by Cassie Miles
Damien hadn’t fired her, but she could feel it coming. Her neck was on the chopping block and the axe was about to fall. Not only would she be losing a job, but she couldn’t count on a good recommendation. Somehow she had to get back in her boss’s good graces. Finding the murderer would be a good start. Damien couldn’t fire her if she proved that Reinhardt was innocent...if he was innocent and hadn’t hired someone to kill his ex-wife.
She approached the dining table in front of the balcony window where Brady was talking to a guy wearing a black baseball cap with Arcadia Mountain Security stenciled across the front. If she’d been alone with Brady, she would have jumped into his arms and clung to him while she poured out her fears about losing her job.
But there were other people around, and she needed to behave in an appropriate manner. First she spoke to the property manager and arranged to have a dead bolt installed on the balcony door. Sasha also explained that she’d like to wait before filing an insurance claim, per Damien’s request.
The property manager made a note in her pad and asked, “Will you continue to stay at the condo?”
It was a good question, one that she couldn’t answer for sure. The place had already been broken into; it might be targeted again. “Let’s assume that I am. Is there any way you could stock the refrigerator? Nothing fancy, just cold cuts and bread and fruit.”
“Of course,” she said. “Damien has a standard list of food supplies when he comes up here, but he didn’t mention anything for this trip.”
Thanks, Damien. “His standard list will be fine.”
While the property manager hurried off to do her duties, Sasha sat at the table beside Brady. Her desire to be close to him was so strong that she actually leaned toward him and bumped her shoulder against his arm. He glanced toward her and flashed a dimpled grin. “I think we finally got lucky.”
“How so?”
He introduced the security guy. “This is Max. We went to high school together.”
Reaching over, she shook Max’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Max has already done the fingerprinting and found nothing. Not a big surprise. When we checked out the balcony, we found signs that the intruder climbed from one level to the next, and he used some kind of grappling hook.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Max said. “It’s good to know about. We’ll make sure all our properties have better locks on the balcony doors.”
“If the sheriff had been handling this, it would have taken hours, waiting for one of the two guys who handle our forensics.” Brady leaned his elbows on the table. “I don’t mean to bad-mouth Sheriff McKinley, but every deputy in the department should be equipped with simple forensic tools and trained on how to use them.”
“Things are changing around here,” Max said. “A lot of us think it’s time to elect a new sheriff. Maybe somebody like you, Brady.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said as he brushed the suggestion aside. “Even better news is that Max’s security firm has surveillance video of the balconies. We’re waiting for it to be transferred to his digital screen.”
“So we can actually see the guy breaking in?”
“That’s right.”
He laced his fingers together, put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. She hated to burst this bubble of contentment, but she’d already decided to tell him what Damien had said. The victim’s relationship to Reinhardt and Andrea wasn’t privileged information, and Brady would find out soon enough even if she didn’t speak up.
“I mentioned the name of the victim to Damien Loughlin.”
“That’s okay. It’s about to become common knowledge.”
A lazy grin lifted the corners of his mouth. The way his gaze lingered on her face made her wonder if he’d been having the same thoughts about touching and being close. She hoped so. She wanted another kiss, just to make sure the first one hadn’t been a fluke.
She blurted, “Lauren Robbins was Reinhardt’s ex-wife. Her cousin is Andrea Tate.”
Brady snapped to attention. In the blink of an eye, he lost the lazy cowboy image as he pushed away from the table and took out his cell phone. “I’d better inform the sheriff.”
The thought of paunchy old McKinley wiggling his mustache at the ferocious Lloyd Reinhardt worried her. Reinhardt would eat the sheriff alive. “It might be best if you’re the one who breaks the news to Reinhardt.”
“I’ll bet that news has already been broken. You told Damien, Reinhardt’s lawyer.”
Obviously, Damien would call his top client to inform him of the investigative storm cloud headed in his direction. She hadn’t seen the problem from that perspective. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
As Brady walked away to make his phone call, he shrugged. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
Once again she’d stumbled into a mess. Balancing between the police and the lawyers was a tricky business. Investigating leads would be even more complicated. She’d seen the killer and could say for certain that it wasn’t Lloyd Reinhardt. He hadn’t wielded the knife that had killed his ex-wife, but he surely could have hired the man who had.
* * *
AFTER BRADY FINISHED his call to the sheriff, he took his seat at the table to watch the surveillance video from Max’s security company. The fact that Reinhardt and his companion had been part of the victim’s life didn’t bother him as much as their connection to Sasha. Less than an hour ago, he’d found Sam Moreno in an area where Sasha thought she’d seen a stalker. Now Reinhardt was a suspect. It felt as if danger was inching closer, reaching out to touch her. The killer knew who she was and what she had seen.
When he glanced at her, he saw the worry in her eyes. Quietly, he said, “Don’t let this get to you. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I feel bad for telling Damien.”
“That’s not your problem,” he said.
“I wasn’t planning to say anything to him. The words just kind of spilled out.”
Max placed the computer screen in front of them. “Ready?”
“Okay,” she said as she sat up straight in her chair and focused those pretty blue eyes on the screen. “How does this work?”
“On most of the properties we’re hired to protect, we set up stationary digital surveillance cameras on several angles. They record continuously, have night vision and store twelve terabytes of data. The feed for this camera was accessed at our office and transferred here to me.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Brady said. He loved gadgets. “The sheriff’s office could use a bunch of these.”
“To do what?” she asked.
“We could put them at banks or high-crime areas.” Referring to a “high-crime area” in this quiet little county might be exaggerating a bit. Most of their arrests took place outside the two taverns at the edge of town. “Or on the traffic lights.”
“And how many traffic lights are there in Arcadia?”
“Five,” he said. “Every one of them could have a camera.”
The screen came to life, showing a wide high-resolution picture of the back side of the condo building. The trees bobbed in the wind. There was no one around.
“I’ll zoom in,” Max said.
The picture tightened on the three balconies in a vertical row. The floor of the lowest was over an attached garage, about ten feet off the snow-covered ground. A tall pine tree partially hid the view.
Brady saw a figure dressed in black wearing a ski mask. “There he is.”
With quick, agile movements, the intruder tossed a hook attached to a rope over the banister on the first balcony and climbed up. He used similar moves to get to the third floor. His entire climb took only about ten minutes.
“He’s good,” Sasha said. “I thought I was kidding ab
out ninjas.”
“Could be a rock climber,” Max said. “Looks like he’s wearing that kind of shoe.”
Brady was impressed with both the skill of the intruder’s ascent and the speed he showed in picking the lock. “This isn’t the first time he’s done this. When it comes to break-ins, this guy is a pro.”
Almost as quickly as he’d entered, he appeared on the balcony again.
“It doesn’t look like he’s carrying anything,” Max said. “He didn’t come here to commit a robbery.”
Brady knew why the intruder had made this daring entry into the condo. He was after Sasha. His intention had been to find her and silence her.
On his climb down, the figure in black slipped at the lowest balcony and took a fall. When he rose and moved away from the building, he was limping.
“I hope his leg is broken,” Sasha said.
Brady looked toward Max. “Did your cameras pick up his escape? Did you see a vehicle?”
“Sorry, there wasn’t anything else.”
This footage was enough to convince Brady of one thing. Sasha was in very real danger. There was no way she could stay at this condo by herself.
Chapter Twelve
Brady had insisted that Sasha pack her suitcase and leave the condo. It hadn’t taken much to convince her that she’d be safer somewhere else. That video of the guy in black creeping up the wall like a spider was all the motivation she needed.
The best plan, in his eyes, would be for her to come home with him. Not the most appropriate situation, but the most secure. As they drove to the hotel to look at the security tapes, he mentioned that possibility.
“Maybe you should spend the night with me...at my cabin.” A warm flush crawled up his throat, and he was glad that the afternoon sunlight had faded to dusk. He didn’t want her to see him turning red. “I have an extra bedroom.”
“Wouldn’t that be a problem for you? Since I’m involved in the investigation.”
“It’s not like you’re a suspect. I wouldn’t be harboring a fugitive.” People would talk, but he didn’t mind the wagging tongues and finger-pointing. Maybe she did. “Your boss might not approve.”
“He’s not happy with me.” She exhaled a long sigh. “I’ll be lucky to get out of this investigation without being fired.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Actually, it was a big mistake for me to pick up a pair of binoculars and look through somebody’s window.”
“If you hadn’t witnessed the murder, we wouldn’t have learned about it for a long time. The killer cleaned up after himself too well.”
“You would have found out today,” she said. “The cross-country skiers would still have discovered the body.”
“Maybe or maybe not,” he said. “Because we were poking around last night, the killer might have been in a hurry to dispose of the body. He might have chosen the most expedient dumping site rather than the best place to hide that steamer trunk.”
For a moment, Brady put himself in the killer’s shoes. At first the murder had gone according to his plan. He’d stabbed the victim and dumped her into the trunk without spilling a single drop of blood on the floor. After he’d cleaned up the room, throwing everything into the trunk, he’d wheeled the steamer trunk into the hall and down to the parking garage. If anyone had seen him, it wasn’t a problem. Nobody would question a man with a suitcase in a hotel.
The killer must have been pleased with himself, thinking he’d gotten away with a nearly perfect crime. And then, less than an hour after the attack, an eyewitness appeared and a deputy started asking questions. The killer’s careful planning had failed. He must have been reeling from shock.
“If we ever catch this guy,” Brady said, “it will be because you happened to be looking in the right place at the wrong time.”
She reached across the console and touched his arm. “That makes me feel better.”
Her touch reminded him of the other reason he wanted her to stay at his cabin tonight. He needed another kiss. To be honest, he craved more than kissing. He wanted Sasha in his bed. Every moment he spent with her heightened that longing. He had memorized the shape of her face and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. His ears were tuned to the warm cadence of her voice and her light, rippling laughter. He wanted to hold her close and inhale the peachy scent of her shampoo. No matter how inappropriate, he wanted her. It was taking a full-on exertion of willpower to hold himself in check.
He swallowed hard. “What do you say? My cabin?”
“I won’t stay at the condo.”
He held his breath. “And?”
“I should get a room at the hotel.” At least she didn’t sound happy about it. “If Jacobson has all the surveillance in place, it ought to be safe.”
Rejected. He decided not to take it personally. “I’ll arrange it.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
He knew that. A couple of times today, he’d caught her looking at him with a sultry heat in her eyes. “My offer stands.”
“I’ve got to be professional, to concentrate on my job.”
“I understand. Don’t worry about the cost of the hotel. The sheriff’s department can spring for a room to protect a witness.”
When he drove toward valet parking outside the Gateway Hotel, he spotted the sheriff’s SUV. “McKinley is already here, probably questioning Reinhardt.”
She groaned. “That’s not going to go well.”
“I think we should join them.”
“We?” Her voice shot up a couple of octaves. “You mean both of us?”
“Andrea just lost her cousin. She might appreciate having another woman to talk to.”
“But there’s a confidentiality thing,” Sasha said. “I’m not a lawyer, but the firm I work for represents Reinhardt and the other investors. If they say anything to me in private, I should tell Damien first.”
“Not a problem. We’ll make sure you’re not alone when you talk to them.” He parked the SUV and turned to her. “That’s a good rule. Until we know who hired the ninja, you can’t be alone with any of the partners or their people.”
“You suspect all of them? Even Katie Cook?”
“She could have hired a killer.”
“But why? What’s her motive?”
“Something to do with real estate,” he said. “Didn’t she have two male skaters with her? Two guys wearing black?”
“And sequins,” Sasha said. “Not many ninjas wear sequins.”
He wouldn’t have been surprised by anything. This investigation had taken more twists and turns than the road over Vail Pass.
* * *
WHEN SHE AND Brady entered Reinhardt’s suite on the concierge level of the Gateway Hotel, she could feel tension shimmering in the air. Sheriff McKinley and another deputy stood in the middle of the room, holding their hats by the brims and looking confused, as though they couldn’t decide if they should apologize to Reinhardt or arrest him.
Pacing back and forth, Reinhardt was easier to read. He was outraged with a capital O. As soon as he saw Sasha, he came to a stop and jabbed his index finger at her.
“She can straighten this out,” he said. “She works for my lawyer, and my lawyer told me not to say a damn thing to the cops until he gets here. Tell them, Sasha.”
Heads swiveled, and all eyes turned toward her. Though trained as a paralegal and familiar with these simple legal parameters, Sasha wasn’t accustomed to having anyone seek her opinion. It was time for her to rise to the occasion.
She inhaled a breath and spoke clearly. “Mr. Reinhardt is correct. He’s not required to talk to the police without having his lawyer present.”
“When’s the lawyer getting here?” the sheriff asked.
“Tomorrow.” She
hoped Damien would be here tomorrow.
“What about you?” McKinley was almost whining. His mustache drooped dejectedly. “You’re present. Doesn’t that mean he can talk to me now?”
“I’m not an attorney, just an assistant.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Reinhardt said. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Lauren was my ex-wife, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about her. When you came in here and told me that she was murdered, it hurt.”
“Shut up, Lloyd.” Andrea rose from the chair where she’d been curled up with a wide-bottomed whiskey glass cradled in both hands. “You were over Lauren.”
“I didn’t hate her.”
“Probably not.” Andrea wobbled on her feet. “You gave her a good settlement and always sent the alimony checks on time. Lauren was the bad guy in your divorce. I loved my cousin, but she spent money like a wild woman. Wouldn’t listen to anybody.”
Sasha could see that Andrea was on the verge of a crash. When she got closer to her, she caught a whiff of strong alcohol. “I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anyone I can contact for you?”
“My mom.” A tear skidded down her tanned cheek. “Lauren’s parents are dead. My mom is the one who handles all the family business. She lives in Texas, but she’ll hop a plane and be here quick.”
“Come with me into the bedroom,” Sasha said, “and we’ll make that phone call.”
“Oh, God, there’s going to be a funeral. Lauren would want an open casket. How did she look? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Andrea plunked back into the chair and held up her glass. “I need more of this.”
Sasha didn’t argue. She took the glass and went across the suite to the wet bar, where a bottle of amber whiskey stood on the counter. All the men were watching her, and she sensed their uneasiness when it came to comforting a nearly hysterical woman. For Sasha this kind of situation wasn’t a big emotional stretch. She came from a big family where somebody was always in crisis.
Though she hadn’t planned it, she was in charge. “I have an idea about how we can handle the legal situation. I can contact Mr. Loughlin on my computer, and he can take part in the talks with Mr. Reinhardt.”