help finding a runaway teenager. Her son.”
“As if you need something else to worry about at the moment. Who is she?”
“Just a friend.” He looked her straight in the eye as he said it, and she took it as a warning to drop the subject. She couldn’t help thinking that ‘a friend’ was exactly what he’d said to his other ‘friend’ on the telephone about her. His expression softened, and he said, “How are you doing? Did the police search your hotel room?”
“That they did. They rummaged through all my luggage and left things strewn over the bed. It makes me feel violated, at least my privacy. I hope that Mounties keep their hands clean.” She said it with a wry face, but had felt embarrassed about strangers pawing through her underwear, not to mention the negligee she had purchased especially for the trip. She was beginning to wonder if she would even wear it. Hunter had been running hot and cold — make that lukewarm and cold — and she had no idea how he really felt about her.
“No gun?”
She detected the hint of a smile on his lips. “Not in my room. How about yours?”
His smile widened and he shook his head.
“I felt so creeped out by the search that I called the Coast Peaks to see if they still had my room. They did manage to find one for me, so I’m moving back there tomorrow.”
Just then the server arrived and set down their drinks, beer for him, red wine for her. They picked up their drinks and clinked glasses across the table. She was considering whether or not to say some variation of “to us” when he beat her to the toast.
“Here’s to a quick solution to Mike’s murder so we can get back to our own lives,” he said.
She put her glass down without taking a sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. I’m not comfortable with being a murder suspect, are you?”
“But getting back to our own lives? Honestly, Hunter. Has anyone ever told you that you can be an insensitive jerk?” She lifted her chin up and looked away, then sighed heavily and picked up her wine. Now she did have an idea of how he really felt about her — or how little.
Hunter had hung his head. “Yes. My ex-wife used to say it all the time. I guess I have a way with words. A bad way.” He smiled at her and shrugged apologetically. “I really didn’t mean it like that.”
Alora couldn’t help but think it was a Freudian slip. What the hell was the matter with her? Here she was practically throwing herself at a truck driver. She rolled the stem of her wineglass between her thumb and forefinger, turning it around and around on the smooth tabletop.
“I’m sorry,” he added.
“Sure.” She took a sip of wine. It was a Napa Valley merlot, and its rich warmth immediately brightened her mood. Mike was dead. She could stop hiding and go ahead with being an attractive young L.A. lawyer. Her future held infinite possibilities, a promise of freedom she hadn’t experienced since before Mike. “Did your Mountie friends tell you anything about Mike’s murder? They were definitely not open to answering any of my questions. I don’t even know how he was killed. Was it a gun?”
“They’re not sharing anything with me, either, but I believe that was what they were searching for.”
“Like we’d be stupid enough to bring the murder weapon back to our rooms.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed, a hint of a smile. “What would you have done with it?”
“Okay. Whoever did it had to have skis on, right? I don’t know whether he…”
“Or she…”
“Or she,” Alora paused, tilting her head, “could have jumped from the lift right after the murder or risked riding right to the top and just skied like stink out of there before anyone could get a good look at him. Or her.”
Hunter had leaned back in his chair and was watching her closely. When she hesitated, he said, “Go on.” She couldn’t help wondering if he really thought she had done it.
“How deep is
“As if you need something else to worry about at the moment. Who is she?”
“Just a friend.” He looked her straight in the eye as he said it, and she took it as a warning to drop the subject. She couldn’t help thinking that ‘a friend’ was exactly what he’d said to his other ‘friend’ on the telephone about her. His expression softened, and he said, “How are you doing? Did the police search your hotel room?”
“That they did. They rummaged through all my luggage and left things strewn over the bed. It makes me feel violated, at least my privacy. I hope that Mounties keep their hands clean.” She said it with a wry face, but had felt embarrassed about strangers pawing through her underwear, not to mention the negligee she had purchased especially for the trip. She was beginning to wonder if she would even wear it. Hunter had been running hot and cold — make that lukewarm and cold — and she had no idea how he really felt about her.
“No gun?”
She detected the hint of a smile on his lips. “Not in my room. How about yours?”
His smile widened and he shook his head.
“I felt so creeped out by the search that I called the Coast Peaks to see if they still had my room. They did manage to find one for me, so I’m moving back there tomorrow.”
Just then the server arrived and set down their drinks, beer for him, red wine for her. They picked up their drinks and clinked glasses across the table. She was considering whether or not to say some variation of “to us” when he beat her to the toast.
“Here’s to a quick solution to Mike’s murder so we can get back to our own lives,” he said.
She put her glass down without taking a sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. I’m not comfortable with being a murder suspect, are you?”
“But getting back to our own lives? Honestly, Hunter. Has anyone ever told you that you can be an insensitive jerk?” She lifted her chin up and looked away, then sighed heavily and picked up her wine. Now she did have an idea of how he really felt about her — or how little.
Hunter had hung his head. “Yes. My ex-wife used to say it all the time. I guess I have a way with words. A bad way.” He smiled at her and shrugged apologetically. “I really didn’t mean it like that.”
Alora couldn’t help but think it was a Freudian slip. What the hell was the matter with her? Here she was practically throwing herself at a truck driver. She rolled the stem of her wineglass between her thumb and forefinger, turning it around and around on the smooth tabletop.
“I’m sorry,” he added.
“Sure.” She took a sip of wine. It was a Napa Valley merlot, and its rich warmth immediately brightened her mood. Mike was dead. She could stop hiding and go ahead with being an attractive young L.A. lawyer. Her future held infinite possibilities, a promise of freedom she hadn’t experienced since before Mike. “Did your Mountie friends tell you anything about Mike’s murder? They were definitely not open to answering any of my questions. I don’t even know how he was killed. Was it a gun?”
“They’re not sharing anything with me, either, but I believe that was what they were searching for.”
“Like we’d be stupid enough to bring the murder weapon back to our rooms.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed, a hint of a smile. “What would you have done with it?”
“Okay. Whoever did it had to have skis on, right? I don’t know whether he…”
“Or she…”
“Or she,” Alora paused, tilting her head, “could have jumped from the lift right after the murder or risked riding right to the top and just skied like stink out of there before anyone could get a good look at him. Or her.”
Hunter had leaned back in his chair and was watching her closely. When she hesitated, he said, “Go on.” She couldn’t help wondering if he really thought she had done it.
“How deep is
Similar Books
