assault, possibly a murder. That woman needed her help. She dashed into the condo and called 911.

  The phone rang only four times but it seemed like an eternity. When Sasha glanced over her shoulder to the balcony, she noticed the lights had gone out in the would-be murder room. Had she been looking at the fifth floor or the sixth?

  When the dispatcher finally picked up, Sasha babbled, “I saw a woman get attacked. She’s bleeding.”

  “What is your location?”

  Sasha rattled off the address and added, “The woman, the victim, isn’t here. She’s at the Gateway Hotel.”

  “Room number?”

  “I don’t know.” There was no way to explain without mentioning the binoculars. “It’s complicated. This woman, she has on a white jumpsuit. You’ve got to send an ambulance.”

  “To what location?”

  “The hotel.”

  “What room number?”

  “I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”

  The emergency operator didn’t believe her, and Sasha didn’t blame her. But she couldn’t ignore what she’d witnessed. If she had to knock on every door to every room in that hotel, she’d find that woman.

  Chapter Two

  Responding to a 911 call, Deputy Brady Ellis drove fast through the Apollo condo complex. His blue-and-red lights flashed against the snow-covered three-story buildings, and his siren blared. From what the dispatcher had told him, the caller had allegedly witnessed an assault at the Gateway Hotel, which seemed unlikely because the hotel was a distance away from the condos. The dispatcher had also mentioned that the caller sounded intoxicated. This 911 call might be somebody’s idea of a joke. It didn’t matter. Until he knew otherwise, Brady would treat the situation as a bona fide emergency.

  He parked his SUV with the Summit County Sheriff logo emblazoned on the door in the parking lot and jogged up the shoveled sidewalk to the entryway. Five years ago, when he first started working for the sheriff’s department, this land had been nothing but trees and rocks that belonged to his uncle Dooley. These acres hadn’t been much use to Dooley; they were across the road from his primary cattle ranch and too close to the small town of Arcadia for grazing. When Dooley had gotten a chance to sell for a big profit, he’d jumped on it.

  Some folks in the area hated the fancy ski resort that had mushroomed across the valley, but Brady wasn’t one of them. Without the new development, Arcadia would have turned into a ghost town populated by coyotes and chipmunks. The influx of tourists brought much-needed business and cash flow.

  The downside was the 250 percent increase in the crime rate, which was no big surprise. Crime was what happened when people moved in. Coyotes and chipmunks were less inclined to break the law.

  Outside the condo entryway was a buzzer. He pressed the button for Samuels, Sorenson and Smith, which was on the third floor. When a woman answered, he identified himself. “Deputy Brady Ellis, sheriff’s department.”

  “You got here fast,” she said. “I’ll buzz you in.”

  When the door hummed, he pushed it open. Instead of taking the elevator, Brady climbed the wide staircase. On the third floor, a short blonde woman stood waiting in the open doorway. She wore black furry boots, a white terry-cloth bathrobe cinched tight around her waist and not much else. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the condo. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  He closed the door and scanned the interior, noticing the half-empty bottle of champagne. “Is anyone here with you?”

  “I’m alone.” Her blue eyes were too bright, and her cheeks were flushed. Brady concurred with the dispatcher’s opinion that t
his woman had been drinking. “What’s your name?”

  “Sasha Campbell.” She hadn’t released her hold on his arm and was dragging him toward the windows—attempting to drag him was more accurate. He was six feet four inches tall and solidly built. This little lady wasn’t physically capable of shoving him from place to place.

  “Ms. Campbell,” he said in a deep voice to compel her attention. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Okay, sure.” She dropped his arm and stared up at him. “We need to move fast. This is literally a matter of life and death.”

  Though he wasn’t sure if she was drunk or crazy, he recognized her determination and her fear. Those feelings were real. “Is this your condo?”

  “I wish.” Her robe gaped and he caught a glimpse of an orange bikini top inside. “I work for a law firm, and the condo belongs to them. I’m staying here while I attend meetings.”

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  “Wrong again. I’m a legal assistant right now, but I’m going to school to learn how to become a mediator and...” She stamped her furry boot. “Sorry, when I get nervous I talk too much. And there isn’t time. Oh, God, there isn’t time.”

  He responded to her sense of urgency. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It’s easier if I show you. Come out here.” She led him onto the balcony and slapped a pair of binoculars into his hand. “I was looking through those at the hotel, and I witnessed an attack. There was a lot of blood. Now do you understand? This woman might be bleeding to death while we stand here.”

  He held the binoculars to his eyes and adjusted the focus. The view into the hotel rooms was crystal clear. As unlikely as her story sounded, it was possible.

  “Exactly what did you see?”

  “Let’s go back inside. It’s freezing out here.” She bustled into the condo, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “Okay, there was a black-haired woman in a white jumpsuit sitting at a table opposite a guy I couldn’t see as well, because there was a plant in the way. I think he was wearing a turtleneck. And I think he had brown hair. That’s right, brown hair. She had a gold necklace. They were eating. Then I looked away. Then I looked back.”

  As she spoke, her head whipped to the right and then to the left, mimicking her words. Her long blond hair flipped back and forth. “Go on,” he said.

  “The woman was standing, gesturing. She seemed angry. The guy came at her. I could only see his back. When the woman stepped away, there was blood on the front of her white jumpsuit. A lot of blood.” Sasha paused. Her lower lip quivered. “The man caught her before she fell, and that was when I got a clear look at his face.”

  “Would you recognize him again?”

  “I think so.”

  The details in her account made him think that she actually had seen something. The explanation might turn out to be more innocent than she suspected, but further investigation was necessary. “Do you know which room it was?”

  She shook her head. “They turned out the lights. I’m not even sure it was the fifth floor or the sixth. Not the corner room but one or two down from it.”

  “I want you to remember everything you told me. Later I’ll need for you to write out your statement. But right now I want you to come with me to the hotel.”

  For the first time since he’d come into the condo, she grinned. Her whole face lit up, and he felt a wave of pure sunshine washing toward him. He stared at her soft pink mouth as she spoke. “You believe me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Immediately, he reined in his attraction toward her. She was a witness, nothing more.

  “I don’t know. It just seems... I don’t know.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get dressed.”

  She turned on her heel and dashed across the condo to the hallway. He heard the sound of a door closing. As he moved toward the exit, he checked out the high-end furnishings and electronics. Bubbly little Sasha seemed too lively, energetic and youthful to be comfortable with these polished surroundings. She lacked the sophistication that he associated with high-priced attorneys.

  It bothered him that she’d expected he wouldn’t believe her statement. Even though she’d related her account of the assault with clear details, she seemed unsure of herself. That hesitant attitude didn’t work for him. He was about to go to the hotel and ask questions that would inconvenience the staff and guests. Brady needed for Sasha to be a credible witness.

  When she bounded down the hallway in red jeans and a black parka with fake fur around the collar, she looked presentable, especially since she’d ditched the fuzzy boots for a sensible pair of hiking shoes. Then she put on a white knit cap with a goofy pom-pom on top and gave him one of those huge smiles. Damn, she was cute with her rosy cheeks and button nose. As he looked at her, something inside him melted.

  If they’d been going on a sleigh ride or a hike, he would have been happy to have her as his companion. But Sasha wasn’t his first choice as a witness. At the hotel, he’d try to avoid mentioning that she’d been peeping at the hotel through binoculars.

  * * *

  SASHA CLIMBED INTO the passenger side of the SUV and fastened her seat belt. A combination of excitement and dread churned through her veins. She was scared about what she’d seen and fearful about what might have happened to the woman in white. At the same time, she was glad to be able to help. Because of the circumstance—a strange, unlikely moment when she’d peeked through those binoculars at precisely the right time—she might save that woman’s life.

  She glanced toward Deputy Brady. “Is this what it feels like to be a cop?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “My pulse is racing. That’s the adrenaline, right? And I’m tingling all over.”

  “Could be the champagne,” he said drily.

  She’d all but forgotten the three glasses of champagne she’d had in the hot tub. “I’ve been drunk before, and it doesn’t feel anything like this.”

  When Brady turned on the flashing lights and the wailing siren, her excitement ratcheted up higher. This was serious business, police business. They were about to make a difference in someone’s life, pursuing a would-be killer, rescuing a victim.

  Her emotions popped like fireworks in contrast to Brady’s absolute calm. He was a big man—solid and capable. His jawline and cleft chin seemed to be set in granite in spite of a dimple at the left corner of his mouth. His hazel eyes were steady and cool. In spite of the sheriff’s department logo on the sleeve of his dark blue jacket and the gun holster on his belt next to his badge, he didn’t look much like a cop. He wore dark brown boots and jeans and a black cowboy hat. The hat made her think he might be a local.

  She raised her voice so he could hear her over the siren. “Have you lived in Arcadia long?”

  “Born and raised,” he said. “My uncle Dooley owned the land where your condo, the hotel and the ski lodge are built.”

  “You’re related to Matthew Dooley?”

  “I am.”

  That wily old rancher was one of the four investors in the Arcadia development. Dooley was big and rangy, much like Brady, and he always wore a cowboy hat and bolo tie. During most of the meetings in the conference room at the Three Ss, he appeared to be sleeping but managed to come alive when there was an issue that concerned him.

  “I like your uncle,” she said. “He’s a character.”

  “He plays by his own rules.”

  And he could afford to. Even before the investment in his land Dooley was a multimillionaire from all the mountain property he had owned and sold over the years. Brady’s relationship to him explained the cowboy hat and the boots. But why was he working as a deputy? “Your family is rich.”

  “I’m not keeping score.”

  “Easy to say wh
en you’re on the winning team.” Her family hadn’t been poor, but with five kids they’d struggled to get by. If it hadn’t been for scholarships and student loans, she never would have finished college. Paying for her continuing education was going to be a strain. “What made you decide to be a deputy?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  She sensed his resistance and wondered if he had a deep reason for choosing a career in law enforcement. “You can tell me.”

  He gave her a sidelong look, assessing her. Then he turned his gaze back toward the road. They were approaching the hotel. “When we go inside, let me do the talking.”

  “I might be able to help,” she said. “I’m a pretty good negotiator.”

  “This is a police matter. I’m in charge. Do you understand?”

  “Okay.”

  Though she was capable of standing up for herself, she didn’t mind letting him do the talking. Not only was he a local who probably knew half the people who worked here, but Brady had the authority of the badge.

  After they left the SUV in the valet parking area outside the entrance, she dutifully followed him into the front lobby. In the course of resort negotiations, she’d seen dozens of photographs of the interior of the Gateway Hotel. The reality was spectacular. The front windows climbed three stories high in the lobby-slash-atrium, showcasing several chandeliers decorated with small crystal snowflakes. A water feature near the check-in desk rippled over a tiered black marble waterfall. The decor and artwork were sleek and modern, except for a life-size marble statue of a toga-clad woman aiming a bow and arrow. Sasha guessed she was supposed to be Artemis, goddess of the hunt.

  Occasional Grecian touches paid homage to the name Arcadia, which was an area in Greece ruled in ancient times by Pan the forest god. Sasha was glad the investors hadn’t gone overboard with the gods-and-goddesses theme in the decorating. She stood behind Brady as he talked to a uniformed man behind the check-in counter. They were quickly shown into a back room to meet with the hotel manager, Mark Chandler.