Snow Blind. Cassie Miles
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.
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