A Man You Can Trust. Jo McNally

       Chapter Three

      Nick leaned back in his office chair, turning away from the security feeds to watch Cassie through the open door. She was on the phone with someone, typing furiously and glancing at the schedule on the tablet propped up on the desk by her computer. The woman could seriously multitask. Was she the calm, cool professional he saw right now? Or was she the meek woman who’d flinched when he’d dropped a pile of papers on her desk this morning? Was she the woman who got uptight if there were more than a couple people in a room? Or was she the woman he saw yesterday, giving him a tour of the property with pride and confidence?

      He’d checked her employee file—a perk of his job title. The information was pretty thin. She’d been here only a few months. She’d managed an insurance office in Milwaukee for a while but had been unemployed for over a year before moving here six months ago. Not exactly a red flag. She could have been going to school or job hunting or whatever. She’d clearly won Blake Randall’s confidence, but she didn’t give off a sense of having a lot of confidence in herself. Instead, Cassie seemed all twisted up with anxiety. Unless she was busy. Then she was cool and...controlled. It was as if being productive was her comfort zone.

      She hung up the phone, then immediately dialed someone else. Her back was to him, ramrod straight. Her auburn hair was gathered in a knot at the base of her slender neck. He wondered what she’d look like if she ever let that hair loose. She was dressed in dark trousers and a pale blue sweater. Sensible. Practical. Almost calculatedly so. He grimaced. This was what happened when you spent eight years as a detective—you started profiling everyone you met.

      “Margo? It’s Cassandra Smith, Mr. Randall’s assistant. Did you see the email I sent you last week? I didn’t receive a reply and thought perhaps you missed it...”

      Nick’s eyes narrowed. There was an edge to Cassie’s voice he hadn’t heard until now. She was a whole new person. Again. He picked up his foam basketball and started bouncing it off the wall by the doorway. He smirked when Cassie stiffened—the fact that she hated his throwing the ball around was half the fun of doing it.

      “Yes... Well, if Mr. Randall saw these numbers, he’d definitely be concerned... Right. And if Mr. Randall is concerned, he might be on the next flight to Miami for a conversation... Exactly. The restaurant is consistently selling less alcohol than they’re ordering every week. That inventory has to be going somewhere... What’s that?... Oh, I see. The bartender had his own family restaurant and was ordering a little extra for himself? I’m assuming he’s no longer employed with us?” She was scribbling furiously on a notepad on her desk. “You know, Margo, you have access to the same reports I do, so you may want to start reading them more closely... I’m sure you will. I’m glad we had a chance to talk... Yes, you, too. Have a great weekend.”

      Nick moved to the doorway while she talked, working her diplomatic magic with the Miami manager. As she hung up, he leaned against the doorjamb and started to clap slowly. Being Cassie, she just about jumped out of her skin, spinning in her chair with a squeak of alarm. He really was going to have to be more careful around her.

      “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. Those were some good people skills, Cassie. I’m impressed, but since I’m responsible for loss management, I’m also concerned. Do we have a problem in Miami?”

      Color returned to her cheeks and her chin lifted. “Not anymore. I saw the discrepancy last week. It was only a case or two here and there, but it’s something the hotel manager should have spotted herself. She won’t be ignoring any more of the reports I send out.”

      “And you really weren’t going to tell Blake? Or me?” That might be taking her job responsibility a step too far. She stuttered for a moment, then met his gaze with the slightest of smiles, causing his chest to tighten in an odd way.

      “It happened before you arrived, and I told Blake the minute I saw it.”

      Nick replayed the conversation in his head. Cassie let Margo believe Blake wasn’t aware, but she hadn’t actually stated that. Clever girl.

      “Bravo, Miss Smith.” She shrugged off the compliment, as usual. “Are you still planning on working the rehearsal dinner tonight?”

      “Yes. It will probably run like clockwork as usual, but with Blake out of town and one of our managers off this week, Julie doesn’t want anyone thinking they can slack off.” She checked the time on her phone. “I should probably get down there. Have fun kayaking.”

      Nick nodded and wished her a good evening, not bothering to tell her he wouldn’t be paddling on the water tonight after all. He’d be sitting in the surveillance room with Brad, learning how everything worked in there. Turned out Brad was in IT and also worked security on the weekends.

      Three hours later, his head was spinning with all the information Brad was throwing at him. Nick was comfortable with technology, but remembering which control moved the images from the smaller monitors up to the large wall monitors mounted around the room, which control sped up or reversed the feeds, how to copy a feed to the permanent drive rather than the temporary one that saved them for only fourteen days... It was enough to make his head hurt. And to have it rattled off to him by some geeky kid barely out of college didn’t help his mood any.

      There were digital cameras all over the resort, both in the public areas as well as in all the employee passageways and the kitchen. He’d spotted Cassie repeatedly. She seemed to be everywhere behind the scenes tonight, clipboard in hand, watching all the action. She’d changed into a crisp white shirt and dark slacks to match the rest of the staff. She didn’t interact with a lot of people. He saw her speaking with the manager, Julie. Then she’d been with Dario, the head chef, gesturing toward the plates being prepared.

      He’d seen that pattern with her before—if she knew and trusted someone, she was relaxed and looked them straight in the eye when she spoke. But if she wasn’t comfortable with someone, her body language was completely different. She avoided both eye contact and conversation. She kept her body turned at a slight angle instead of facing them directly. Was she just painfully shy, or had something happened in her past to make her this way? Nick leaned back in his chair, chewing on the cap of his pen and scanning the monitors.

      He spotted her a little while later, heading across the lobby toward the side door, purse slung over her shoulder. She was heading home. He frowned and checked the time. It was after ten o’clock and she was alone. They had cameras in the lots, but he’d noticed most of them were trained on customer parking, not the employee lot. He stood and shook Brad’s hand.

      “This has