Murder on the Mountain. Cassie Miles

wasn’t time to run down to the barn, saddle up one of the horses and ride. The next best thing for blowing off steam was chopping wood.

      She tromped heavily down the stairs and along a path to a storage shed where several cords of logs were neatly stacked and waiting along with work gloves and a well-honed ax. After pulling on her stiff leather gloves, she carried a couple of fat logs to the outdoor chopping block where she would split them into an appropriate size for the fireplace in the great room.

      With the log positioned on the block, she drew back and swung with all her strength. The ax head made contact and the wood split. A satisfying jolt went through her body. Again and again, she attacked the logs. This was a better workout than a heavy punching bag. She imagined the senator’s face before the ax descended in a fierce and graceful arc. Take that, you jerk.

      Julia caught a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision and turned. There was a man watching her with his arms folded across his chest. He wore the brown uniform jacket for the Eagle County Sheriff’s Department.

      “I didn’t want to interrupt.” He came closer and held out his hand. “I’m Deputy Paul Hemmings.”

      “Julia Last.”

      Their gloved hands met. His grip was strong, and she appreciated that he didn’t hold back because she was a woman. Though she’d seen the deputy in town when she shopped for supplies, Julia hadn’t appreciated those broad shoulders and barrel chest until this moment. Paul Hemmings was a very tall, very impressive man.

      Despite his extra-large dimensions, he wasn’t hulking or threatening. He had an easygoing smile. His strong white teeth contrasted his tanned complexion. Sunlight glistened in his thick black hair. She wished he’d take off his sunglasses so she could see the color of his eyes. “What brings you here, Deputy?”

      “I’ve been wanting to pay a visit,” he said. “A friend of mine, Mac Granger, stayed here a couple of months ago. He liked the place.”

      “I remember Mac.” He’d been involved in a sting operation that turned ugly. “Got himself into a bit of trouble.”

      “That’s putting it mildly.” He bent and picked up the chunks of wood she’d split. “I’ll help you carry this load inside.”

      Which was a subtly clever way of getting an inside peek at the safehouse. She didn’t for one minute believe that Deputy Paul Hemmings had popped in for a casual howdy.

      Julia rested her hand on the ax handle. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you stopped by?”

      “You like to get right to the point.”

      “I do,” she said. “So?”

      “There was a car accident last night. The driver went off the road, flipped his rental car. He was DOA at the hospital.”

      “Sorry to hear that.”

      “He had a note in his wallet with the phone number for your lodge written on it.”

      Her protective instincts were immediately aroused. Though the safehouse had a regular phone listing, the message was always the same: Sorry, we’re booked. There were never outside guests. Feigning disinterest, she said, “Maybe he was looking for a place to stay.”

      “Or he might have wanted to contact one of your guests. The man who died was from Washington, D.C.”

      As were all the people involved in the Homeland Security project. Julia didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “I hate to have you bothering my guests.”

      “I promise to be quick, Julia. Is it okay if I call you Julia?”

      “If I can call you Paul.”

      “You bet.” He glanced down at the logs in his arms. “Where do you want these?”

      “We have enough wood inside. Just bring them into the storage shed.”

      Inside the dimly lit shed, she watched as Paul methodically placed the logs in a neat stack. Though he seemed like someone who could be trusted with a secret, she didn’t want anybody to know the true purpose of the safehouse. Not even the local law enforcement. If one person knew, then another would and another. Then word would leak. Security would be compromised.

      As Paul finished with the woodpile, he took off his sunglasses and turned to her. His eyes were a beautiful chocolate-brown. When she gazed into their depths, Julia felt something inside her begin to melt. For one fleeting second, she imagined what it would be like to be held by those big, strong arms. The broad expanse of his chest would provide ample room for her to snuggle. His flesh would be warm. His lips would be gentle.

      She blinked, erasing these inappropriate thoughts. Where did that little burst of wild-eyed lust come from? It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, mostly because her responsibilities at the safehouse made dating difficult. But that was her choice. Her career. And the lack of a meaningful relationship didn’t bother her.

      But maybe it did. Maybe that was the real reason why her emotions were all over the place. Maybe she needed more than chopping wood to control her anger. Maybe she needed to get laid.

      “What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

      “Nothing,” she said quickly.

      “I should talk to your guests now.”

      When he gave her a broad smile, his cheeks dimpled. He was just too sexy for words. Her repressed imagination again caught fire. She wanted to kiss those dimples, to taste his mouth.

      He took a step toward her.

      Julia’s breath quickened.

      She heard, very clearly, a gunshot.

      Chapter Two

      Paul charged through the door of the shed with his gun drawn. “Julia, stay back.”

      “No way.”

      Another gunshot. Paul looked up.

      Standing on the cedar deck behind the lodge was an older man, bald with a neatly trimmed fringe of graying hair around his ears. His posture was ramrod straight. He stood with legs apart and one hand behind his back. With the other hand, he aimed a chrome automatic handgun into a nearby stand of trees. What the hell did he think he was doing?

      “Freeze.” Paul sighted down the barrel of his gun. “Police.”

      The bald man looked down his nose. “Nothing to worry about, young man.”

      Paul thought otherwise. Without lowering his gun, he climbed the staircase to the deck. “Drop your weapon.”

      “You’re overreacting.” He squatted and carefully placed his gun on the deck floor. “I was just taking target practice, shooting at a rabbit.”

      “Hunting season is over.” Paul scooped up the weapon. A Colt Double Eagle. A nice piece. And well cared for.

      Julia stepped onto the deck behind him. “Deputy Paul Hemmings, I’d like to introduce General Harrison Naylor.”

      The general’s squint and his square jaw seemed familiar. His formal bearing gave Paul the feeling that he was supposed to snap to attention and salute. But he had guns in both hands, so he merely nodded. “Army?”

      “Marines,” the general said.

      Which still didn’t give him the right to take potshots off the deck. “I’m sure you don’t need a lecture on gun safety, General. In future, if you want to take target practice, choose a less populated location.”

      “Away from the barn,” Julia added. “We have several horses, and they’re not accustomed to gunfire.”

      Reluctantly, Paul returned the Colt Double Eagle. The general took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the moisture from the gleaming silver gun. Though dressed in a casual cardigan, the man was impeccable. His trousers held a razor crease, and his