“You believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Immediately, he reined in his attraction toward her. She was a witness, nothing more.
“I don’t know. It just seems... I don’t know.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Get dressed.”
She turned on her heel and dashed across the condo to the hallway. He heard the sound of a door closing. As he moved toward the exit, he checked out the high-end furnishings and electronics. Bubbly little Sasha seemed too lively, energetic and youthful to be comfortable with these polished surroundings. She lacked the sophistication that he associated with high-priced attorneys.
It bothered him that she’d expected he wouldn’t believe her statement. Even though she’d related her account of the assault with clear details, she seemed unsure of herself. That hesitant attitude didn’t work for him. He was about to go to the hotel and ask questions that would inconvenience the staff and guests. Brady needed for Sasha to be a credible witness.
When she bounded down the hallway in red jeans and a black parka with fake fur around the collar, she looked presentable, especially since she’d ditched the fuzzy boots for a sensible pair of hiking shoes. Then she put on a white knit cap with a goofy pom-pom on top and gave him one of those huge smiles. Damn, she was cute with her rosy cheeks and button nose. As he looked at her, something inside him melted.
If they’d been going on a sleigh ride or a hike, he would have been happy to have her as his companion. But Sasha wasn’t his first choice as a witness. At the hotel, he’d try to avoid mentioning that she’d been peeping at the hotel through binoculars.
* * *
SASHA CLIMBED INTO the passenger side of the SUV and fastened her seat belt. A combination of excitement and dread churned through her veins. She was scared about what she’d seen and fearful about what might have happened to the woman in white. At the same time, she was glad to be able to help. Because of the circumstance—a strange, unlikely moment when she’d peeked through those binoculars at precisely the right time—she might save that woman’s life.
She glanced toward Deputy Brady. “Is this what it feels like to be a cop?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“My pulse is racing. That’s the adrenaline, right? And I’m tingling all over.”
“Could be the champagne,” he said drily.
She’d all but forgotten the three glasses of champagne she’d had in the hot tub. “I’ve been drunk before, and it doesn’t feel anything like this.”
When Brady turned on the flashing lights and the wailing siren, her excitement ratcheted up higher. This was serious business, police business. They were about to make a difference in someone’s life, pursuing a would-be killer, rescuing a victim.
Her emotions popped like fireworks in contrast to Brady’s absolute calm. He was a big man—solid and capable. His jawline and cleft chin seemed to be set in granite in spite of a dimple at the left corner of his mouth. His hazel eyes were steady and cool. In spite of the sheriff’s department logo on the sleeve of his dark blue jacket and the gun holster on his belt next to his badge, he didn’t look much like a cop. He wore dark brown boots and jeans and a black cowboy hat. The hat made her think he might be a local.
She raised her voice so he could hear her over the siren. “Have you lived in Arcadia long?”
“Born and raised,” he said. “My uncle Dooley owned the land where your condo, the hotel and the ski lodge are built.”
“You’re related to Matthew Dooley?”
“I am.”
That wily old rancher was one of the four investors in the Arcadia development. Dooley was big and rangy, much like Brady, and he always wore a cowboy hat and bolo tie. During most of the meetings in the conference room at the Three Ss, he appeared to be sleeping but managed to come alive when there was an issue that concerned him.
“I like your uncle,” she said. “He’s a character.”
“He plays by his own rules.”
And he could afford to. Even before the investment in his land Dooley was a multimillionaire from all the mountain property he had owned and sold over the years. Brady’s relationship to him explained the cowboy hat and the boots. But why was he working as a deputy? “Your family is rich.”
“I’m not keeping score.”
“Easy to say when you’re on the winning team.” Her family hadn’t been poor, but with five kids they’d struggled to get by. If it hadn’t been for scholarships and student loans, she never would have finished college. Paying for her continuing education was going to be a strain. “What made you decide to be a deputy?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
She sensed his resistance and wondered if he had a deep reason for choosing a career in law enforcement. “You can tell me.”
He gave her a sidelong look, assessing her. Then he turned his gaze back toward the road. They were approaching the hotel. “When we go inside, let me do the talking.”
“I might be able to help,” she said. “I’m a pretty good negotiator.”
“This is a police matter. I’m in charge. Do you understand?”
“Okay.”
Though she was capable of standing up for herself, she didn’t mind letting him do the talking. Not only was he a local who probably knew half the people who worked here, but Brady had the authority of the badge.
After they left the SUV in the valet parking area outside the entrance, she dutifully followed him into the front lobby. In the course of resort negotiations, she’d seen dozens of photographs of the interior of the Gateway Hotel. The reality was spectacular. The front windows climbed three stories high in the lobby-slash-atrium, showcasing several chandeliers decorated with small crystal snowflakes. A water feature near the check-in desk rippled over a tiered black marble waterfall. The decor and artwork were sleek and modern, except for a life-size marble statue of a toga-clad woman aiming a bow and arrow. Sasha guessed she was supposed to be Artemis, goddess of the hunt.
Occasional Grecian touches paid homage to the name Arcadia, which was an area in Greece ruled in ancient times by Pan the forest god. Sasha was glad the investors hadn’t gone overboard with the gods-and-goddesses theme in the decorating. She stood behind Brady as he talked to a uniformed man behind the check-in counter. They were quickly shown into a back room to meet with the hotel manager, Mark Chandler.
He came out from behind his desk to shake hands with both of them. His gaze fixed on her face. “Why does your name sound familiar?”
“I’m a legal assistant working with Damien Loughlin. I’ll be attending the investors’ meetings this week.”
“Of course.” His professional smile gave the impression of warmth and concern. “I’ve worked with Damien. His help was invaluable when we were setting up our wine lists.”
