Snow Blind. Cassie Miles

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.”

      “Mr. Chandler,” Brady said, “I’d like to talk with your hotel security.”

      “Sorry, the man in charge has gone home for the day. We’re still in the process of hiring our full security team.”

      “His name?”

      “Grant Jacobson. He’s from one of our sister hotels, and he comes highly recommended.”

      “Call him,” Brady said. “In the meantime, I need access to all video surveillance as well as to several of the guest rooms on the fifth and sixth floors. There’s reason to believe a violent assault was committed in one of these rooms.”

      “First problem,” Chandler said, “most of our video surveillance isn’t operational.”

      “We’ll make do with what have.”

      “And I’d be happy to show you the vacant rooms,” he said. “But I can’t allow our guests to be disturbed.”

      “This is a police investigation.”

      “I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

      “Suit yourself.” When Brady drew himself up to his full height, he made an impressive figure of authority. “If you refuse to help, I’ll knock on the doors myself and announce that I’m from the sheriff’s department.”

      Chandler’s smile crumpled. “That would be disruptive.”

      Brady pivoted and went toward the office door. “We’re wasting time.”

      She followed him to the elevator. His long-legged stride forced her to jog to keep up. Chandler came behind her.

      On the fifth floor, Brady turned to her. “It wasn’t the corner room, right?”

      She nodded. “Not the corner.”

      He went to the next door. His hand rested on the butt of his gun.

      Hurriedly, Chandler stepped in front of him and used the master card to unlock the door. “This room is vacant. Can you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”

      Without responding, Brady entered the room and switched on the light. The decor was an attractive mix of rust and sky-blue, but the layout of the furniture wasn’t what Sasha had seen through the binoculars. “It wasn’t this room,” she said. “There was a small table near the window. And a ficus tree.”

      “You’re describing one of our suites,” Chandler said. “Those units have more living space and two separate bedrooms.”

      “I don’t see signs of a disturbance,” Brady said. “Let’s move on.”

      “The room next door is a suite,” Chandler said. “It’s occupied, and I would appreciate your discretion.”

      “Sure thing.”

      Brady’s eyes were cold and hard. It was obvious that he’d do whatever necessary to find what he was looking for, and she liked his determination.

      The door to the next room was opened by a teenage girl with pink-and-purple-striped leggings. The rest of the family lounged in front of the TV. Though this didn’t appear to be the place, Brady verified with the family that they’d been here for the past two hours.

      “No one is booked in the next suite,” Chandler said.

      “Could someone unauthorized have used it?” Brady asked.

      “I suppose so.”

      “Open up.”

      Though the layout was similar to the one she’d seen, Sasha noticed that instead of a ficus there was a small Norfolk pine. Brady made a full search anyway, going from room to room. In the kitchenette, he looked for dishes that had been used. And he paid special attention to the bedrooms, checking to see if the beds were mussed and looking under the duvet at the sheets.

      “Why