and ask him to open the door.”
That took the wind out of her sails.
“Fine, but I want my hardware back.”
“I don’t think so.”
She scowled again. “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road.”
It didn’t take long to rouse the sleepy manager, and soon they were again standing in front of room 126. Ethan stepped in front of everyone and inserted the key. “Stay back.” The manager had already moved away, but Sam was still breathing down his neck. The woman was like a barnacle.
Ethan turned the key and opened the door. The stench of blood assailed his nostrils. He pushed Sam backward. “This is a crime scene. I’m going in, but do not step past the threshold of this door.” He moved forward but glanced around to see if she was obeying his orders. He was taken aback to see a look of shock, mixed with a healthy dose of fear, on her face.
It was an indication that Sam was in this thing up to her cute little ears. He decided then and there that the woman wasn’t leaving his sight until he had some answers. He touched the wall until he felt the light switch. With a flick of his wrist, the room was bathed in light. Even without taking a pulse, there was no doubt. The two men he’d seen riding in the sedan were dead.
The sickly smell of death hit Chloe smack in the face and she took a step back.
She’d helped Stan’s FBI cyber unit on many cases, but computers were her area of expertise, not dead bodies. She’d never visited an actual crime scene.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of clear, crisp mountain air and centered herself. A picture of Peter Norris rose in her mind, and she wondered if the same odor had permeated his office by the time they discovered his body.
She could see through the open doorway, and the sight of two men lying separately on two double beds, blood seeping from tiny holes in the front of each of their foreheads, was enough to make her want to toss her cookies. She took another deep breath and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
Were the two men connected to the Peter Norris murder and her unidentified disc? She took another step back, away from the stench of death. She had to pick up Geordie and get out of Jackson Hole. She’d find a safe place to stay until she could figure this thing out. She turned to flee, but a strong grip on her arm stopped her.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam.”
Chloe schooled her face into a mask of calm as she spun to face Ethan. And when had she started thinking of him as Ethan instead of Sheriff Hoyt? “Excuse me? You told us to stay back.”
His green eyes pierced her pretense. “You were getting ready to run, and I have several questions before you’ll be allowed to leave town.”
The shock of seeing the two dead men quickly receded and self-preservation took over. Something she had become very good at since the death of her parents when she was a child. “You have no right to hold me without just cause.”
His rigid jaw tightened even more. “I have cause since I witnessed you standing in front of room 126. Fortunately for you, I followed you from the B and B. Otherwise, I’d be arresting you on murder charges. Give me your weapon.” He held his hand out.
Panic constricted her throat. She didn’t like feeling boxed in, not after her short stint in juvenile hall before Stan rescued and took custody of her, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. No way was she giving up her gun. She’d been shot at and these two New Yorkers were now dead. She had a burning desire to get out of town, and she’d need protection when she left.
Forcing herself to relax, she took a step back. “You’re way off course, Sheriff Hoyt. As you said, you followed me from the B and B. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
His hand stayed extended and his jaw looked hard as granite. She got the sinking feeling that she was now seeing the real Sheriff Hoyt, the hotshot Chicago detective Mrs. Denton had described.
“We won’t have a time of death until the coroner arrives. You could have been revisiting the scene. Give me your weapon.”
She had no choice, so, feeling as if she were giving away a part of herself, she pulled the gun out of her jacket pocket and handed it over, butt first. It was an insult when he shook out a handkerchief and took her weapon, but then another thought sent a second panic wave roaring through her. Her prints were on the gun, and she had no doubt he’d run them through the system. Her prints were on file with the FBI because anyone who worked there was fingerprinted as part of their policy.
Chloe quickly reassured herself that he wouldn’t find anything from her past, only her real name. He shouldn’t be able to get into her juvenile record unless he had a valid reason to present to a judge. But even knowing her real name would be problematic. He’d want to know why she’d given him an alias. That would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. She had to get out of there and away from Jackson Hole as soon as possible.
Her handkerchief-bound Bersa disappeared into his jacket pocket, and she was already thinking of a way to retrieve it when his voice caught her attention.
“Don’t even think about it, Sam. I’ll return your weapon after we get some answers.”
She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but inside she shivered. “Whatever. I’m in the clear because I had nothing to do with this—” she lifted her chin in false bravado “—and you can tell yourself you know what I’m thinking, but you’re wrong.”
Ethan stared at her hard, but a squad car pulled into the parking lot and gained his attention. She was vastly relieved by the interruption. He must have been an ace detective, because he stood there looking all righteous and dignified, silently urging her to spill her secrets, daring her to do the right thing. The man had probably never even had a parking ticket.
A young, clean-cut guy dressed in a starched police uniform hurriedly got out of the patrol car and rushed toward Ethan.
“Sir, I got here as quick as I could.”
And when, exactly, had Sheriff Hoyt called his deputy? Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he turned his head toward her. “I texted my deputy to come as soon as I saw the bodies.” It shocked her that he could read her so well, but she covered her surprise by holding up her hands. “Did I say anything?” It came out sounding waspish, but she was in a waspish mood. Things were going downhill fast. Ethan motioned his deputy into the motel room, but not before he gave her instructions. The kind of instructions she didn’t like.
“Stay put. Don’t make me come after you.”
Her gut was screaming at her to run as fast as she could, but the good sheriff had her picklocks, her gun and, worst of all, her prints.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”
He gave her one last hard look and disappeared into the room. Thirty minutes later several vehicles pulled up. One man got out of a car carrying a medical bag. She assumed it was the medical examiner. Two men exited the second car carrying an array of cases. They looked like crime scene techs. A few minutes later,
