by Cassie Miles
“Do it,” Reinhardt said.
After delivering the drink to Andrea, she whipped open her briefcase and set up the communication with Damien. The sheriff, the other deputy and Reinhardt sat around the table with the computerized version of Damien overseeing the conversation.
Sasha returned to Andrea. “Let’s make your phone call.”
“She didn’t deserve to die.” The strong, attractive lines of her face seemed to be melting. “Lauren did some real stupid things, but she wasn’t a bad person.”
Sasha signaled for Brady to join her. “I could use some help here.”
Together they guided the black-haired woman across the suite and into the bedroom, where she threw herself facedown on the bed and sobbed. Sitting beside her, Sasha patted her back and murmured gentle reassurances. When Brady started to leave, she waved at him and mouthed the words You have to stay.
He shook his head and silently said, No.
She couldn’t let him go, not with the confidentiality problem. She mouthed, Please, please, please.
Scowling, he leaned his back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.
When the storm of weeping had subsided, Sasha said, “Brady is going to stay in here with us, okay?”
“Whatever.” Andrea levered herself up to a sitting position but was still slouched over so her hair fell forward and covered her face. “Brady’s okay. I’ve heard about him.”
“From Jim Birch,” Sasha guessed.
“He’s a sweet old guy.” She inhaled a ragged breath and pushed her hair back. In spite of her tears, she was still attractive. “He always tells me I look like an Apache maiden, wild and beautiful.”
The colorful compliment sounded exactly like something Jim Birch would say. “Have you known him long?”
“I’ve been working with him for a couple of years. I met him when I came up here with Lloyd to check on the development at Arcadia. I had time to explore while Lloyd was fussing around with the construction crews.”
“Was he still married to Lauren then?”
“No, they’ve been divorced for five years. Lauren was actually working with me when I first started talking to Jim Birch about selling his property. She tried to steal his listing away from me, the bitch.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I shouldn’t say that now that she’s dead.”
“I won’t tell.”
Sasha wrapped her arm around the other woman, encouraging her to lean against her shoulder. She hoped the physical contact would bring some comfort.
Sasha couldn’t get over the similarities between Andrea and the victim. The hair. The sense of style. It wasn’t surprising that Reinhardt had gone from one cousin to the other. “Are you and Mr. Reinhardt in a serious relationship?”
“We’re just dating. He’s a little old for me, but I like powerful men. And I’ve been attracted to Lloyd for a long time, even when he was still married to Lauren.” She swiped at her swollen eyes. “Brady, can you get me an aspirin from the bathroom?”
Though he did as he was asked, he stayed within earshot, and she was glad that he did. She figured that they were going to get more information from Andrea than the sheriff would uncover in his interrogation of Reinhardt.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Andrea said. “I never made a move on Lloyd when he was married. That’s not how I roll.”
“Dating married men is never a good idea.”
“Not like you and Damien,” Andrea said. “Wasn’t he voted one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors?”
“Not my type.” Sasha didn’t want to go through this song and dance again. “We aren’t dating.”
“But you were going to be together at the corporate condo.”
“I’m moving to the hotel tonight.”
Andrea accepted three aspirin tablets and a glass of water from Brady. She looked from him to Sasha and back again. “Poor Damien. I think you found something more interesting in the local scenery.”
Sasha glanced over at Brady. She was anxious to shift the topic back toward the investigation. “Tell me about you and Lloyd.”
“We started spending more time together about three months ago. It was just after Lauren tried to pull a fast one and steal Jim Birch. She had a buyer who was perfect for the dude-ranch property, and she took him up for a showing without telling me. When I found out, I started a bidding war using my contact with Sam Moreno.”
“That was three months ago?”
“Give or take.” Andrea swallowed the aspirin.
The timing was interesting. At the investors’ meetings, Moreno had never spoken of his intention to buy the dude-ranch property. The first mention of his ashram was today. For some reason, he’d kept this plan a secret.
Reinhardt had the most to lose from Sam Moreno breaking away from the group to set up his own development, as he was the one the business partners had agreed would supervise all new construction. Was it pure coincidence that he’d started dating Andrea at that time? Was he using her?
She gave Andrea a smile. “Are you ready to make that call to your mom?”
“Might as well get it over with.”
“If you want, I’ll stay with you.”
She tossed her head, and her long black hair fell back over her shoulders. “I’ll do it alone.”
“Don’t hesitate to give me a call if you want to talk.” Sasha rose from the bed. “Again, you have my deepest condolences.”
She was at the bedroom door when Andrea called to her. “Here’s a little something that you and Brady might be interested in knowing.”
“What’s that?”
“The person in the bidding war with Moreno was none other than Virgil P. Westfield.”
That little tidbit was more than unexpected. It was a bombshell. Sasha knew that several of the investors had ties to Westfield but hadn’t suspected that they were actually doing business with him. At ninety-two, how much business did he undertake? “Was he Lauren’s client?”
“You bet he was. She had that old man tied up in knots.”
And now that old man was dead.
Sasha caught a glint of awareness in Andrea’s eye. The supposedly grief-stricken cousin knew exactly how important this information was to the investigation. Apparently, Andrea wasn’t above doing a bit of scheming on her own.
Chapter Thirteen
Returning to the meeting at hand, Sasha felt the need to inform the computerized version of Damien that she needed to view some surveillance tapes in the hotel security office. As usual, he brushed her off, telling her that he still had important matters to discuss with Reinhardt and the sheriff.
How typical! His conversation with the others was important. And her role as an eyewitness—the only witness—wasn’t.
She held her tongue as she and Brady went past the concierge desk on their way to the elevator. There was no sign of ice-cold Anita, the concierge, and Sasha was glad. The last thing she needed was another condescending comment. When she hit the button to summon the elevator, she couldn’t contain her frustration for one more moment. She exploded. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?”
“Damien didn’t tell me that Mr. Westfield was working with Lauren Robbins. Those should have been the first words out of his mouth.”
“Are you sure he knew?”
She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. “Westfield was one of his big clients. If he was planning to buy a huge parcel of mountain property, Damien would know everything about it.”
“Maybe he didn’t think it was important.”
“Don’t you dare defend him!” She hit the elevator button again. “I’ve been doing the best I can in a messy situation, and my boss is holding back information, treating me like a lackey. Which, I suppose, is how he sees me. I’
m not another attorney, not a colleague. I’m just the girl who gets coffee.”
“Hey.” He held up a hand to stop her rant. “I just watched you take charge with a sheriff, two deputies and a billionaire developer. You’re doing a hell of a good job.”
Those were exactly the words she needed to hear. Together they entered the elevator. The instant the doors whooshed closed, she went up on her tiptoes, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. With his hands at her waist, he anchored her against his hard, muscled body.
Though she had initiated the kiss, he took charge. His mouth was firm and supple, not at all sloppy. When his tongue penetrated her lips, he set off an electric chain reaction. Her entire body trembled. Her heart raced.
Too soon the elevator doors opened on the first floor. She gave a frantic little gasp as she pulled herself together and stepped away from him.
Standing directly outside the elevator was Grant Jacobson. His stern features were lit with a huge grin.
“Let me guess,” Brady said. “The surveillance in the elevators is operational.”
“And I can transfer the picture to this portable screen.” He held up a flat device slightly larger than a cell phone. “Too bad I’m not in the blackmail business.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” Sasha said. She was trying her best not to be embarrassed...and failing. The thrills hadn’t stopped. Her mouth tingled. If her lipstick hadn’t already been worn off, it would have been smeared across her face.
Jacobson chuckled. “Oh, but the pleasure was all mine.”
“Did you have some surveillance for me to look at?”
“Right this way.”
There were desks, computers, filing cabinets and a large wall safe in the front area of the hotel security area. Through another door was an array of screens and graphics that displayed every inch of Gateway property.
“We’re wired,” he said. “Every public space, all the hallways and the parking lots are covered. Nothing happens here that I don’t notice.”
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You got this done in a day?”
“It’s amazing how fast problems go away when you throw handfuls of money at them.”
Brady meandered through the desks with separate consoles, occasionally leaning down to check out various switches and dials. He stood in front of the big screen in the front of the room where several camera feeds were playing simultaneously. “Nice stuff.”
“Top-of-the-line.”
“Later I want a detailed tour. But right now we’re in kind of a hurry.”
“Give me the time and the place you want to look at,” Jacobson said. “I’ll pull up the relevant camera feed on the big screen.”
“Front lobby,” he said. As he guessed at the time, she realized that all this had happened in a twenty-four-hour time span. She had witnessed a murder, had had her life threatened, was probably going to lose her job and had kissed an incredible man...twice. It hardly seemed possible that her life had changed so radically in one day.
A split-screen picture appeared. Last night there had been two cameras in the lobby, both showing wide views. Right away she spotted herself and Brady standing together behind the check-in counter. If she recalled correctly, the hotel manager had been giving them a lecture on the key-card system and how it worked.
She looked at herself on the screen. The highlights in her hair looked great, but there wasn’t a lick of styling, just messy curls, and her clothes looked as if she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Standing beside Brady, she seemed petite and maybe a little timid. On the other hand, he was confident, strong and altogether terrific—a movie star with his big shoulders and his cowboy hat. It was hard to take her eyes off him, but she glanced around at the other people milling in the lobby. None of them seemed particularly suspicious, but she recalled the creepy feeling of apprehension, as though someone was watching her.
“I don’t see him,” she said.
“Keep watching,” Jacobson said. He froze the picture. A laser pointer appeared in his hand and he aimed the red dot at a man who was talking on his cell phone. “How about this guy? He seems to be standing around for no reason.”
She shook her head. “He’s too tall.”
For another ten minutes, she watched people coming and going, stopping beside the statue of Artemis the huntress, meeting and saying goodbye. Nothing stood out. It had been a long shot to think that she’d see the killer strolling through the lobby, but she had hoped for an easy solution.
Behind her back, Brady was telling Jacobson about the break-in at the condo. “Climbed up the wall like a ninja and picked the lock in two minutes flat.”
“Sounds like a pro,” Jacobson said.
“Exactly what I said.”
“You’re not going to let her go back there alone, are you?”
“She thought it would be best if she stayed at the hotel.”
Sasha wanted to interrupt and tell them that she’d changed her mind. Spending the night with Brady sounded like a wonderful idea. From a logical standpoint, it made sense because the meeting tomorrow morning was at Dooley’s place. From an emotional perspective, she wanted to take those kisses to the next level.
Usually, she wasn’t so quick to fall into a man’s arms and allow herself to be swept away. The days of Trashy Sasha had made her wary, and she hated the way other people were so quick to judge. Even Andrea thought she was sleeping with her boss.
But Brady was different. He was a decent man and would never purposely do anything to hurt her. Frankly, she wouldn’t mind if rumors started. He was someone she’d be proud to be with.
Before she could speak up, Jacobson and Brady had arranged for her room at the Gateway. Jacobson guaranteed her safety and promised to have one of his men regularly patrol her floor.
As they made their way back to the concierge level to pick up her computer, she thought she might remind Brady of his duties as a bodyguard and hint that he might want to stay in her hotel room tonight...just to be sure she was safe. But she didn’t want to push too hard.
Computer in tow, they entered her appointed room. It wasn’t fancy, just a very nice suite with windows facing the ski slope, where the snow machines were now working full blast. She pulled the curtain and turned toward him.
Brady wasn’t sidling around the bed. He was much too masculine to be shy, but he seemed to be avoiding the largest piece of furniture in the room as he leaned his hip against the dresser. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick you up for the meeting,” he said.
“You don’t have to. I can ride in the van with the others.”
“I want you to stay away from the investors,” he said. “I didn’t much like these people before, but now they’re all suspects.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it? I mean, what are the odds? I witness a murder and it turns out that the people I’m working with are suspects.”
“I would have said the same thing, but I checked with Jacobson. This week, before the grand opening, over half the people staying at the hotel are connected with the resort partners. They’re employees or consultants or independent contractors.”
“Or minions,” she said, thinking of Moreno.
“He’s got a mob of followers.”
She peeled off her jacket and tossed it over a chair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took off her boots. Though they were comfortable shoes, taking them off felt like heaven. She stretched her feet out and wiggled her toes. “Uncle Dooley isn’t a suspect.”
“Don’t be so sure. Virgil P. Westfield has been around for a long time. Dooley might know him.” Brady grinned. “But my uncle isn’t a subtle man. If he had a beef with Westfield or our victim, he’d come after them with six-guns blazing.”
“What about Katie Cook?”
“She knew Westfield, and she w
as real interested in the status of the police investigation into his death.”
A thought occurred to her. “Could these two deaths be related?”
“It’s possible.” He shrugged. “But we don’t know for sure that Westfield was murdered. Did Damien mention anything to you?”
“Not much.” Her boss didn’t talk things over with her—not even the legal issues related to the partners and their meetings. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m a tape recorder with legs. My job is to listen and keep track of what’s being said. Not to think for myself.”
“I’d like to hear your opinion.”
Talking about the murders was draining all the sexiness out of the room, which was probably for the best. Though she hadn’t given up on more kissing, she liked the part of their relationship where they talked to each other.
Hopping off the bed, she went to the chair where she’d dropped her jacket and sat. “If both of these people were murdered within a day of each other, it seems like there has to be a connection.”
“The only thing we know is that they were working together in a bidding war for the dude-ranch property.”
“Lauren might have been involved in other real estate purchases with him,” she said. “Mr. Westfield made his fortune buying and selling commercial properties in Denver. He owned much of the land where the Tech Center is now located.”
“His work was similar to what Reinhardt does.”
“You’re right.” She hadn’t made that connection before because Westfield and Reinhardt had the kind of profession that didn’t really fit a category. “Lauren Robbins must have learned all about that buying and selling when she was married to Reinhardt. Being part of Westfield’s operation was a natural step for her.”
When Brady took off his cowboy hat and raked his fingers through his unruly brown hair, it was all she could do not to reach out and touch him. Talking was interesting and even productive, but she was itching to get closer. The light reflecting from his hazel eyes enticed her. If she gave in to her desires, she’d fly across the hotel room and into his arms.