Cassie Miles - Snow Blind

“I don’t know.”

“I think it was,” she said. “It took some planning for him to get her alone in that room without anybody knowing.”

Premeditation made sense to Brady. The slick way the body had been whisked away without leaving a trace seemed to indicate foresight. For the sake of argument, he took a different view. “He might have just wanted a free night at a classy hotel, eating free food and enjoying the view.”

“When I was first watching them, I thought they were a couple. They weren’t talking much, and I thought it was one of those comfortable silences between people who have been together for a long time.”

“Like a husband and wife?”

“Not really.” She shook her head. “The woman was all dolled up, and that made me think they were on a date. Her fancy gold necklace isn’t the kind of thing a wife would wear.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too formal. I think she wanted to impress him with her outfit, and he was doing the same by taking her to the expensive suite.” As she chatted, she began to relax. “If he was trying to impress her, he wasn’t planning to hurt her.”

“And his attack wasn’t premeditated.” He found a couple of striped mugs in the cabinet above the sink, and she popped a tea bag in each. “Is that your theory?”

“That’s one theory,” she said. “But it leaves a lot of details unexplained. I saw him pick her up in his arms. He must have gotten blood on his clothes. How could he risk walking through the hall like that?”

The teakettle whistled, and Brady poured the boiling water over the tea bags. He had a couple of theories of his own. “When the forensic guys went over the room, they didn’t find a single drop of blood. Not even when they used luminol and blue light. He was tidy. He could have covered the blood with a jacket and slipped on a pair of gloves.”

She nodded. “And he could get rid of those clothes when he left the hotel.”

Brady didn’t often handle complicated investigations, and he appreciated the chance to discuss the possible scenarios. He probably shouldn’t be having this talk with her, but there wasn’t anybody else. Due to the lack of evidence, the sheriff was going to tell him to forget about this investigation. Jacobson might be inclined to throw around a few ideas, but his plate was full with getting the hotel security up and running.

Brady sweetened his tea with sugar and took a sip. The orange-scented brew tickled his nostrils. “His real problem was disposing of the body. If he carried her any distance, there would have been a trail of blood drops.”

When she lifted the mug to her lips, her hand was trembling so much that she set it down again.

“Sasha, are you all right?”

“It’s okay.” She lifted her chin. “Keep talking.”

Her struggle to control her fear was obvious. He didn’t want to make this any harder for her. “Maybe we should go and sit by the fireplace.”

“I said I was fine.” Her voice was stronger. “You were talking about a blood trail.”

“If he’d planned the murder,” he said, “he could have arranged to have one of those carts that housekeeping uses to haul the dirty sheets.”

“That doesn’t seem likely. How could he explain having a maid’s cart standing by?”

“It’s hard to imagine that he wrapped her up in a sheet or a comforter and didn’t leave a single drop of blood. What if he ran into someone in the hallway?”

“But he didn’t have to go far,” she said, “only down the hall to the elevator. That goes all the way down to the underground parking.”

Brady preferred the idea of the maid’s cart. “He could have been working with someone else.”

A shudder went through her, and she turned away from him, trying to hide the fear that she’d denied feeling a moment ago. “Would there be a lot of blood?”

He didn’t want to feed her imagination. “There’s no way of knowing. This is all speculation.”

“The red blood stood out against her white clothing. It happened so fast. One minute she was fine. And the next...”

Witnessing the attack had been hard on Sasha, more traumatic than he’d realized. And he was probably making it worse by talking about it. He set down his tea and lightly touched her back above the shoulder blade. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She spun around and buried her face against his chest. Her arms wrapped around him, and she held on tight, anchoring herself. Tremors shook her slender body. Though she wasn’t sobbing, her breath came in tortured gasps.

“I’m sorry, Brady, really sorry. I don’t want to fall apart.”

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t forget, can’t get that image out of my head.”

Her soft, warm body molded against him as he continued to hold her gently. He wished he could reach into her mind and pluck out the painful images she’d witnessed, but there was no chance of wiping out those memories. All he could do was protect her.

Chapter Five

The next morning, Sasha put on a black pinstriped pantsuit, ankle-length chunky-heel boots and a brave face. After her breakdown last night, she felt ready to face the day. Being with Brady had helped.

Not that he had treated her like a helpless little thing, which she would have hated. Nor had he been inappropriate in any way, which was kind of disappointing. He was sexy without meaning to be. She wouldn’t have objected to a kiss or two. Usually, she wasn’t the kind of woman who threw herself into the arms of the nearest willing male, in spite of what her obnoxious brother thought. But Brady brought out the Trashy Sasha in her.

In the condo bathroom, she applied mascara to her pale lashes and told herself that she was glad that he hadn’t taken advantage. He was different. Brady believed her, and that made all the difference.

She checked the time on her cell phone. In fifteen minutes, Brady would stop by to pick her up. He still had concerns about her safety and wanted to drive her to her meeting with the four investors, and she was excited to see him. As for the meeting? Not so much.

It’d be great if the partners treated her the way they usually did, barely noticing her existence. But she feared they’d be critical about her behavior last night, accusing her of not acting in the best interests of the resort. Applying a smooth coat of lipstick, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and said, “I can handle this.”

Her cell phone on the bathroom counter buzzed. She read a text message from Damien that instructed her to conference with him. In the kitchen, she opened her laptop and prepared for the worst.

Damien Loughlin’s handsome face filled the screen. His raven-black hair was combed back from his forehead. He was clean-shaven and ready for work in a white shirt with a crisp collar and a silk necktie.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growled. It was so not what she wanted to hear.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Spying on the hotel through binoculars.” Unfortunately, he had it right. “Why would you do that?”

She didn’t even try to explain. “I witnessed an assault, a possible murder.”

“And then you traipsed over to the hotel and got everybody worked up.”

“By everybody, I’m guessing you mean Mr. Reinhardt.”

“Damn right, I mean Reinhardt. He’s one of my most important clients, and you brought a cop to his doorstep.”

Damien hadn’t asked if she was all right or if she needed anything at the corporate condo, but then again, that really wasn’t his problem. She was his assistant, and her job was to fulfill his needs in the investors’ meeting.

“Last night,” she said, “I was working with the police, following a lead.”