Chapter Eight
Though Connor pressed the phone close to his ear, Stacy had heard the caller’s greeting. “Tell him I want to talk to him!” she whispered.
“That sounds great.” Connor’s faked heartiness made her wince, as did his next words. “My, um, my girlfriend wants to come, too. Is that okay?”
She couldn’t hear Shane’s answer.
“Yeah,” Connor said. He cut his gaze toward Stacy. “Of course.”
Connor listened some more, then said goodbye and ended the call.
“What was that last bit about?” Stacy asked once he had pocketed his phone.
“He asked if I trusted you.”
“It’s no wonder he asked, the way you stumbled over the word girlfriend. Is the idea so horrible?”
“No.” His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t ignore the warmth that swept through her. “It’s not horrible.”
No. A relationship with Connor Donaldson wouldn’t be horrible. Confusing, complicated and maybe ill-advised but not horrible.
“You obviously haven’t had enough practice lying.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Or are you feeling guilty? Do you have someone in your life who’s going to be upset you’re spending a Saturday night with me?”
“No.”
“I have to admit, I’m surprised a guy like you is single.”
“What do you mean, a guy like me?”
“Young. Fit. Good-looking. So why aren’t you dating someone?”
“That’s a personal question.”
“It is. I still want to know the answer.” Sometimes personal questions were the best way to surprise a revelation out of someone.
He shrugged. “No particular reason. There are a lot of other things claiming my attention.” His eyes narrowed. “What about you? Do you have someone waiting back in Denver?”
“No one.”
“And why not?”
Fair enough. He had answered her question, she could answer his.
“I haven’t had a serious relationship with a guy since I joined the Bureau,” she said.
“I vowed never to date a fellow agent, so that limits my choices. And if I’m with someone else, I need to know I can trust them before I reveal everything, so that makes things difficult.
I keep telling myself I’m still young. I have plenty of time to find someone.
And then I wake up, and I’m another year older and still alone.
Not that that’s the worst thing in the world, it’s just…
” Her voice died away. She was babbling.
Revealing too much. Talking about feelings, which she had been reassured repeatedly was a sure way to scare off most people.
“Yeah, I get it.” He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here at the moment.
She took a step back. “I’ll meet you here a little before seven, then.”
“I’ll pick you up at your place,” he said.
“How do you know where I’m staying?”
“Doug told me SkyCrest had comped you a place in the CrestView Condos. Luxury digs.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Okay, maybe it had registered that the apartment was very nicely decorated and had a prime view of the ski slopes. But her attention was focused on the job, not the views. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She walked away, resisting the temptation to look back to see if he was watching her.
She had a hard time keeping her eyes off him whenever he was near, but that was her problem, not his.
As long as she didn’t embarrass herself by letting on that she was attracted to him, everything should be just fine.
Shane Greer turned out to live near the resort, down a long, dark, unpaved road that wound up a mountain and across a frozen creek.
The headlights of Connor’s truck illuminated evergreens iced with thick snow and wooden fences almost obscured by drifts.
The house itself was almost hidden by trees and snow, a thin curl of smoke from a massive stone chimney visible in the moonlight.
“This looks like the setting for a horror movie,” Stacy said as she climbed out of the passenger seat.
“It’s just an old house.” Connor led the way up a path, tromping through the snow.
Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the wooden porch. Connor rapped hard on the front door, and Stacy resisted the urge to check the pistol in a holster at her back.
“Dad knows where we are,” she said. “If I’m not back in an hour or so, he’ll come looking.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t insist on coming with us now,” Connor said.
“He wanted to, but I overruled him. He only relented when I told him you were coming with me.”
The door opened. “Welcome, come on in!” Shane said.
He led the way down a short hall into a wood-paneled room full of furniture that would have been right at home in Stacy’s grandmother’s house—overstuff chintz and faded velour sofas and chairs.
All that was needed to complete the look were a few crocheted doilies.
“Let me get you a drink,” Shane said. “I’ve got beer or bourbon if you’d rather.”
“Beer—” Connor began.
Stacy squeezed his arm. “Nothing for us, thank you.” She sent Connor a warning look. Slipping something into a drink was the easiest thing in the world for someone up to no good. No sense taking a chance until they knew where they stood with Shane.
“Have a seat,” Shane said. “Make yourselves comfortable.” He sank into a chair and put his feet up on the recliner. Stacy stared at his sheepskin slippers and relaxed a little. It was hard to picture a villain in sheepskin slippers.
Connor sat on the sofa next to Stacy. “What did you want to see me about?” he asked.
“We talked about how, working with ski patrol, you’re familiar with handling explosives,” Shane said.
“Yes.” He was sitting very straight. Stacy wanted to tell him to relax, though it was all she could do not to fidget. Maybe Shane wouldn’t notice. Talk of explosives probably made most sensible people nervous.
“Have you ever worked with fireworks?” Shane asked.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I’m planning a fireworks display for the Sunday of Martin Luther King weekend. On the square, right at dark, right after our rally. Something to really get people’s attention.”
“Is that legal?” Connor asked.
“You have to have a permit, but I’ll take care of that.” Shane dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand.
“Could I see these fireworks?” Connor asked.
“Sure. They’re out in the garage.” He stood and they followed him to a side door.
Shane flipped a light switch, and a yellow bulb illuminated a one-car garage with a stained concrete floor.
Frost decorated the single window on the far wall, and several cardboard boxes were stacked beneath the window.
None of them looked like the boxes the cast boosters were stored in.
Shane crossed the space and lifted the flap on one of the boxes. “I’ve got Roman candles, cakes and fountains.” He gathered up a handful of cardboard tubes. “Enough to make a nice showing. But I need someone who knows what he’s doing to deploy them.”
“Maybe ask someone with the local fire department,” Connor said. “I think they handle the fireworks for New Year’s and the Fourth of July.”
“I thought maybe you’d help since you came to the meeting last night,” Shane said. “You’re sympathetic to our cause.”
“I am,” Connor said. “But I think handling fireworks like this is a specialized skill. I know how to safely trigger a release of snow, but that’s about it.”
Shane replaced the fireworks in the box and closed the top. “Never hurts to ask. Let’s go back inside.”
They returned to the living room. Stacy tried to get a better look at the space, but the only light came from a lamp on a table next to Shane’s chair.
“You two are going to be there for the rally on MLK day, I hope,” Shane said.
“It’s going to be a great chance to get the public on our side.
We’ll have people collecting signatures for a petition to present to the Forest Service, and I’m working on getting as many media people there as possible—everything from the major news networks to social media influencers. This is going to be big.”
“What got you so interested in leading opposition to the ski area expansion?” Connor asked.
“My family has lived in this area for five generations,” Shane said.
“We lost the place for a while, but now I’ve got it back and plan to carry on the family tradition.
That means preserving this land and the other land around it.
We’re in danger of every square inch being taken up by second homes and condos and private retreats where you have to pay hundreds of dollars to get in. ”
“So you’re familiar with Blaine Mountain?” Stacy asked.
“I spent a lot of time tramping all over that mountain when I was younger,” he said. “I want the next generation to have that privilege, too.”
“It’s a lot for one person to take on,” Connor said.
“I have plenty of people helping me,” Chase said.
“Oh. I guess I thought it was mainly you,” Stacy said. “Or do you mean all the volunteers you’ve recruited, like me and Connor?”
“Lots of volunteers. And people who work behind the scenes. Some big donors, too. Some of the names might surprise you.”
“Oh?” She leaned forward, smiling. “Who? Anyone I know?”
“There are some names you might have heard of. Locals who care a lot about the future of Blaine Mountain, even if they’re not comfortable being in the spotlight.” He straightened. “Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
Connor stood. “We need to get going. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with the fireworks, but I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else who might be good.”
“Do that. And I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” He walked with them to the door. “Don’t tell anyone about the fireworks,” Shane said as they exited. “I want it to be a big surprise.”
“Don’t worry,” Stacy said. “We’re great at keeping secrets.”
They hadn’t driven far before Connor said, “Fireworks. Not cast boosters.”
“He could have those, too, just tucked away somewhere,” she said.
“His story about wanting to keep more land out of being developed rang true to me,” Connor said. “A lot of people feel that way.”