Snow Blind

“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 when 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.

He came out from behind his desk to shake hands with both of them. His gaze fixed on her face. “Why does your name sound familiar?”

“I’m a legal assistant working with Damien Loughlin. I’ll be attending the investors’ meetings this week.”

“Of course.” His professional smile gave the impression of warmth and concern. “I’ve worked with Damien. His help was invaluable when we were setting up our wine lists.”

“Mr. Chandler,” Brady said, “I’d like to talk with your hotel security.”

“Sorry, the man in charge has gone home for the day. We’re still in the process of hiring our full security team.”

“His name?”

“Grant Jacobson. He’s from one of our sister hotels, and he comes highly recommended.”

“Call him,” Brady said. “In the meantime, I need access to all video surveillance as well as to several of the guest rooms on the fifth and sixth floors. There’s reason to believe a violent assault was committed in one of these rooms.”

“First problem,” Chandler said, “most of our video surveillance isn’t operational.”

“We’ll make do with what have.”

“And I’d be happy to show you the vacant rooms,” he said. “But I can’t allow our guests to be disturbed.”

“This is a police investigation.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

“Suit yourself.” When Brady drew himself up to his full height, he made an impressive figure of authority. “If you refuse to help, I’ll knock on the doors myself and announce that I’m from the sheriff’s department.”

Chandler’s smile crumpled. “That would be disruptive.”

Brady pivoted and went toward the office door. “We’re wasting time.”

She followed him to the elevator. His long-legged stride forced her to jog to keep up. Chandler came behind her.

On the fifth floor, Brady turned to her. “It wasn’t the corner room, right?”

She nodded. “Not the corner.”

He went to the next door. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.

Hurriedly, Chandler stepped in front of him and used the master card to unlock the door. “This room is vacant. Can you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”

Without responding, Brady entered the room and switched on the light. The decor was an attractive mix of rust and sky-blue, but the layout of the furniture wasn’t what Sasha had seen through the binoculars. “It wasn’t this room,” she said. “There was a small table near the window. And a ficus tree.”

“You’re describing one of our suites,” Chandler said. “Those units have more living space and two separate bedrooms.”

“I don’t see signs of a disturbance,” Brady said. “Let’s move on.”

“The room next door is a suite,” Chandler said. “It’s occupied, and I would appreciate your discretion.”

“Sure thing.”

Brady’s eyes were cold and hard. It was obvious that he’d do whatever necessary to find what he was looking for, and she liked his determination.

The door to the next room was opened by a teenage girl with pink-and-purple-striped leggings. The rest of the family lounged in front of the TV. Though this didn’t appear to be the place, Brady verified with the family that they’d been here for the past two hours.

“No one is booked in the next suite,” Chandler said.

“Could someone unauthorized have used it?” Brady asked.

“I suppose so.”

“Open up.”

Though the layout was similar to the one she’d seen, Sasha noticed that instead of a ficus there was a small Norfolk pine. Brady made a full search anyway, going from room to room. In the kitchenette, he looked for dishes that had been used. And he paid special attention to the bedrooms, checking to see if the beds were mussed and looking under the duvet at the sheets.

“Why are the beds important?” she asked.

“If he carried a body from the room, he might need to wrap it in something, like a sheet.”

A shudder went through her. She didn’t want to think of that attractive, vivacious woman as a dead body, much less as a dead body that needed to be disposed of. The excitement of acting like a cop took on a sinister edge.

On the sixth floor, they continued their search. As soon as she entered room 621, Sasha knew she was in the right place. There was a table by the window, and she recognized the leafy green ficus that had obscured her view of the man in the turtleneck. The room was empty.

“As you can plainly see,” Chandler said, “there are no plates on the table. According to my records, this room is vacant until Friday night.”

Brady’s in-depth search came up empty. No dishes were missing, the beds appeared untouched, and there wasn’t a smear of blood on the sand-colored carpet. But she was certain this had been the view she’d seen. “This is the right room. I know what I saw.”

“What were they eating?” Brady asked.

She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Think, Sasha.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated. In her mind’s eye, she saw the dark-haired woman gazing across the table as she set down her glass on the table. She poked at her food and lifted her chopsticks. “Chinese,” she said. “They were eating Chinese food.”

“I believe you,” Brady said. “I can smell it.”

She inhaled a deep breath. He was right. The aroma of stir-fried veggies and ginger lingered in the air.

“That’s ridiculous,” Chandler said. “None of our hotel restaurants serve Chinese food. And I don’t smell anything.”

“It’s faint,” Brady agreed.

“Even if someone was in this room,” the hotel manager said, “they’re gone now. And I see no evidence of wrongdoing. I appreciate your thoroughness, Deputy. But enough is enough.”

“I’m just getting started,” Brady said. “I need to talk to your staff, starting with the front desk.”

Though Chandler sputtered and made excuses, he followed Brady’s instructions. In the lobby, he gathered the three front-desk employees, four bellmen and three valets. Several of them gave Brady a friendly nod as though they knew him. He introduced her.

“Ms. Campbell is going to give you a description. I need to know if this woman is staying here.”

Sasha cleared her throat and concentrated, choosing her words carefully. “She’s attractive, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Her hair is black and long, past her shoulders. When I saw her, she was wearing a white jumpsuit and a gold bib necklace, very fancy. It looked like flower petals.”

One of the bellmen raised his hand. “I carried her suitcases. She’s on the concierge level, room 917.”

“Wait a minute,” said a valet. “I’ve seen a couple of women with long black hair.”

“But you don’t know their room numbers,” the bellman said.

“Maybe not, but one of them drives a silver Porsche.”

“Get me the license plate number for the Porsche.” Brady nodded to the rest of the group. “If any of you remember anything about this woman, let me know.”

The employees returned to their positions, leaving them with Chandler. His eyebrows furrowed. “I suppose you’ll want to visit room 917.”

“You guessed it,” Brady said.

“I strongly advise against it. That suite is occupied by Lloyd Reinhardt.”

The name hit Sasha with an ominous thud. Reinhardt was the most influential of the investors in the Arcadia development. He was the contractor who supervised the building of the hotel and several of the surrounding condos. Knocking on his door and accusing him of murder wasn’t going to win her any Brownie points.

Chapter Three

Frustrated by the lack of evidence, Brady wished he had other officers he could deploy to search, but he knew that calling for backup would be an exercise in futility. For one thing, the sheriff’s department was understaffed, with barely enough deputies to cover the basics. For another, the sheriff himself was a practical man who wouldn’t be inclined to launch a widespread manhunt based on nothing more than Sasha’s allegations. Brady hadn’t even called in to report the possible crime. Until he had something solid, he was better off on his own.

But there was no way he could search this whole complex. The hotel was huge—practically a city unto itself. There were restaurants and coffee shops, a ballroom, boutiques, a swimming pool and meeting areas for conferences, not to mention the stairwells, the laundry and the kitchens—a lot of places to hide a body.

Sasha tugged on his arm. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

He guided her away from Chandler. “Give us a minute.”

In a low voice, she said, “There’s really no point in going to the ninth floor. The man I saw wasn’t Mr. Reinhardt. He was taller and his hair was darker.”

“How do you know Reinhardt?”

“From the same meetings where I met your uncle.” She shook her head, and her blond hair bounced across her forehead. “There are four investors in Arcadia—Uncle Dooley, Mr. Reinhardt, Katie Cook the ice skater and Sam Moreno, the self-help expert.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Mr. Reinhardt isn’t what you’d call a patient man. He’s going to hate having us knocking on his door.”

Brady didn’t much care what Reinhardt thought. “What are you saying?”

“It might be smart for me to step aside. I don’t want to get fired.”

He tamped down a surge of disappointment at the thought of her backing out. During the very brief time he’d known Sasha, he’d come to admire her gutsiness. Many people who witnessed a crime turned away; they didn’t want to get involved. “Have you changed your mind about what you saw?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Then I want you to come to room 917, meet this woman and make sure she isn’t the person you saw being attacked.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“Without my eyewitness account, the investigation is over.”

“That’s right.” He had no blood, no murder weapon and no body. His only evidence that a crime had been committed was the lingering aroma of Chinese food in an otherwise spotless room.

“A few hours ago,” she said, “everything in my life seemed perfect and happy. That’s all I really want. To be happy. Is that asking too much?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She understood what was at stake. As she considered the options, her eyes took on a depth that seemed incongruous with a face that was designed for smiling and laughter.

“It’s your decision,” he said.

“I’ve always believed that life isn’t random. I don’t know why, but there was some reason why I was looking into that room at that particular moment.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I have to see this through. I’ll come with you.”

She was tougher than she looked. Behind the fluffy hair and the big blue eyes that could melt a man’s heart was a core of strength. He liked what he saw inside her. After this was over, he wanted to get to know her better and find out what made her tick. Not the most professional behavior but he hadn’t been so drawn to a woman in a long time.

Chandler rushed toward them. Accompanying him was a solidly built man with a military haircut. He wore heavy boots, a sweater and a brown leather bomber jacket. Though he had a pronounced limp, his approach lacked the nervousness that fluttered around the hotel manager like a rabble of hyperactive butterflies.

“I’m Grant Jacobson.” The head of Gateway security held out his hand. “Chandler says there was some kind of assault here.”

When Brady shook Jacobson’s hand, he felt strength and steadiness. No tremors from this guy. He was cool. His steel-gray eyes reflected the confidence of a trained professional with a take-charge attitude. Brady did not want to butt heads with Grant Jacobson.

“Glad to meet you,” Brady said. “I have some questions.”

“Shoot.”

“What can you tell me about your surveillance system?”

“It’s going to be state-of-the-art. Unfortunately, the only area that’s currently operational is the front entrance.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “By Friday everything will be up and running with cameras in the hallways, the meeting rooms and every exit.”

If the hotel security had been in place, they’d have had a visual record of anyone who might have entered or exited room 621. “Was there a security guard on duty tonight?”

“There should be two.” Jacobson swiveled his head to glare at the hotel manager. “When law enforcement arrived on the scene, those men should have been notified.”

Chandler exhaled a ragged sigh. “I contacted you instead.”

“Apparently, we have some glitches in our communications.” Jacobson looked toward Sasha. “And you are?”

“A witness,” she said. “Sasha Campbell.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sasha.” When he returned her friendly grin, it was clear that he liked what he saw. “And what did you witness?”

Wanting to stay in control of the conversation, Brady stepped in. “We have reason to believe that a woman was attacked in her room. Right now we’re on our way to see someone fitting her description.”

“Where?”

“Room 917.”

“Reinhardt’s suite,” Jacobson said. “I’ll come with you.”

With a terse nod, Brady agreed. He could feel the reins slipping from his grasp as Grant Jacobson asserted his authority. The head of security was accustomed to giving orders, probably got his security training in the military, where he had climbed the ranks. But this was the real world, and Brady was the one wearing the badge.

Jacobson dismissed the hotel manager, who was all too happy to step aside as they boarded the elevator. The doors closed, and Jacobson asked, “Where did the assault take place?”

“One of the suites on the sixth floor,” Brady said.

“I assume you’ve already been to that suite.”

“We have, and we didn’t find anything.”

“What about the Chinese?” Sasha piped up.

He shot her a look that he hoped would say Please don’t try to help me.

“Chinese?” Jacobson raised an eyebrow.

Brady jumped in with another question. “What can you tell me about the key-card system?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No one was registered to stay in that room.”

“And you’re wondering how they could get access,” Jacobson said. “The hotel has only been open a week on a limited basis, which means the new employees are being trained on all the systems. In the confusion, someone could have run an extra key card for a room.”

“You’re suggesting that one of the employees was in that suite.”

“It’s possible.” Jacobson shifted his weight, subtly moving closer to Sasha. He looked down at her. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“I’m in a corporate condo,” she said. “I work for the Denver law firm that’s handling the Arcadia ski-resort business.”

“Interesting.” His thin lips pursed. “How did you happen to witness something on the sixth floor?”

Before Brady could stop her, Sasha blurted, “Binoculars.”

“Even more interesting.” He hit a button on the elevator control panel, and they stopped their upward ascent. The three of them were suspended in a square box of chrome and polished mirrors. They were trapped.

Jacobson growled, “Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Police business,” Brady asserted. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

For a long five seconds, they stood and stared at each other. Their showdown could have gone on for much longer, but Brady wasn’t all that interested in proving he was top dog. He had a job to do. And his number-one concern was finding a victim who might be bleeding to death. Though his instinct was to play his cards close to the vest, he needed help. He’d be a fool not to take advantage of Jacobson’s experience in hotel security.

“Here’s what happened,” Brady said. “Ms. Campbell happened to be looking into the suite. She saw a man and woman having dinner—”

“With chopsticks,” Sasha said.

Brady continued, “There was an argument. Ms. Campbell didn’t see the actual attack, but there was blood on the woman’s chest. She collapsed. The man caught her before she hit the floor.”