Page 7

T he following afternoon, Noah flashed his badge at the man in the Mariposa security booth. The uniformed guard waved him in. He steered his car into the same lot he’d parked in two nights prior. Then he followed the path to L Building and ventured into the open-air lobby.

The clerk at the front desk’s name tag read Sasha. She smiled, waving him forward. “How can I help you?”

“Laura Colton.” Noah didn’t know why her name was the first thing out of his mouth, but there it was.

Sasha picked up the phone on the desk. “Do you have an appointment?”

“She’s expecting me,” he said, sidestepping the real question.

“Name?”

“Steele.”

“Just a moment.”

After placing a call, she revealed, “Ms. Colton is at L Bar. Go through the doors here and take a left.”

Moving briskly, Noah heeded her instructions. He found himself inside an impressive room. On one side, liquor-stocked shelves sprawled from floor to ceiling. The bartender moved tirelessly from one patron to the next. Music played at just the right volume, not too soft, not too loud. Here, the atmosphere felt easy, not stodgy, like he’d expected.

He saw her at the same time she saw him. Laura’s dress flowed around her, long and red with turquoise necklaces stacked above the V-necked bodice. Her boots were black leather to match her wide belt. Large earrings dangled from her ears. She’d swept the strands of hair that framed her face back in a subtle half-do.

She looked perfect. Noah felt his joints lock up in response.

What was it about this woman?

She walked to him slowly, offering a nod to a patron who acknowledged her in passing. “Detective Steele,” she greeted him. “Back so soon?”

He could see the apprehension lurking behind her icy blues. “Is there a place we can talk?”

“Detective Fulton didn’t mention an update in the case,” she said. “Is that why you’re here?”

The envelope from Steinbeck weighed heavily in Noah’s pocket. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked again.

She looked around and seemed to decide that the bar was not the place to have this conversation. “Follow me.”

She led him to a back hallway with windows where paintings would have been in any other setting. The Coltons’ resort decor leaned heavily on their natural surroundings.

She swept keys out of the small jeweled bag she carried and unlocked one of the closed doors. “Have a seat,” she said as she pushed the door open and switched on the light.

Her office, he decided. With its buttery-leather ergonomic desk chair and the wide crystal vase overflowing with fresh desert blooms, how could it be anything but?

“Coffee?” she asked as she rounded the desk.

“No.” He didn’t sit, although the plush chair looked inviting. Was that a real cowhide or just for show?

She remained standing, too. “Well?”

He pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it across the desk. “Coroner’s report.”

She held it for a moment, then turned it over. The flap wasn’t sealed. She pulled it back, then pried the report from its pocket. Unfolding it, she gathered a steadying breath in through the nose.

He watched her eyes dart across the page, reading Steinbeck’s findings, and knew the exact moment she learned the truth. She raised her eyes to his in a flash of disbelief before staring at the paper again. “She died of an overdose?”

“Of fentanyl,” he said grimly.

She shook her head. “That can’t be right. That would mean...”

“Somebody drugged her,” he finished, advancing another step toward the desk. “The coroner showed me the entry site. The needle went in above her left hip.”

The page and envelope fluttered to the surface of her desk. Her hands lowered, limp, to her sides. “You were right,” she breathed. “How is that possible?”

“She was killed,” he reiterated. “At your resort. And you’re going to let me find who did it. That was the deal.”

Fumbling for the arm of her chair, she sank into it.

He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting impatience. Fighting the inclination to circle the thing and put his hands on her. Whether it would be to help her snap out of it or just to see if she would let him, he didn’t know. “Look, my CO doesn’t want me on this. He asked me to back off. Stay home. Wait for Fulton to tie up the case.”

“Something tells me you’re not going to do that,” she said wearily.

“If I had your cooperation,” he replied, very close to begging, “if I had your permission, I could dig through back channels. I could find what’s under the surface. The underbelly.”

Her throat moved in a swallow. “This morning, I would’ve argued that Mariposa doesn’t have an underbelly. But this...” She touched the edge of the autopsy report. “Who could have done this? Who here could be capable...?”

He went around the desk. Instead of touching her, he gripped the arms of the chair. He pushed himself into her space and watched her eyes go as round as pieces of eight. “I’ll help you. I won’t rest until the person responsible is behind bars. But you have to help me.”

She bit her bottom lip carefully. It disappeared inside her mouth as she searched his eyes. Her guarded expression closed him off and he was certain the answer would be no.

Her lip rounded again, pink. Perfect, like the rest of her. She canted her head to the side. “You need a reason for being here,” she said. “In case Fulton or your CO catches you on-site.”

She was...saying yes? He missed a breath. “If I could pass under the radar...if everyone could see me as something other than a cop...a guest, maybe, or a new member of staff, they could be inclined to talk. That would make my job easier.”

“Not staff,” she said contemplatively. “That wouldn’t be right.”

He frowned at the tattoos on his hands. They were right there for her to see. “What, you don’t hire criminals?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said defensively.

“Then what did you mean?”

“A guest, maybe,” she decided. “That would get you in the restaurant, the bar, the spa, the golf course and stables...everywhere but C Building.” Her eyes cleared. “Oh.”

“What?” he asked, feeling his stomach muscles tighten as he watched her pupils dilate.

Her gaze trickled down his throat, over his shoulders and down his chest. “It’s that simple...and that complicated.”

“Throw me a bone here, Colton.”

“You need to immerse yourself among staff and guests. You need a cover. Being my boyfriend would guarantee access to pretty much anything.”

“Your boyfriend.” He heard his tone flatline. It was the worst idea he’d ever heard.

And it was the best idea he’d ever heard.

She was right. Being Laura Colton’s paramour wouldn’t just open doors. It would make people openly curious about him. Those people would lower their guard enough...maybe be clumsy or trusting enough to let something slip. To let him in.

The possibilities came tumbling down as reality set in again.

Who the hell was going to believe that she would date him ? She ruled this high-class joint. She was Mariposa’s princess. He lived on a city salary, drove a decade-old city-issue sedan that ran rough in the winter, and he had no family left to speak of.

Who would buy that Laura Colton would choose to slum it with Noah Steele?

He backed off. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work.”

“Why not?” she asked his retreating back. She gained her feet again. “If someone here killed Allison, they have to be found. They have to be brought to justice. What if they strike again? What if someone else is killed? I have to protect the rest of the staff, the guests, my family... You’re the man to help me do that. Not Detective Fulton.”

Fulton had cop written all over him while Noah...didn’t. “I don’t exactly fit into the woodwork around here either. I’m not the country-club type.”

“I told you I don’t like labels, and we get many people here of different backgrounds, Detective.”

“I bet I don’t know a single person who could afford a night in one of your bungalows. What’s the going rate these days?”

“For a night?”

“Yes.”

She paused. “Five thousand.”

A strangled laugh hit his throat. “Holy sh—”

“That includes food and all resort amenities except alcohol, spa packages and special excursions,” she explained. “Our guests are happy to pay the price because they know it means we take care of their privacy and security while they’re here. They can immerse themselves in the resort and landscape.”

“And there are no cameras anywhere,” he recalled.

“No.”

He cursed. “That’s going to make my job difficult.”

“All staff members also sign nondisclosure documents when they join the Mariposa team,” she warned.

“Then you’re wrong,” he said, crossing his arms. He eased back against the wall, tipping his head against the plaster. “It’s the perfect place for a murder. And I bet Allison’s killer knew it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I’m not here to make you feel better,” he reminded her. “I’m here to catch a killer.”

She drifted into thoughtful silence. Finally, she came around the desk. “What if you weren’t Noah Steele from Sedona? What if you were Noah Steele, the politician’s son?”

“Do I look like a politician’s son to you?”

“You could be the son of a shipping magnate. Or you could be an entrepreneur.”

“I knew I should’ve packed my sweater-vest.”

Defeated, she sat on the corner of her desk. “You’re not making this easy.”

He swallowed the inclination to apologize to her. Again.

Her chin snapped up. Her stare roamed his boots, his hair. As she perused him, it made him come to attention. “What’re you doing?” he asked, bracing himself for whatever thought bubble she’d conjured.

Prospects flashed across her face. They practically glittered. “When I first saw you, I thought you could be a rock star.”

“I can’t carry a tune.”

“You don’t have to,” she said. She crossed to him. “You’re not here to entertain. You’re here to get away from shows. Touring. The loud party atmosphere. You’re here to disconnect. Recharge. It’s a commonality many of our guests share, so you’d have a good jumping-off point for conversation.”

She was close enough he could see the beauty mark she’d tried to hide under her concealer. It lived, camouflaged, near the corner of her mouth. “And what band am I supposed to be from?”

“I don’t know. You could be a cover band, a good one that tours nationally. And you don’t have to be the front man. You could be a bass player. A drummer.”

“Maybe I just got out of rehab,” he muttered, his voice imbued with sarcasm.

“The people who know me will never buy that I’m dating an addict.”

“Speaking of people who know you,” he said, “Adam knows who I am. He won’t buy any of this.”

“Adam will have to know,” she agreed. “Josh saw you through a window two nights ago. If he remembers you, we’ll let him in on the scheme. If not, then I’ll tell him. I prefer not to.”

“Why?”

“Because he can be terrible at keeping secrets,” she admitted. “I love him, but he wears his heart on his sleeve. When would you like to start?”

They were really doing this—this fake dating thing? He took a long breath. “As soon as possible if I’m going to make headway.”

“Tomorrow morning, then. Be here at nine. We’ll have a champagne breakfast at Annabeth. That way, I can start introducing you as—”

“The boyfriend.” He shook his head. “If I saw you and me together, I wouldn’t buy it.”

“Not everyone’s a detective,” she said. “Most people take what they see at face value. They don’t analyze. If we play it off right...if we’re convincing...then you have free rein over Mariposa for the foreseeable future.”

“You’ll need to tell big brother,” he warned. “Tonight. He’ll need to play along, too. I have a feeling he won’t approve.”

“Let me worry about Adam.” She hesitated. “You should come earlier than nine. Can you be at my place at eight? To be convincing as a couple, we’ll need to establish history. Basic facts like where we met, how long we’ve been dating and so on.”

“Why not now?” he asked. Last time they’d been together like this, one-on-one, he’d been desperate to get away from her. Now the space between them was no longer a minefield of fresh-turned grief. It felt...warm and, yes, precarious. But he wasn’t alone. Here, with her, he wasn’t a victim to his thoughts and the self-blame that had plagued him since finding out Allison was gone.

Laura drooped like a flower without water. “I have a meeting tonight. It’s a family matter. My...father’s in town.”

Why did she pause before the word father ? He still knew very little about the Coltons and Mariposa. He could use the time tonight to research. “Eight o’clock.”

“I’ll tell Roland you’re coming. You won’t have trouble getting in.” An indentation appeared between her brows.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t know how to say goodbye for a second.”

Amused, he wondered what path her thoughts had gone down. “No one’s looking. I think a handshake will do, Ms. Colton.”

“Of course.” She offered her hand. “And no need to call me Ms. Colton anymore, remember?”

He gripped her hand softly. Cradled it. What else did someone do with a hand like hers? “Laura,” he said, hearing how it left him like a prayer.

The other night, he’d dropped her hand like a hot potato. Now he made himself hold it. He made himself picture it—her and him. Together. If he was going to convince anyone else they were an item, he had to convince himself first. For one dangerous moment, he let himself imagine pulling her closer. He imagined holding her, the smell of her hair, pressing his lips to the curve between her neck and shoulder, running his hands up the length of her spine...

He imagined the shape of her under his hands, how a woman like her would respond to his touch...

“Noah,” she replied.

Heat assaulted him. Before he could hit the safe button, a vortex of flame swept him up. It refused to spit him back out.

Noah took a step back. The doorknob bit into his hip.

Shaking her hand had been too much? What was he going to do tomorrow when they had to convince Laura’s family, friends, employees and guests that they were a couple? Flame-retardant gear wouldn’t keep him safe from this inferno.

Allison’s death had ripped his defenses wide, exposing him.

He couldn’t let Laura Colton take advantage of the fact.

“Good night,” he said shortly.

“Good night,” she returned, and the slight smile on her face stayed with him long after he left.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Laura stood her ground. “It’s a good plan, Adam.”

“He’s the wrong cop,” Adam reminded her. “He’s emotional. According to his commanding officer, he’s not even supposed to be anywhere near this.”

The guy in her office hadn’t seemed emotional. Determined? Yes. Standoffish? Absolutely. Underneath, Laura was certain Detective Steele— Noah —had to be hurting. But his clear-cut focus had struck her, inciting her own.

Someone had drugged her friend, cut her life short... She couldn’t walk away from that. “I’m doing this,” she told Adam. “We’re doing this—him and me—whether you think it’s advisable.”

“Laura—”

“This happened on our watch,” she said, and the horror of that made her stomach lurch. “Someone killed her here. This is our home, Adam.”

Adam planted a hand on her shoulder. “You are not responsible for Allison’s death.”

“Then help me catch who is,” she insisted. “Don’t get in the way. Please.”

The last word splintered. He closed his eyes in reaction.

Voices down the hall echoed toward them. Adam’s hand lifted from her shoulder. “We’ll finish this discussion later,” he concluded.

She raised her chin in response. Recognizing the voices as those of Joshua, Greg and Clive, she braced herself for what was to come. The family attorney stood as a buffer between father and son as he escorted them down the hall to the conference room. His Hawaiian-print shirt seemed loud and cheery, his smile in contrast with Joshua’s scowl and Clive’s expressionless face.

The only nondescript thing about Greg was the beige folder he was holding. He raised his free hand to wave at Adam and Laura. “We’re not behind schedule, are we?” he asked them.

“We arrived early,” Adam replied. He stepped aside, motioning for Clive to go ahead into the conference room. As his father moved beyond him and Laura, they both raised questioning looks at Greg.

He offered them a slight nod.

Laura’s lips parted. She glanced between her brothers, noting Joshua’s grim intent. She watched Adam button his suit jacket, the galvanized rods of his business mien snapping into place. He let Greg follow Clive into the room first. “Shall we?” he asked the others.

Laura wished she knew what was in that folder. As she and Joshua entered the conference room, she leaned over and whispered, “Did Greg tell you what he found?”

“Nothing,” Joshua answered.

She took her seat. They would each have a vote, she knew. It was how they handled anything that involved their mother’s estate, resort capital or unnecessary risk. She folded her hands on the table, watching Clive settle in. He seemed relaxed. Expectant.

His statement about Quentin Randolph from yesterday came back. Had her own father sent a wolf to her door? She could hardly stand to look at him with that knowledge. Throughout lunch the day before, she’d wanted to ask if it was true. Had he known who Quentin was?

Would it influence her vote if she knew he had? She prided herself on separating business Laura from personal Laura. That was part of her success, just as it was Adam’s.

That task was hard enough knowing how Clive had treated her mother through the years, and how he had neglected Adam, Joshua, her and their half sister, Dani. Adding the implications surrounding Quentin’s place in her life would make being objective that much harder.

Clive adjusted his cuff links. He grinned. “Who calls the meeting to order?”

“It’s nothing so formal as that,” Adam informed him. “Though this time, I will ask Greg to start.”

Greg took a pair of reading glasses from the neckline of his shirt. He put them on and opened the folder. “After yesterday’s meeting, I placed a couple of calls to colleagues with a vested interest in Colton Textiles.”

“Why?” Clive drawled. “This is a simple family matter. Nothing worth meddling in.”

“I asked Greg to look into it,” Adam told him.

Clive’s serene smile dimmed on his eldest. “You don’t trust me?”

Laura spoke up. “If we agree to your terms, we could risk as much as half a million dollars.”

“Risk.” Clive batted the word away. “Come now, Precious. I said it was a loan, and that I’d pay you back with interest.”

“You wanted us going into this blind,” Joshua surmised. “Look around you. We built this place because we were smart. You still think we’re children you can easily bait and switch, don’t you?”

“I’ll ask you again to modulate your tone when you speak to me,” Clive told him.

“Greg,” Adam prompted again, “tell us what you found. Once the cards are on the table, the three of us will put it to a vote, yes or no, and that majority decision will be the one we go forward with.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Right. The reality is that Colton Textiles is going under.”

Palpable silence cast the room in a long shadow.

“I knew it,” Joshua said under his breath.

Laura stared at her father in disbelief. “Going under? How?”

Adam frowned. “How long has it been in the red?”

“Two years,” Greg revealed. “There are other investors, none of whom have seen a return on their investment.”

“How could you let it get this far?” Laura asked. “If you were going to come to us, you should’ve done it from the moment there was trouble.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Clive said, dignified. He spread his hands. “You must want to save your birthright.”

“If you cared about our birthright, you would have told us the truth,” Joshua retorted.

“You owe me this.”

Laura froze, feeling her brothers do the same. “What did you say?”

“You owe me,” Clive stated again. “I paid for it all, didn’t I? The house in LA. The private schools you attended.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Adam said. His hands slid onto the table, palms down. He leaned forward. “Because I sense this discussion going sideways. Our mother may have died when we were young, and you weren’t exactly there to take her place. But I’m fairly confident when I say a proper parent doesn’t talk like that.”

“Now wait just a second—”

“No.” Adam’s voice invited zero rebuttal. “She paid for the house in LA. And she paid every dime of our tuition. And before you claim you put me, Laura or Josh through college, we paid our way through the trusts she left in each of our names, the remains of which we pooled to make Mariposa what it is. You have no fingerprint here. If you’re going to come running to us to save the family company, I suggest you avoid leading with lies and grandiosity. That may have worked with your investors, but we know you. We know the real you.”

“What good’s a vote when you’re all prejudiced against me?” Clive demanded.

“In this room, we’re not your sons or your daughter,” Adam pointed out. “In this room, we’re owners and directors of Mariposa Resort & Spa, and we’ll vote accordingly. All in favor of loaning Clive Colton half a million dollars to save Colton Textiles, say ‘aye.’”

Neither Laura nor Joshua spoke up.

Adam raised a brow. “The nays have it.”

Clive leaned back. In a jerky motion, he pulled down the front of his vest. “Very well.” Climbing to his feet, he took turns frowning at each of them. “I should have expected as much. You chose your side years ago.”

“Right around the time you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with us,” Joshua returned. “How does that feel, by the way?”

Laura crossed to her father, keeping her voice low. “If you had come to us as soon as the trouble started, we would have helped you. We could have saved the company together.”

“You can’t dress betrayal up with excuses, Laura,” Clive said. “Didn’t your mother teach you that?”

She felt the breath go out of her. “No. But she did teach us common decency.”

“Then why not throw the company a lifeline?”

Joshua stepped up behind Laura, supportive. “You can’t save a man from drowning when history tells you he won’t hesitate to hold you under water to save himself.”

“Or bring down the entire ship,” Adam chimed in as he stacked papers on his end of the table.

“ And he insults your mother,” Joshua added. He made a face. “I mean, come on. That’s just wrong.”

Laura couldn’t look away from Clive’s angry face. “I’ve been trying to forgive you for over a decade. She taught us to forgive. She forgave you—more times than any other woman would have had the grace to do so. And it didn’t stop you. Still, I thought I could—one day—offer my forgiveness. And maybe I will. But not today.”

“You know what I learned from your mother?” he asked. “Beauty can be all ice. She must’ve taught you that, too. Cold suits you.”

Heat flooded her face. She felt it in the tips of her ears. “Please, leave.”

Clive held her gaze for several seconds before his eyes cut over her shoulder and locked on Joshua. He glanced to the head of the table at Adam. Without saying another word, Clive stepped toward the door.

Laura didn’t breathe easily again until he was gone.

Joshua echoed her thoughts. “He’ll be back.”

“Maybe,” Adam granted. “He’s wrong, Laura. You’re not cold, any more than Mom was.”

“Of course not,” Greg chimed in.

But the cold had seeped into every part of her, and she couldn’t think how to comfort herself with Clive’s accusations loud in her ears.