Joanna Wayne - The Amulet

She hadn’t seen him again, and she hoped she didn’t. Of all the nights she might have yearned for his company, now would be the worst time to feel any kind of attraction or form even the most pregnable of bonds.

Still she was aware of him, sensed that he was here in the hotel. But why? Not for fun. There hadn’t been a glimpse of frivolity in his eyes. And here she was thinking of him when all her thoughts should be on the reason she was here.

Katrina left the window and stepped into the hallway. She had to keep her mind clear. Her task was simple, but there could be no mistakes.

She slipped the pendant into her pocket. It was the key to everything.

FOR A HOTEL that had been crawling with security guards ever since the abduction, Bart found it surprisingly easy to move through the building at will. If he’d been officially assigned to the case, he could have never taken such liberties. There were definitely advantages to working a crime detail without the restricting properties of a badge.

He’d already learned a lot, though most of his facts had come from eavesdropping rather than snooping through guest rooms. Jeff Matthews, the young Caucasian in room 211 puzzled him.

Supposedly, he was a freelance travel writer and photographer, but Bart had spotted him following a blond woman the other day at a distance and shooting candid shots of her through a high-powered binocular lens. Bart doubted the shots would ever show up in a travel magazine.

He watched while the photographer stepped out the door of his hotel room, then waited until he was on the elevator before Bart slipped into his room. Breaking in was easy. Locked doors never stopped cops.

As expected, photographs were scattered about the room, spread out on the round table by the window, displayed on the bed and even lined up on the floor.

Bart checked them out. The ones on the bed were of a starlet he’d caught on the late show a few weeks back. One snapshot showed her in the garden, lip-locked with a movie-star handsome guy Bart had spotted getting off the ski shuttle yesterday.

The photos spread on the table seemed more legitimate. They showcased the magnificent foyer, the garden gazebo and the sparkling crystal chandeliers in the ballroom. Looking at the photographs, it was clearer than ever that the whole place was a monument to the past. The photos could have come straight from a 1930s travel magazine.

The photos on the floor were puzzling. They looked like mistakes, but Bart couldn’t imagine a professional photographer saving his errors.

He stooped to get a better look. They appeared to be shadows, most dark, but some with an eerie glow to them.

They had been taken on Fernhaven property, inside the hotel, near the more secluded cabins, and some in the wilderness areas.

One grabbed his attention and held it. He picked it up and studied it. The snapshot was mostly trees and shadows. Yet, it held a frightening familiarity for him. Or maybe it was just that the picture took him back to that horrible night when he’d taken the bullet.

He returned the picture to the floor, leaving it exactly as he’d found it. But as he opened the door and stepped into the hall, he decided that Jeff Matthews was worth watching. He might be a photographer just as he claimed, but he could be more. He could be a murderer.

But then so could dozens of the other men who worked or were registered at the Fernhaven Hotel.

Bart was almost to the stairwell when he sensed someone following him. He spun around to find the old woman he’d met in the garden the other day just a few steps behind him.

“You get around,” she said.

“You, too.”

“Not so much. Mostly I stay in the garden.”

“Then I’m surprised you’re not there now. It’s a beautiful day for mid-December and it may be the last we have for awhile. They’re predicting snow in the mountains by the end of the week.”

“Snow can be beautiful, or deadly.” She shuffled forward and laid a hand on his arm. “She’s in the garden, just past the fountain where I was when we last talked.”

The woman’s change of subject confused him for a second. “Are you talking about Katrina?”

“Yes. If you hurry, you can find her.”

“Did you look for me just to tell me that?”

“It’s not as if I have a lot of other things to do.”

“Does she know you came to find me?”

The old woman smiled sheepishly, her wrinkled lips almost disappearing as she did. “If she knew, she’d leave before you got there.”

“You’re not trying to play matchmaker, are you?”

“What if I am?”

“You’ll be disappointed. I’m not exactly what you’d call a great catch.”

“But you might be exactly right for Katrina. You’ll never know unless you give it a try.”

He knew, but still he wanted to see her again. “Thanks for the information.”

“Just don’t disappoint her.”

“I’ll try not to.” That was as much as he could promise. He didn’t know if he’d disappoint her or not since he had no idea what she’d want from him—if anything.

He gave the woman a parting smile and hurried away, taking the stairs two at a time, as he’d always done. He didn’t know what he’d say to Katrina if he found her in the garden. He’d never been good at small talk unless it involved crime, and there was no reason to suspect she’d be interested in police work.

He raced through the hotel and took the double doors to the garden. It was nearly deserted, but he passed a woman pushing her baby in an old-fashioned perambulator and a man sitting in his wheelchair reading. Neither of them made eye contact as he walked by.

Katrina wasn’t near the fountain and neither was anyone else. He was about to give up when he spotted her standing in a cluster of potted tree peonies obviously straight from the hotel greenhouse.

She looked even more beautiful than the silky blossoms, and he stood there and stared like some awkward teenager. She was dressed differently than she’d been the first time he’d seen her. The dress was not as formal, not as revealing. She looked younger, more innocent. The dazzling pendant was missing from her neck, but her eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamonds had.

No two ways about it. She got to him. He should turn around and walk away. Forget that. She was moving toward him, her full lips slightly parted, her red skirt dancing just above her shapely ankles.

“Are you looking for me?”

Her bluntness surprised him, especially when he’d expected she’d ignore him. “Yes,” he answered, thinking even his voice sounded strained since he’d taken the bullet.

“What do you want?”

He tried to think of something clever, or even accurate. Nothing came to mind. “I saw you a few nights ago in the ballroom.”

“I know.”

“I’d like to get to know you better.”

A troubled look settled in her green eyes. “It wouldn’t work.”

“I’m not trying to make something work. I just thought we could talk.”

“About what?”

He had no idea. But now that he was with her, he didn’t want to walk away. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Katrina.”

“Your last name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you married?”

She looked away. When she turned to him again, her eyes were moist.

“No. I was, but no longer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She took a step toward him. “I’m not what you think.”

“I think you’re beautiful and that I’d like to know more about you.”

“Thanks. I’ll consider your proposition.”

He shrugged. A little conversation didn’t actually qualify as a proposition in his book. Besides, he’d never been one to chase a woman who wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t start now.