It's just the wind, she told herself. A tree branch or something else blowing around…
She heard the sound again. And this time, it definitely sounded like a footstep.
Oh, my God, she thought, her heartbeat instantly speeding up. If somebody attacks me, do I have anything to fight him off with?
Trying not to panic, she mentally reviewed the contents of her pocketbook. Wallet, credit cards, room key, tissues…
And then she remembered that she did have something that could be useful. Moving slowly, without making a sound, she opened her purse and with trembling fingers reached inside.
“We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfillment.”
—Hilaire Belloc
Mallory fumbled around until her fingers made contact with smooth metal. Grateful that she had something that at least vaguely resembled a weapon, she grabbed the can of room spray she'd bought for Amanda the day before and forgotten to take out of her purse. Grasping it tightly, she whirled around, poised to attack.
Her finger froze in the split second before it pressed the aerosol button.
“Sylvie?” she cried, blinking at the figure cowering in front of her. The fact that her would-be attacker was dressed in a pale pink ski jacket, its hood trimmed with fluffy white fur, made her look more like the Easter Bunny than the Abominable Snowman.
“Don't shoot!” Sylvie cried, defensively holding her hands out in front of her. They were swathed in a pair of fuzzy white mittens that made her look even more harmless. Squinting in the darkness, she demanded, “Is that Mace?”
“Room spray,” Mallory admitted sheepishly, lowering the can. “Organic, made with green oolong. The worst thing it would do is make you smell like a tearoom.”
A look of confusion crossed Sylvie's face. But instead of asking why Mallory was carrying around such a thing in her purse, she demanded, “What are you doing out here?”
“Research, of course,” Mallory replied indignantly. “For the article I'm writing. I was visiting the John Denver Sanctuary.”
“At night?”
“There's a lot I need to see here in Aspen,” she explained. “I'm having trouble fitting it all in.”
Especially since I'm spending so much of my time investigating a murder, she thought ruefully.
That thought reminded her that the woman she was talking to happened to be a prime suspect.
Uneasily, Mallory asked, “What about you, Sylvie? What brought you out here?”
“I had to get out of that hotel room,” Sylvie insisted, shaking her head as if trying to brush away something unpleasant. “Mallory, I feel like a caged animal. Would you believe those cops who showed up in my room this morning told me not to leave town?” Snorting contemptuously, she added, “As if I would ever resort to violence. For goodness sake, I have a Harvard MBA!”
Ri-i-ight, Mallory thought. As if no one with a degree from an Ivy League school has ever committed a serious crime.
“I can't believe their audacity!” Sylvie continued. With an arrogant toss of her head, she added, “Imagine me, of all people, endangering everything I've worked so hard for. And the idea of doing something that stupid because of someone like that… that small-time operator who got lucky because she turned out to have a flair for self-promotion… The whole thing just makes me crazy!”
Once again, Mallory was struck by the irony of Sylvie's words.
How about the fact that you're so angry at the woman—not to mention so disdainful—that in your own words, it makes you crazy? Isn't that enough for the police to think you might have been driven to kill her?
“I'm sure they'll find the real killer soon,” Mallory said soothingly, trying to appease her. “And then all this will be nothing but a terrible memory.”
A gust of wind suddenly made her feel as if icy fingers were encircling her neck.
What am I doing, standing alone in the dark with this woman? she wondered with alarm.
For all she knew, Sylvie had noticed that Mallory was a little too interested in Carly's murder and had followed her here with the express intention of doing her harm. In fact, it was possible that the prospect of spray in her eyes—even organic spray that probably tasted absolutely delicious—was all that was keeping the person who had sneaked up on her from following through on her plan.
“You know, Sylvie, you were right about coming out here at night being a silly idea,” she said as calmly as she could. “In fact, I'm so cold right now that my fingers are numb. Why don't we both go back to the Jerome where it's nice and warm?”
She was relieved when Sylvie fell into step beside her, walking at the same brisk pace.
But as they headed out of the park, another thought occurred to her.
“Sylvie,” she said in a conversational tone, “what do you think will happen to Rejuva-Juice now that Carly is gone?”
“I've always thought her husband had more sense than she did,” Sylvie replied, her voice tinged with bitterness. “At least when it came to business. Carly had emotional ties to the company that he never had. After all, she's the one who created it. Now that Brett's in charge, I'm hoping that once and for all we can get this settled.”
“I see.”
The wheels in Mallory's head were turning with alarming speed.
So not only is it possible that Sylvie became enraged by pushing and pushing without getting anywhere, she thought. Another scenario is that rightly or wrongly, Sylvie might have decided that while Carly wouldn't sell the company, her husband was likely to be more willing.
Which gave Sylvie a second motivation for killing Carly—and Mallory another good reason to move her even further up on her list of suspects.
As she let herself into her hotel room, Mallory was still pondering the question of whether mere coincidence or something much more sinister had been responsible for her unexpected encounter in the park with Sylvie. She kicked off her shoes, hoping the fact that she was dog-tired would enable her to get a good night's sleep instead of spending a good portion of it ruminating about Sylvie and all the other suspects in Carly's murder. But as she headed toward the bed, she noticed the red light blinking provocatively on her phone.
Amanda? she thought with a concerned frown. She picked up the receiver and dialed the code printed on the instruction card next to the phone.
As soon as she heard Trevor's voice on the recorded message, she realized she'd had such a long, busy day that she'd completely forgotten that her boss was in town.
“Where have you been all day?” Trevor's recorded message demanded. “And why haven't you been answering your cell phone? I thought—I hoped—that we'd be able to, I don't know, do some sightseeing together. Call me, Mallory. It's been too long since I've heard from you and I'm worried.”
Guiltily Mallory pulled her cell phone out of her purse—and saw that the battery had died. Even though it was late, she decided she owed him a return phone call. Especially if he was as anxious as he sounded.
“Trevor?” she asked when he answered the phone in his room.
“Mallory?” His groggy voice told her she'd woken him up. “Where have you been all day? Are you okay?”
“I'm great,” she insisted. “I've just been busy.” Wanting to assure him that everything was fine, she added, “It turns out that learning everything there is to know about a place in only three and a half days requires being a nonstop tourist.” Particularly when you're also trying to learn everything there is to know about half its residents, not to mention its visitors. Lightly, she added, “How about you? Have you had a chance to see much of Aspen?”
“Sightseeing wasn't my main reason for coming,” he pointed out. “Look, I know it's late, but how about meeting me somewhere for a drink?”
Mallory hesitated. Here she'd wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep. Still, Trevor was her boss. And he had come all this way to make sure she was all right.
“A quick one,” she said, already cramming her feet back into her shoes. “I
'll be downstairs at the J-Bar in five minutes.”
As soon as Mallory combed her hair and smeared on some lipstick, she felt energized. True, her first reaction to the idea of an impromptu late-night rendezvous had been to view it as an annoyance—as in I'm only doing this because Trevor is my boss. But as she checked her appearance in the mirror before heading out the door, she found herself looking forward to what now struck her as sort of an adventure.
While Trevor was the man she worked for, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed his company. Of course, she rarely saw him, since they did most of their communicating with phone calls and e-mail. But their e-mails had become increasingly chatty over time. Longer, too. Their exchanges through cyberspace may have started out with nothing more personal than Trevor's editorial comments and the details of Mallory's upcoming trips, but they invariably turned into conversations that went back and forth far past the time the two of them had accomplished whatever was needed.
Despite her reluctance to admit it, Mallory thought Trevor was charming. She was also eternally grateful to him for having faith in her at a time when she had virtually none of her own. The fact that he'd made certain assumptions about her abilities, not only as a writer but also as someone centered enough to handle whatever came up on a press trip, had prompted her to find the inner strength required to keep from disappointing him.
That didn't mean he liked the idea of her sticking her nose into criminal investigations. As she rode down in the elevator, Mallory promised herself that tonight she wouldn't say a word about her involvement in Carly's murder.
Like the rest of the hotel, the J-Bar embodied the spirit of the days when Aspen was known for its silver mines, rather than as a gold mine for anyone in the ski business. The cozy hideaway was tucked into a front corner of the hotel, facing the street to increase its accessibility. While a few tables were crammed into the compact space, the focus was the wooden bar. Given its rustic look, it was hard to imagine approaching it any way besides bellying up to it.
Tonight, however, Mallory opted for one of the small tables. She'd barely had a chance to sit down before Trevor appeared in the doorway. His dark hair was slightly disheveled and there was a distracted look in his hazel eyes. The white shirt he wore with a pair of jeans looked so wrinkled that Mallory could picture the heap it had undoubtedly been lying in before he'd grabbed it off a chair five minutes earlier and pulled it on.
“You're looking good,” he commented as he sat down opposite her.
“I wish I could say the same for you,” she replied with amusement. “You look like somebody who was fast asleep ten minutes ago.”
“Don't forget, I'm still on East Coast time,” he replied, clearly doing his best to look more alert. “I have a very good excuse for not being the life of the party.”
Frowning, he added, “Besides, I might have been in bed, but that doesn't mean I wasn't tossing and turning.”
Mallory was relieved that the bartender chose that moment to slide a couple of cocktail napkins in front of them and cheerfully ask, “What'll you folks have?”
“I'll try the house drink,” Mallory told him. “The Aspen Crud.”
“Always doing research, huh?” Trevor teased.
Mallory laughed. “Drinking a milkshake that's spiked with bourbon isn't exactly hard duty.”
“Whoa. Who came up with that combination?”
Flippantly she replied, “You'll just have to read my article to find out.”
After he ordered his own drink, Trevor turned back to Mallory. Frowning, he said, “I'm glad the terrible thing that happened to your high school friend didn't put a damper on your enthusiasm for this trip. Or for Aspen.”
“I won't say it hasn't affected me,” Mallory admitted. “But I like to think I'm a professional. No matter what, I have to get the job done.”
“Even if the job involves throwing down a couple of those?” Trevor joked as the bartender plopped what looked like a normal milkshake in front of her.
“No one appreciates how demanding this job is.” She took a sip. “Wow. Now this is what I call dangerous.”
“As long as drinking milkshakes is the worst thing you get involved in,” Trevor commented, picking up his drink, “I'll be able to sleep nights.”
“Talking to a few of the people who were close to Carly isn't much more dangerous than sucking up a zillion calories,” she mumbled.
As soon as she saw the look on Trevor's face, Mallory kicked herself.
No sooner do I have two sips of this deceptive drink, she thought, and I'm spilling the beans, telling him the one thing I was determined not to let slip out.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” she insisted. “I just meant that in the course of getting in touch with her again, naturally I've run into some of the people who—”
Trevor banged his drink down on the table. “You've launched a murder investigation of your own, haven't you?”
Mallory was silent for a few seconds. “It's complicated, Trevor,” she finally said, staring into her milkshake. “Someone I met my first day here, a woman I was convinced was innocent, asked me for help. It all started when the police called her in—”
“The police!” Trevor exclaimed. “Mallory, have you lost your mind? Why on earth would you get involved in something like this?”
As she tried to come up with a short answer, she realized this wasn't something that was easy to explain. So she simply told him, “Like I said, it's complicated.”
He sighed. “Mallory, you can't blame me for being worried. After what happened in Florida… and now this…”
“Trevor, I can take care of myself,” she told him gently. “I appreciate that you're worried. I really do. But this is something I have to do.”
“Look, the last thing I want is to sound heavy-handed,” he said. “I'm just concerned.” He hesitated before he thoughtfully added, “In fact, I find myself worrying about you—and just generally thinking about you—a lot more than just about anybody else in my life right now.”
As she looked into his eyes, only inches away across the small table, she saw an intensity in them that she hadn't seen before. She was also aware of a spark of electricity flying between them that set her heart pounding.
And then he leaned over and kissed her.
Almost as quickly and unexpectedly as it happened, he jerked away.
“Oh, my God!” he cried. “Mallory, I—I don't know what came over me! I'm so sorry!”
I'm not, she thought, surprised by her own reaction.
But since Trevor seemed to regret what had just happened, she wasn't about to admit to her true feelings. In fact, he was suddenly so flustered that she actually felt sorry for him.
“I—I don't know what to say!” he said, unable to make eye contact. “Believe me, that's the last thing I ever intended to happen. I mean, I don't want you to think that I'm sexually harassing you. Or doing anything at all to make you uncomfortable or put you in an awkward position—oh, wait. That didn't come out the way I meant it to. What I mean is—”
“I know what you mean, Trevor,” she assured him. “You're my boss and we're on a business trip together.”
Even though your being here wasn't part of the original plan, she thought. Which brings me back to the question of what you're even doing here in the first place.
“But honestly,” she continued, “I promise that whatever happens in Aspen stays in Aspen.”
“Thank you,” he said, his facial muscles still tense. “I appreciate that you're being so under standing.”
Even though the creases in his forehead had yet to disappear, he looked relieved. Still, she hoped the uncertainty on his face meant that he was at least a little disappointed that she hadn't—well, ripped off her clothes or pushed him to the ground and thrown herself at him or declared that she felt the same attraction he did…
But she didn't feel it.
Or did she?
Oh, my, she thought, suddenly ev
en more flustered than Trevor had been. Am I attracted to Trevor? Have I felt that way all along?
It was possible that she'd simply been reluctant to admit it to herself—or even that her perceptions had been clouded by the fact that he was her boss. Then again, she couldn't deny that the teasing banter that had become their normal way of talking to each other wasn't exactly the kind of interaction she would have expected to have with someone who was purely her employer.
And what about all those e-mails and the way they'd moved way beyond matter-of-fact exchanges of information long ago? She couldn't deny that they'd taken on a flirtatious tone shortly after she'd started writing for The Good Life.
While she'd told herself all along that the fact that he believed in her was all that was behind the en gaging tone of his constant communications, she couldn't deny that the two of them clearly liked each other. Somehow, they seemed to have been on the same wavelength since the very start. Or maybe it was just that he seemed so comfortable with himself that she, in turn, found herself feeling just as comfortable with herself.
“If you don't mind, Mallory,” Trevor finally said with an air of resignation, “I'm going to bed. Uh, to my room, I mean. Alone. Of course alone. I didn't mean to imply that you thought that I thought—”
“Good night, Trevor,” she told him calmly, amused to see that for once in his life, Trevor Pierce had lost his cool. And struck by the fact that she was responsible.
A few minutes later, as she slid into her own bed, relishing the sensation of slipping between cool, silky smooth sheets, Mallory suddenly started to giggle.
Wow, she thought, suddenly overcome by a crazy, wonderful giddiness. Two kisses in one night. From two different men.
The only other time that had happened, according to her recollection, was when she was fifteen.
Somehow, it seemed even sweeter the second time around.
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