Chapter Two #2
“I guess it’s like everything else in life,” he said. “If there’s a choice involved, one side is always going to end up unhappy.” His gaze was boring into her now.
A flutter of nervousness disturbed her stomach. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful,” she said. “What do you like to do for fun?”
“It’s a ski town. Everybody here will say skiing.”
“But you do that for work.”
“It’s still fun. I couldn’t do the job if I didn’t like skiing. But there’s also hiking. Hanging out with my dog.”
“You have a dog? What’s his name? Do you have a picture?”
He took out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen to face her. A curly-haired pup with an adorable grin looked back at her.
“Ohhhh!” She hadn’t even realized she’d uttered the cry until it was too late. What the heck. She was a sucker for animals, especially dogs. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”
He looked down at his phone, a tenderness in his eyes that touched her further. “Farley. He’s a goldendoodle. Three years old.” He pocketed the phone. “Do you have a dog?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Why not?”
“I have to travel too much for my job.”
“What kind of work do you do?” he asked.
“Boring work.” She set aside her own beer and took his hand. “Want to dance?” The jukebox was playing a fast country song.
He allowed her to lead him onto the dance floor. He was a competent dancer, relaxed and considerate—no wild dips or gyrations, just a light touch at her back and a gentle squeeze of her hand to guide them around the dance floor.
She smiled up at him, enjoying the feel of being close to him. He struck her as smart. Sincere but guarded. A man who was able to see two sides of an argument, which could be a good or a bad thing.
“Why are you looking at me that way?” he asked.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” she said.
“Why?”
“People interest me. You interest me.”
“I’m not that interesting. I like skiing and my dog. There’s not a lot more to me.”
“Oh, I think there’s a lot more.”
She hadn’t meant to put so much heat behind her words but couldn’t help herself. Connor was a sexy guy, and he made her feel sexy, too.
He looked away and the song ended. They returned to the bar, though they had to stand closer together now. He ordered another round for them both, and she turned to survey the crowd once more.
A group of people entered, three men and a woman. They scowled, and their gazes darted over the crowd. They struck Stacy as furtive.
“They look like trouble,” Connor said, his voice low, close to her ear. “Want to go somewhere else?”
“Let’s stay and see what happens,” Stacy said.
They moved toward the other end of the bar, but before they reached the bartender, one of them nudged the others and nodded toward Connor and Stacy. She held her breath as they approached.
“You work for SkyCrest?” the tallest man, with dark hair and hooded eyes, his voice deep and rough, asked.
“I do,” Connor said.
“How do you stand to work for those people?” the woman asked. She had a high-pitched, nasal voice.
“I have to eat like everyone else,” Connor said.
“Not if it means selling your soul to a group that’s going to wreck the environment,” the dark-haired man said.
“It’s not like they’re strip-mining the place,” Connor said.
“Just stealing from the rest of us to make a playground for rich folks,” a pasty-faced blond said. “Those are the only ones who can afford lift tickets these days.”
Connor looked away.
The blond shoved him.
“Hey!” Stacy said. “Back off.”
Connor put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “The man’s got a right to his opinion.”
“It’s not just my opinion,” the blond said. “Lots of people think that way.”
“I get it,” Connor said. “Like I said, I’m just trying to make a living, like everybody else. Let me buy you and your friends a beer.”
“We don’t need your charity,” said the dark-haired guy. He stalked away, his friends trailing behind.
Stacy leaned closer to Connor and spoke softly. “Way to defuse the situation,” she said.
“I had enough of fighting in the army.” His gaze met hers again. “Want to dance some more?”
She made herself push away from him. “I wish I could, but I’d better go. I’ve got an early morning.”
“Can I get your number?”
She shook her head. “Probably not a good idea. I’m not going to be here long. But thanks.” She started to move away, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. He smelled like herbal shampoo, beer and woodsmoke.
She walked briskly away, not looking back, hoping he wouldn’t try to follow. She had learned a few interesting things about Connor Donaldson tonight, but the one thing that came through loud and clear was that he was exactly the kind of man she would like to be with.
Out of the question, of course. What had he said about choices—someone was always going to end up unhappy.
January 3 brought no new snow, so little mitigation was needed on the slopes.
Which meant Connor got to sleep in until 6:00 a.m. Alone.
Last night at the bar he had wondered if things would work out differently.
Stacy had approached him like a woman going after something she wanted but had backed off so quickly he’d been left a little dizzy.
But he’d never claimed to understand women—or people in general, for that matter.
In any case, today he needed to push Doug to allow him to inventory the magazine and figure out exactly what had been stolen—not just make an educated guess.
Maybe there were more voids in the stacked-up boxes.
Maybe whoever had broken in had hauled away a truckload of explosives, not just a few boxes.
The thought made him sick to his stomach and propelled him out of bed and into the shower.
At SkyCrest, he met with the other patrollers and handed out assignments.
Farley had a runaround in the snow with Anders’s black Lab, Darth, and Brian Weeks’s golden retriever, Daisy, before settling into his kennel with a chew toy.
Connor was on his way toward Doug’s office when his radio chirped.
“I need you here in my office,” Doug Elam said.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“You’ll see when you get here.”
Connor made his way past the ski lifts and shops to a high-rise amid a cluster of hotels and condos. He took the stairs up to Doug’s office on the sixth floor, ski boots clattering loudly on the uncarpeted risers.
When he entered the corporate office, Doug’s secretary waved him through. “They’re waiting for you in there.”
Who is ‘they’? Connor wondered as he pushed open the heavy door.
Doug, dapper as ever in a Nordic sweater and gray slacks, his dark hair slicked back, sat behind his big desk, in conversation with a woman with long brown hair like a silk curtain around the shoulders of her cherry-red sweater.
As Connor stepped into the room, the woman turned to look at him. Stacy Macrae’s expression was unreadable, but the sight of her hit him like a cannonball in the gut. What was she doing here? Had she accused him of something?
“Connor, this is Special Agent Stacy Macrae with the FBI,” Doug said.
Connor heard the words, but they didn’t make any sense.
Stacy smiled at him. “It’s good to see you again, Connor,” she said.
He tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out.
Doug looked from one to the other. “Do you two know each other?” he asked.
“We ran into each other at the Trail’s End last night,” she said.
“You didn’t tell me you were a fed.” Connor finally found his voice.
“I find that information really colors people’s first impression of me,” she said. “And I really wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”
“What was that all about, then?” he asked. “Last night.”
“I was just getting a feel for this place, seeing if I spotted anyone I recognized.”
“All those questions about the protest group.” It had struck him as an unusual conversation starter, but the protest signs were all over town, so he had accepted she was merely curious.
He rapidly reviewed the conversation in his head, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“You wanted to know if I sympathized with them. Did you think I was one of them?”
“Part of my job here is figuring out connections. I saw you were with ski patrol and wanted to find out what you knew about the protestors.” She obviously felt no guilt at all over having played him for a fool.
Aware of Doug watching, Connor reined in his anger.
“Stacy is investigating the theft of the explosives,” Doug said. “I need you to show her the magazine and also familiarize her with the resort.”
He took a step back. “I don’t have time to escort her around,” Conner said. “Not if you want me to inventory the munitions and get through that stack of paperwork on my desk.”
“I won’t take up any more of your time than necessary.” Stacy stood. “It’s critical that we find who stole those explosives before they put them to use.”
“I don’t see how I can help with that.” He avoided looking at her, focusing instead on Doug.
“I think you’re exactly the man to help.” She moved toward him.
He thought she was going to take his arm and took a step to the side to put more distance between them.
“You heard the agent,” Doug said. “Go with her. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to do the rest of your work, too.”