Colton's Secret Investigation Page 6

  She wasn’t sure what she expected to find—they already knew where the few places were—but maybe something would occur to her if she looked again. And if not, at least they would have a break in the eye-straining monotony of going over and over slo-mo video for hours.

  “All right,” Stefan agreed easily enough, so easily she wondered if he wanted to get out of these close quarters, too. “But,” he added, “you might want to be aware that it’s snowing.”

  “What?” she said, startled. He gestured at the door, and she jumped up and went over to look through the window. Sure enough, the white stuff was coming down outside. Rather steadily.

  The cold white stuff. Her spoiled California bones shivered.

  “They didn’t predict this,” she said, a bit crankily.

  “What a shock. A wrong weather prediction.”

  Her gaze snapped to his face. He was grinning at her, the smart aleck. She wanted to be mad, but she simply couldn’t be in the face of that heart-melting grin. She threw up her hands and laughed instead.

  “All right, you found me out, I’m a true cold-weather wuss.”

  “You’ve been here how long now?”

  “Four years,” she said with a grimace. “And my blood shows no signs of thickening up, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

  “I wasn’t going to hint, I was going to come right out and say it.”

  She turned and gave him a mock glare. “Didn’t you say your parents moved to Florida?”

  “Only three years ago, and after spending their whole lives in Illinois,” he pointed out. “And,” he added, “Mom says sometimes she misses it. The seasons, I mean.”

  She gestured toward the falling snow. “Then she should come here to visit you and Sam.”

  Stefan’s teasing demeanor faded. “I’ve been thinking about that, ever since you mentioned it. And you’re right. They would want to be part of Sam’s life, now that the major...roadblock is out of the way.”

  “Then ask them,” she said simply. “Surely Sam’s happiness and him adjusting to this huge change is the most important thing right now?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “You’ve got the troops, Roberts. Call them in.”

  A different kind of smile curved his mouth. That mouth. But this wasn’t that killer grin—this was a softer, maybe hopeful, kind of expression. Then, to her surprise, he reached out and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek.

  “I thought I already had,” he said quietly.

  The shiver she felt this time had nothing to do with the thought of snow.

  Chapter 8

  It would help, Stefan thought as he stared out at the falling snow, if she wasn’t so damned cute. And funny. And wise. And helpful.

  And sexy. Oh, yeah, Roberts, let’s not forget that one.

  If he were going to be honest, and he usually tried to be, he’d admit he’d known he was in trouble the first moment he’d been introduced to the sheriff’s deputy who would be the liaison to the FBI on this case. But thanks to her tough-as-nails demeanor and take-no-prisoners attitude, he’d managed to keep it under control and strictly business. Even when he’d done that trace for her on her mother, and found out Ava Bloom’s sad, tragic fate, he’d kept it professional. And admired her for how well she’d taken it.

  But he was learning that the brusqueness covered a softer side, a gentler side, as she’d shown to Sam. And that his son had clearly fallen for her at first contact had...complicated things. The change in the boy was priceless to him, but at the same time it was harder and harder to be around Daria outside the job. He kept wanting to—

  He abruptly cut off his own thoughts. The long list of what he kept wanting when it came to Daria was not something it was wise to dwell on right now. Besides, given how much help she’d been with Sam, the last thing he wanted to do was drive her away. She’d been pretty clear she wasn’t interested. And he couldn’t blame her. Who’d want to take on the chaos his life was in right now? Then again, that chaos had calmed considerably since the first moment Sam had met her.

  And, of course, that had been before that hug that had become more than a hug.

  Maybe it hadn’t been more, for her. Maybe he’d misinterpreted her response, and the occasional look in her eyes he saw when he caught her looking at him. Maybe it was just him. He hadn’t had time for any kind of relationship, even a hookup, for longer than he cared to remember. Even before Sam, and this case, his job had been all consuming. It had eaten up his marriage, although he was now distanced enough from that to realize that would likely have happened, anyway. Because his wife had not been the woman he’d thought she was.

  But regardless of that, it had been so long it was only to be expected he’d...overreact to the first attractive woman he’d spent any real amount of time with. He’d been so wary—and distrustful of his own judgment—since Leah that he’d gone beyond careful and all the way into doing without. For a long time. And Sam had only intensified that; no longer could he be bringing someone back to his...bachelor pad, as Daria had described it.

  Well, unless it was her. Because Sam had already made it quite clear he adored her.

  Understandably.

  “You okay?”

  Her quiet question snapped him out of his pointless reverie. “Just thinking about Sam.” Which was, to a certain extent, true.

  “It will be fine,” she assured him. “It will just take time.” She put a hand on his arm, clearly intending only to comfort. But all he could think about was all the ways he wanted her hands on him, and he had to suppress a shudder, so strong was the need that swept over him.

  “If we’re staying here, we might as well get back to it,” he said brusquely, as if the merest touch from her hadn’t nearly sent him into a tailspin.

  “I suppose.”

  She walked back over to the chairs they’d set up before the flat-screen display and picked up the remote. She pressed a key that turned off the screensaver that had come on and then hit the play button. And they began again.

  He wasn’t sure how much longer they’d been at it when Daria suddenly hit the Pause button. Only this time she wasn’t leaning back, closing tired eyes. This time she was leaning in, staring at the screen. It was stopped at almost exactly an hour before the lobby camera had caught Bianca walking toward the bar.

  He looked, but he couldn’t see anyone in the frozen image from the hotel bar that even vaguely resembled Bianca. Still, he stayed quiet as she moved the video frame by frame until she reached a spot where she stopped it again. As far as he could tell, she was focusing on a table in the back corner of the bar, mostly hidden in shadow, where Stefan could just tell that a man sat by himself. Then, with a quickly typed command on the laptop keyboard, she zoomed the video in. Definitely a man, and definitely alone.

  “Well, well,” she murmured.

  “Feel like sharing?”

  She glanced at him. Her eyes were alight with interest, but the interest of a hunter who had just spotted her prey. “Back at the beginning, I interviewed The Lodge staff. And then when we turned up the body of a Colton cousin, I talked to all of them, including the brass. Including Russ Colton.”

  Her voice changed a little when she said the Colton name, but that seemed endemic to just about everyone in Roaring Springs. Some spoke it with awe and respect, others with envy, some with downright dislike. Although he’d never had much interaction with them, he’d always been aware of the wealthy, important family. He’d found it fascinating how they were scattered all over the country, each branch holding a unique place wherever they were. One branch had even spawned a president.

  And he knew that the discovery of the body of a Colton cousin had kicked the investigation into high gear.

  “Russ Colton, the emperor of The Colton Empire?” he said, purposely keeping his tone light.

  She grimaced. “Tha
t’s what he calls it, yes.”

  “You sound like you don’t care for the man much.”

  “I don’t care for anyone who tries to pressure us into rushing through a case to keep the family name clean.”

  “I’d say that seems typical of a Colton, if I hadn’t met Trey.”

  She gave him an odd look he couldn’t put a name to. But then she went back to her original point.

  “One of the things he mentioned in passing was that staff and employees were not allowed to frequent the guest areas on their time off.”

  He caught her meaning and looked back at the screen. “And him?”

  “That,” she said, gesturing at the enlarged and rather blurry image, “is Curtis Shruggs.”

  “Rings a bell,” he said, but his brow furrowed as he tried to place the name.

  “He’s the director of personnel at The Lodge.”

  “Oh?” His brows rose, and he leaned in for a closer look. “And who would know personnel policy better than the personnel director,” he said slowly.

  “Exactly.”

  She started the video again. But now she ran it slowly forward, and he quickly guessed she wanted to see exactly how long The Lodge’s director of personnel had lingered in the off-limits hotel bar. They watched as the man gradually emptied the glass before him.

  Stefan looked at the time stamp at the bottom of the image. They were at ten minutes before Bianca would exit that elevator. In the next moment Shruggs’s head moved, as if to look at something on the table. At this magnification the image was very blurry, but there was a small, different-colored shape there.

  And then he got up. Picked up the object and slid it into a pocket. Upon closer examination, Stefan would swear it was a cell phone. The entire action was clear, familiar, even if the image wasn’t. And then the man headed farther back into the bar and vanished into the shadows where the camera didn’t—couldn’t—reach. The man he supposed women would think handsome, if they went for the salt-and-pepper-hair look.

  Daria paused the video once more. The time glowed at the bottom of the screen. She looked at Stefan.

  “That could have been a text coming in. He could have been going to meet her.”

  “And he went out the back, through the employee door. Where the camera wouldn’t catch him if he met someone.”

  “And he would likely know that. He could have told her to meet him there.”

  Stefan let out a breath. “That’s a lot of hypotheticals.”

  “I know. We still need to go back and see if there’s anything on the lobby video earlier of them connecting.”

  “That should only take the rest of the night,” Stefan muttered. Then the reality of his new life snapped at him, and he was reminded yet again that was no longer an option for him. He had to get home to his son.

  “There’s more,” Daria said, turning her gaze from the video to him. He saw in those lovely, golden-brown eyes a spark of something beyond excitement; she was into this hunt just as much as he was.

  “I interviewed him, back when this started. He never said anything about even being in the hotel, let alone the bar, the night Bianca disappeared.”

  He frowned. “But he had to know we’d be going over the video surveillance. Although, if you hadn’t recognized him, I never would have noticed him, back in the shadows like that.”

  “Maybe that’s what he was counting on.”

  Slowly, Stefan nodded. “There’s at least a chance he saw Bianca that night.”

  “And he didn’t even mention that he’d been there. Maybe he’s not the killer, but that alone is worth pursuing.”

  “Indeed it is. Even if he’s just one of those people who thinks the rules don’t apply to him. Since he’s the director of personnel, he could think he’s above such things. Or maybe he was checking up on some other employee who might be the exception to the rule.”

  “Yes. But there’s one more thing.”

  “What?” he asked, knowing from the undertone in her voice that it had to be something important.

  “Curtis Shruggs,” she said, “has very, very blue eyes.”

  Chapter 9

  “That was a great catch,” Stefan said after they’d gone over it again. “I don’t think I would have noticed that anytime soon.”

  “Thanks. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it until now.”

  They screen grabbed an image from the video, because she wanted proof in case Shruggs tried to deny he’d been there. Of course he could still negate that this was him—it wasn’t the clearest image ever—but Stefan had also sent a copy to the Bureau’s tech guys, who would clean it up and sharpen the image.

  “Back in the corner, in the shadows like that, it’s amazing you recognized him at all,” Stefan said, still sounding admiring, which warmed her in ways she couldn’t afford to think about right now.

  “Makes me wonder if he knows perfectly well that table’s half-hidden from the cameras.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Stefan glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I’m sorry, I have to get home.”

  Daria glanced at her own watch; she’d gotten so immersed in the time ticking by slowly on the screen’s images that she’d lost track of the time in the real world. And when she saw it was nearly ten, she was surprised.

  “Of course you do. Sam’s probably worried.”

  Stefan gave her a sideways look. “I don’t think we’ve come quite that far yet, that he’d be worried about me.”

  She arched a brow at him. “I meant worried you might have changed your mind about his new furniture,” she said, making her tone purposely light and teasing.

  “Now that,” Stefan said with a wry smile, “I could believe.”

  She studied him for a moment, wondering if it was prudent to say what had just occurred to her. It truly wasn’t any of her business. But she decided it was important enough that she should.

  “Have you thought any more about legal arrangements for him?”

  “You mean getting full custody?” He looked puzzled, no doubt since they’d already talked about that. “I will, now that I have...some hope this will work. Thanks to you.”

  She smiled at that, but shook her head. And her tone was very serious when she said, “I meant what would happen with him right now, if something happened to you.”

  It was grim, yes, but in their line of work, a reality they both lived with every day. “It’s handled,” he said, rather gruffly. “A trust, and guardians.”

  She merely nodded, ignoring his tone. “I figured it would be. You would see to his welfare, no matter how things are between you.”

  “Was that a character assessment, or what?”

  It had been, she realized. And her certainty of it, that this was a man who saw to his own no matter what, only added to her surprise. “Did you need one?” she countered.

  “Sometimes. Lately, anyway.”

  The gruffness had vanished, and what she heard was a man weary of trying to deal with two of the biggest things the world could have handed him—this case and the full, lone responsibility for his son.

  “You’ll make it,” she assured him. “Both of you. Just remember how long it took you to adjust when he was first born.”

  “I’m not sure I did,” he muttered.

  “You’re not sure of anything regarding Sam right now. And that can’t be easy for a guy who’s usually so decisive.”

  Again the sideways look. “More character assessment?”

  “That,” she said pointedly, “was from firsthand observation.” She grinned at him then, trying to lighten the mood. “Besides, your reputation did precede you, you know.”

  He went very still, and for a moment he just stared at her. She wondered what she could have said that had apparently hit so hard.

  “I’d better get home,” he finally muttered. Then, afte
r a sharp shake of his head, as if he were trying to rid himself of something, he added, “The Lodge in the morning?”

  She nodded. “I’ll go over what we have on Shruggs again tonight. He probably won’t even be there on a Saturday, but I want to talk to the staff about his habits. They’d likely know if he violates the order they have to live by, and maybe be miffed enough to say so. But you don’t need to come along.” At his puzzled look, she added, “Sam has a playdate tomorrow, remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah. But that’s afternoon. And I have the sitter already set anyway.”

  “All right, then.”

  Then he asked, “How far do you have to drive?”

  “Home?” She realized it had never yet come up. “I’m just outside town, so not too far.”

  “So you’ll be okay getting there? With the snow?”

  “I’ve learned to deal. Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t respect it,” she said, surprised anew. And wary of the fact that what had popped into her head at his question was her own earlier thought—that this man would see to his own. No matter what.

  “Drive carefully.”

  “You, too. Get home to your son.” His expression changed, tightened slightly, and she added hastily, “Sam would love my place. The backyard, at least. It’s huge. He and that dog he wants could play for hours out there.”

  “Better than my little concrete patio, huh?”

  He didn’t sound offended, so she answered truthfully. “From a five-year-old boy’s point of view? Yes. There’s even a little tree house—well, more of a platform, really—in an old mountain mahogany.”

  He drew back slightly, but was smiling. “You have a tree house?”

  “I’ve even been known to use it on a nice day. Which,” she added rather sourly, “would exclude today.”

  “Better not tell Sam—he’ll be showing up.”

  “He’d be welcome to visit,” she said.

  “He’d like that.”

  And you?