Chapter 27
“ H ere are your keys,” the receptionist Jarrod said, handing them over. “Dinner is from five thirty to eight each night. We find that guests are pretty tired by the evening, but if you’re looking for a later night, the cave bar is open until eleven.”
“Is it really in a cave?” Philly asked.
Jarrod grinned and nodded. “The story is that a couple hundred years ago, a family migrated west and tried to brave it through the winter by taking shelter inside a deep cave.”
“Not a bad thought,” Philly conceded, glancing at Callie, who seemed more taken with the view behind the reception desk than the story.
Hard to blame her when the valley stretched out, filled with scrub pines and the occasional cactus before running into a mountain that shot up into the sky in all its red glory.
“It wasn’t. No bodies were ever found, so we all assume they lived,” Jarrod continued. “Although evidence of their winter was scattered around. People have found shards of jars, the occasional utensil, things like that. There’s even a painting hanging on the wall that’s been there all this time.”
Philly frowned. “Why go to the trouble of hanging a painting on a stone wall only to leave it behind?”
Jarrod shrugged. “And it’s kind of amazing that no one’s taken it since.
” Philly conceded that point with a tip of his head.
“There’s parking in front of the cabin, and you follow this road to get there,” he continued, highlighting the path on the map.
“You’ll want to sign up for the week’s activities tonight.
There are morning and afternoon sessions—pick and choose as many as you like.
We also have a spa if that’s more your style. ”
“After a couple of days of these activities, it might be,” Philly said, eyeing the schedule. In addition to what he’d read on the website, they’d added skydiving (for an extra fee) and two all-day hikes into the canyons. Too bad they weren’t there to play—not entirely.
“How many people are here this week?” Callie asked, joining the conversation.
“We’re full at twenty,” Jarrod replied. “Enough people that folks usually find a few other guests they click with, but small enough to stick to yourself if that’s what you prefer.”
Callie nodded, then looked at him. “Ready?”
Philly pushed away from the reception desk and handed her a key.
After thanking Jarrod, they made their way back to the SUV.
The row of cabins wasn’t far from the main building, and they passed several walking paths crisscrossing the grounds.
A few minutes later, they pulled to a stop outside a square, single-story adobe building.
Two similar structures sat a couple hundred feet away on either side of their “room,” with several more dotting the grounds farther away.
None had windows looking into the others and, from where he stood, it looked as if most, if not all, had northwest-facing patios walled in for privacy.
Although judging by the shadows, the areas weren’t fully enclosed, allowing the occupants unobstructed views of the iconic towering red mountains and canyons.
Grabbing their bags, they meandered up the short walkway. He eyed a prickly pear cactus and wondered if the resort used its own fruit in their drinks—he’d spotted a prickly pear margarita on the drink menu that he had every intention of ordering.
Callie opened the door, and he followed her in. Or tried to. She came to an abrupt halt inside the door, and he stumbled as he caught himself before barreling into her.
“What?” he asked, instantly on alert.
She made a strangled sound, then pointed. He peered around her shoulder into the good-size room. Filled with one bed. A king-size bed, but only one.
He registered it, but his attention strayed to the wall of windows on the other side of the room and the vast, sweeping view. It would not be a bad place to wake up.
“There’s only one bed,” Callie said, walking the rest of the way inside.
“I see that,” he replied, following her. He glanced through a door on his left that led into a walk-in closet. The next door along the left opened to a huge bathroom with a soaking tub, separate shower, and views of the mountains through a big picture window.
“There’s only one bed,” Callie repeated.
He fought a laugh and decided to cut to the chase.
“We’re adults, it’s a big bed. I’m not going to go through the whole facade of offering to sleep on the floor, and I’m certainly not going to let you sleep on the floor.
” The Saltillo tile probably had radiant heat but would be hard as fuck.
“So let’s skip all the dramatics and accept that we’ll be sharing the space for the next six nights. ”
She turned and stared at him.
“If you’re that concerned, you can use those approximately two thousand throw pillows they’ve decorated the bed with to divide it,” he added, wagging his finger toward said pillows.
“There are five,” she said, automatically correcting him.
He hid his smile by turning back to the view.
It might make him an asshole, but he liked that the idea of sharing a bed with him made her a little uncomfortable.
Twenty years ago, he’d made the first move.
According to the unspoken rules between two people attracted to each other, it was her turn.
She’d know this. And she’d know he wouldn’t so much as let his toe brush hers.
And yet, still, she was uncomfortable—as if she didn’t trust herself.
A full thirty seconds passed before she exhaled and turned away. “Fine,” she said. “I get the side by the sliding doors,” she added, walking over and setting her purse on the nightstand.
He considered arguing with her for the sake of it but decided changing the subject was a better option.
“You read the dossiers Sabina gave you?” he asked, toeing off his shoes and sinking onto his side of the bed. He’d put his clothes away later.
Not at all surprising, she walked to the closet and began unpacking as she answered. “We skimmed them together yesterday, but yeah, I read over them again last night.”
“Anything jump out at you?”
The sounds of her opening and closing drawers filtered through the open closet door.
“You might be winning me over to the theory that it’s Aiden,” she said.
He’d pulled out his phone to check in with his brothers, but at her words, he set it down.
Propping his hands behind his head, he gave the conversation his full attention.
“Why’s that?”
Her sigh made it from the closet to his ears. “He seems to be the deal closer.” A drawer closed. “When I looked at their files, then compared them to Liza’s notes, I found a pattern. It’s hard to say if it’s a real pattern, though, or just one I see based on the information I have.”
“You think you’re missing information?”
A hanger clattered on the metal rod. “No, I think I’m being…
pessimistic,” she said, exiting the closet.
She stopped outside the door and crossed her arms. “I’ve been going at this for so long and stalled out for well over a year.
It’s all happening so fast now, and I think my natural instinct to be cautious is rearing its head.
But my gut is telling me to trust Sabina, trust that she gave me everything relevant. ”
But she didn’t want to commit and be wrong. He wondered if she realized how much her childhood, how much her parents’ insistence on perfection, affected her. Not the path he wanted to take for this conversation, though.
“Make it a game,” he said. She cocked her head, her long braid falling over her shoulder. “Pretend Sabina gave you everything. Pretend you have all the intel you need on the three Nolan men. What would you deduce?”
A thoughtful frown touched her lips. He hoped that if he removed the pressure—self-inflicted as it was—of being right , it would make it easier for her to brainstorm.
“There’s a pattern. Joseph initiates the relationship. He’s the one they send to start the conversation with potential customers. He’s charming and easygoing and can befriend a turtle.” Philly nodded. That jibed with his impression of the youngest Nolan.
“Rian?”
“He’s the detail guy. The negotiator. The one who slogs through the contracts, deals with pricing, delivery, all those sorts of things.”
“And Aiden?”
“The closer. He makes the final concessions to close the deal.”
“Some of which are sketchy,” he said.
She bobbed her head from side to side. “In some cases, yes. Not all. Based on the financial information, the dossiers, and Liza’s files, I’d wager that 80 percent of their deals are legit.
Of what’s not, I think about half involve direct bribery or a kickback of some sort and the other half become situations like the bomb in Paris. ”
“Situations where maybe the officials are on the fence about inking the deal, but won’t be bribed, so Aiden creates a scenario where they don’t have a choice but to sign the contract?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
He watched her, standing still, closed off, and yet not. In the stillness, there were glimpses of what he thought was the true her . Not the professional, not the daughter of two fucked-up parents, not the sister, not any of those. Just her.
Maybe he was being fanciful, but it didn’t feel that way. No, he felt privileged. Honored. As if he’d been granted a glimpse of something rare.
She looked up and caught his gaze. His chest tightened as the world sharpened, and tiny little details came into focus.
The single lock of hair that had come undone from her braid and brushed her cheek, the deep brown of her eyes, the dusky pink of her parted lips.
The curl of her fingers over her right elbow. The inhale and exhale of her breath.
She cleared her throat and looked away. A beat later, she walked to the wall of windows—a sliding door—and faced the view.
Feeling as if he’d run a marathon in the last ninety seconds, he took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. Running a hand over his face and through his hair, he focused on the questions at hand. Questions that seemed a lot easier to tackle than defining that moment between them.
“Do you have any leads on Liza’s informant?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder before returning her attention to the red earth and blue sky outside their room.
“If we can’t link the informant to Nolan, then we may be able to prove Aiden’s funding of the bombing, but not his role in Liza’s death,” he continued. If he had a role. Liza might have been lured to the club, but they had no evidence that Nolan was a part of that.
Her shoulders rose on an inhale. “I know,” she said on an exhale. “Her phone was with her when she died and was never recovered, so there are no call records. Not ones I could get. I’m sure the carrier has them. The FBI wasn’t willing to make the request, though, but maybe HICC will.”
“I assume the FBI took her computer, too. Did she have a personal one?” he asked.
She shook her head, then hesitated. “She had an iPad but not a computer.”
“Was her phone an iPhone?”
She turned and faced him, then nodded. “Lyda has her iPad. I sent it to her when I packed up Liza’s things.”
“Any chance Liza might have synced it to her phone?”
Callie grimaced. “She shouldn’t have. Her phone was a work phone, and the iPad was a personal device, but…”
“But it’s worth a try?”
She nodded and walked toward the bed. Grabbing her purse, she plopped down beside him—though not close since it was, after all, a king-size bed—and pulled her phone out. A few minutes later, she received a text back from Lyda confirming she still had it.
“Have her send it to Leo and Sabina. They’ll figure out the password. Or how to get around it,” he suggested.
She nodded and typed out another message, asking him the zip code of Mystery Lake before she hit Send as she hadn’t memorized it yet.
When she set her phone down, she rolled her head to look at him. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a pre-dinner drink at the cave bar.”