Authors: Carol Ericson
The Wharf (25 page)
“Trashy Sasha.” Her brother recalled the title to the song. “No big deal. You could do a lot worse than Damien Loughlin.”
“That’s enough. You should go. Now.”
He lowered the binoculars and scowled disapprovingly at her. “Even if you weren’t having sex with him, what did you think was going to happen this week? You were going to stay here alone with him.”
“It’s a five-bedroom condo. I have my own bedroom, bathroom and a door that locks.” And she didn’t have to justify her behavior. “I want you to leave, Alex.”
“Fine.” He set the binoculars down, stuck his hands into his overcoat pockets and left the balcony.
She followed him across the condo, fighting the urge to kick him in the butt. Why did he always have to be so mean? Alex was the only person in her family who still lived in Denver, and they worked in the same office. Would it kill him to be someone she could turn to?
At the door, Alex pivoted to face her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You got that right.”
“You’re too damn naive, Sasha. You look around and see rainbows. I see the coming storm. This condo is a first-class bachelor pad, and Damien is a smooth operator. You’d better be careful, sis.”
“Goodbye, Alex.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, she flipped the dead bolt, grabbed the handle on her suitcase and wheeled it across the condo into the first bedroom she found in the hallway. Her brother was a weasel for trying to make her feel guilty when she had every reason to be happy about this assignment. The fact that Damien and the other partners trusted her enough to let her take notes at these meetings was a huge vote of confidence. She wasn’t going to be a paralegal for the rest of her career, and she’d need the support of the firm to take classes and get the training she needed to become a mediator.
She unpacked quickly. In the closet, she hung the garment bag with the dress she’d be wearing to the gala—a black gown with a deeply plunging neckline. Too plunging? Was she unconsciously flirting? Well, what was she supposed to do? Shuffle around in a burka?
Across the hall from her bedroom, she found a hot tub in a paneled room with tons of windows and leafy green plants. Damien had mentioned the hot tub, and the idea of a long, soothing soak was one of the reasons she’d agreed to this trip. She’d even brought her bathing suit. Following posted instructions, she turned on the heat for the water.
On her way to the kitchen, she paused in the dining area by the back windows. On a bookshelf, under a signed serigraph of a skier by LeRoy Neiman, was a remote control. She punched the top button and smooth, sultry jazz came on. Another remote button dimmed the lights. Another turned on the electric fireplace in the conversation pit. Though she didn’t want to think of this condo as a bachelor pad, the lighting and sexy music set a classic mood for seduction.
In the kitchen, she checked out the fridge. The lower shelf held four bottles of pricey champagne. Not a good sign. It was beginning to look as if Alex the grump had been right, and Damien had more than business on his mind.
She should have seen it coming. This was Jason Foley all over again, strumming his twelve-string and singing about Trashy Sasha. If she wanted to squash rumors before they started, she’d get a room at the hotel. As if she could afford to stay there. And why should she run off with her tail between her legs? She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of.
Her fingers wrapped around the neck of a champagne bottle. She was here and might as well enjoy it. She popped the cork and poured the bubbly liquid into a handy crystal flute that Damien had probably used a million times to seduce hapless ladies. And why not? He was single, and they were consenting adults.
“Here’s to you.” She raised her glass in toast to her absent boss and took a sip. “This is one consenting adult you’re not going to bed with.”
Taking the champagne with her, she changed into her bathing suit and went to the hot tub, where she soaked and drank. All she had to do was just say no. If people wanted to think the worst, that was their problem.
The windows above the hot tub looked out on a pristine night sky. As she gazed at the moon and stars, her vision blurred. Was she getting drunk?
Oh, good. Real professional.
Clearly, three glasses of champagne were enough.
Leaving the tub, she slipped into a white terry-cloth bathrobe that had been hanging on a peg. Though she wasn’t really hungry, she ought to eat. But first she needed to retrieve the binoculars Alex had left on the balcony.
After a detour to the bedroom, where she stuck her feet into her cozy faux-fur boots, she crossed the room and opened the balcony door. The bracing cold smacked her in the face, but she was still warm from the hot tub and the champagne. She picked up the binoculars. Even if Damien was a womanizer, it was ridiculous to think that he might be a Peeping Tom. He probably couldn’t see into the hotel at all.
Holding the binoculars to her eyes, she adjusted the knobs and focused on the nine-story building that was a couple of hundred yards away. Only half the windows were lit. The hotel guests might be out for a late dinner. Or maybe the rooms were vacant. The resort wouldn’t officially be open until after the Saturday-night gala.
Her sight line into one of the floor-to-ceiling windows was incredibly clear. She saw a couple of beautiful people sitting at a table, eating and drinking. The woman had long black hair and was wearing a white jumpsuit, an elaborate gold necklace draped across her cleavage. She was stunning. The man appeared to be an average guy with dark hair and a black turtleneck. Sasha’s view of him was obscured by a ficus tree.
Spying on them ranked high on the creepiness scale, but the peek into someone else’s life was kind of fascinating. Sasha noticed they weren’t talking much, and she wondered if they’d been together for a long time and were so comfortable with each other that words were unnecessary. Someday she hoped to have a sophisticated relationship like that. Or maybe not. Silence was boring.
Despite telling herself to stop spying, she switched to a different window on another floor, where two men were watching television. In another room, a woman was doing yoga, moving into Downward-Facing Dog pose. Apparently, the floor-to-ceiling windows were in only the front room, which was fine with Sasha. She had no intention of peering into bedrooms.
A shiver went through her. It was cold. She should go back inside. But she wanted one last peek at the dark-haired woman and her male companion. They were standing on opposite sides of the small table. The woman threw her hands in the air. Even at this distance, Sasha could tell she was angry.
Her companion turned his back on her as if to walk away. The woman chased after him and shoved his shoulder. When he turned, Sasha caught a clear glimpse of his face. It lasted only a second but she could see his fury as he grabbed the woman’s wrist.
Sasha couldn’t see exactly what happened, but when the woman staggered backward, the front of her white jumpsuit was red with blood. Before she fell to the floor, he picked her up in his arms and carried her out of Sasha’s sight.
She’d witnessed an assault, possibly a murder. That woman needed her help. She dashed into the condo and called 911.
The phone rang only four times but it seemed like an eternity. When Sasha glanced over her shoulder to the balcony, she noticed the lights had gone out in the would-be murder room. Had she been looking at the fifth floor or the sixth?
When the dispatcher finally picked up, Sasha babbled, “I saw a woman get attacked. She’s bleeding.”
“What is your location?”
Sasha rattled off the address and added, “The woman, the victim, isn’t here. She’s at the Gateway Hotel.”
“Room number?”
“I don’t know.” There was no way to explain without mentioning the binoculars. “It’s complicated. This woman, she has on a white jumpsuit. You’ve got to send an ambulance.”
“To what location?”
“The hotel.”
“What room number?”
“I already told you. I don’t know.”
“Ma’am, have you been drinking?”
The emergency operator didn’t believe her, and Sasha didn’t blame her. But she couldn’t ignore what she’d witnessed. If she had to knock on every door to every room in that hotel, she’d find that woman.
Copyright © 2014 by Kay Bergstrom
ISBN-13: 9781460339091
The Wharf
Copyright © 2014 by Carol Ericson
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