CHAPTER TWELVE

C AIN WAS WORKING IN THE STUDY IN HIS SUITE THE FOLLOWING morning when his cell phone rang. He recognized Nick Faraday's number.

"Faraday. You got something?"

"Not a lot. Just a little info on Jeanette Eileen Spencer Thorndyke. Thorndyke's her ex. It's Jenny Spencer now that she's gone back to her maiden name."

"Thorndyke. Tell me about him."

"Richard Thorndyke. Jenny met him at Yavapai College. Her uncle, Charles Spencer, helped her pay for school, but Jenny also worked nearly full-time. Richard was a year older, married her as soon as she graduated. According to what I could find out, Jenny worked to put him through Arizona State, which took him an extra year because he was so busy screwing around."

Cain's jaw hardened. "Jenny know about it?"

"It took her a while to figure it out, I guess. Divorced him after she did. When it comes to women, Thorndyke's as smooth as they come."

"What's he do for a living?"

"Worked as a stock broker after he got out of school. After the divorce, he sold real estate for a while. When that didn't pan out, he married a woman named Margaret Eastman. She's ten years his senior, inherited the family fortune, so these days Richard doesn't do a helluva lot of anything, except play golf, squire his wife around, spend her money, and screw other women."

Cain had watched Jenny in the bar. She was always friendly to her customers, but she made it clear to the men she wasn't interested. Now Cain knew why.

He thought of the kiss. He figured he had caught her off guard. She'd probably be more wary the next time.

Cain silently cursed.

"That it?" he asked.

"I can dig a little deeper, but so far, I haven't turned up anything that would make you hesitate to employ her."

"I didn't think you would, but I appreciate your taking a look." He shifted the phone to his other ear. "Anything new on my stallion?"

"Still looking. Some good news for the Branch Creek Ranch. One of their quarter horses showed up at an auction in Tucson. The mare was running loose along the road, and the guy who found her needed money. Lucky thing was, the son of the owner was at the auction, looking to buy some stock. He recognized the animal, and the whole thing went sideways. Horse is back at the ranch."

"Interesting. You'd think if they went to the trouble of stealing it, they'd take better care of it."

"You'd think."

"I've got my computer whizzes digging around on the internet," Cain said. "So far, they haven't found squat."

"I'll keep you posted from this end."

Cain ended the call and tossed his cell phone up on the desk. He should probably go back to Scottsdale, check in at the office in person. But he had competent people he trusted, and if they needed him, they knew where to find him. Anything really important, he was only a couple of hours away.

He checked his heavy stainless wristwatch. Jenny wasn't coming in today. She was working at the Copper Star. It was nearly lunchtime, and he was hungry. Grabbing the brown sheepskin jacket on the back of his chair, he slung it over his shoulder and headed for the elevator in his suite.

* * *

It was eleven-thirty. With the October weather still pleasant and business brisk, the rooms were mostly full. Jenny had two part-time girls upstairs cleaning.

Deciding to check on their progress, she walked through the door from the bar into the small hotel lobby. At the same time, Heather rounded the desk and came toward her. She was a nice girl, a little overweight but working on it, a few pink streaks in her shoulder-length dark hair. She was quiet and efficient, an asset to the crew at the Star.

"The couple in room ten haven't checked out," Heather said. "We have another reservation for the room today, so I'm not quite sure what to do. Should I go up and knock on their door, let them know it's time to go? Or just wait and charge them extra when they leave?"

Jenny remembered the tall, slim man and the attractive woman with him. "I'll take care of it. Hand me the passkey, just in case." In case there was a problem. Most likely the couple had simply overslept.

Jenny headed upstairs. Room 10 was in the new section. There was no PRIVACY sign hanging on the door, so Jenny walked over and knocked. She knocked again, but still got no answer.

"Hello?" Knock, knock, knock. "Is anyone in there?" Pressing her ear against the door, she was sure she heard a sound, but she couldn't be sure. The room was prepaid. Maybe they'd just left and forgot to turn in their key.

Pulling the passkey out of the pocket of her stretch jeans, she shoved it into the lock, praying the couple wasn't in the middle of a quiet round of sex.

She banged again as she opened the door, giving them enough time to call out, then pushed the door farther open. A scream erupted, impossible to contain, the gruesome sight in front of her making her stomach twist.

The tall, thin man lay naked on the floor, covered in blood. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. The pretty flowered porcelain basin and pitcher that sat on the dresser was shattered, the man lying among the vicious glass shards.

Trembling all over, Jenny started backing up, hit the door, knocking it closed, turned, jerked it open, and raced out into the hall. 911. She had to call 911 and get help. Dear God, where was her cell phone?

When she reached the stairs, Heather was racing toward her from the bottom, pink-streaked dark hair flying around her shoulders. "What is it! What's going on?"

Jenny realized one of her hands was balled into a shaking fist. She pressed it over her mouth, then forced herself to take a calming breath. "Call 911. Tell them it's . . . it's an emergency."

Jenny swallowed. She had to collect herself. She was the one in charge. She was the boss. It was up to her to handle the situation. She took another breath and tried to calm her racing heart.

"What's going on?" Heather repeated.

"Just do it. Tell them we need help. Tell them someone's . . . someone's been murdered."

Heather's eyes widened. As the girl jerked out her cell to call the police, Jenny thought of the woman who had been with the man when they'd checked in. She'd found the man on the floor, naked and covered in blood the color of old meat, dark and thick, his empty eyes open and staring. There was no doubt he was dead.

But what about the woman? Dear God, what if she were also injured, maybe even dead?

Gripping the banister, she started back up the stairs, her legs shaking so badly she could barely place one foot in front of the other. She could hear the sound of a siren, but all she could think of was getting to the woman, praying she was still alive.

Her knees felt weak as she shoved open the door and walked back into the room. The coppery smell of blood hit her, and her stomach rolled. She fisted her hands to keep from touching anything, trying not to look at the naked man on the floor. She was halfway across the room when she noticed a pair of fuzzy pink slippers on the other side of the bed.

Nausea rolled in her stomach as she moved closer, saw the woman lying on the floor, the trim ankles, the bare calves, the pink shorty nightgown that matched the slippers.

Jenny bit back a scream, locked it down tightly in her throat. Be alive , she thought. Be alive.

She forced herself to move closer, saw the blood on the nightgown, more of it matted in the long blond hair. Then she saw the rise and fall of the young woman's chest. Alive, alive, alive.

Her throat closed up. She barely felt the tears washing down her cheeks. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Jenny knelt beside the woman, who was unconscious but breathing, which meant her heart was beating. She had no first-aid training, but the fire department was only down the street. She dialed 911 and told them she needed an ambulance as well as the police, hung up, and knelt beside the woman.

The woman was still breathing, and the EMTs would be there any minute. She didn't want to move her, perhaps make her injuries worse.

She vaguely heard voices calling her name, followed by the sound of heavy boot steps. Rising from beside the bed, she turned, expecting to see the EMTs, but instead saw Cain striding toward her.

She must have made a sound in her throat, because he was pulling her up from the floor, easing her into his arms.

"Everything's going to be okay. Help just arrived. We just need to keep out of their way."

"The man is . . . is dead."

"Yes, I see that." He led her out into the hall, passing the emergency techs. A man and a woman in black uniforms rushed past them into the room.

"The ambulance is on its way up from Cottonwood," Cain said.

"The woman . . ." Her fingers dug into his arm. "She's . . . she's still alive."

He nodded. Drew her a little farther down the hall. She felt the tip of his finger, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"You have any idea what happened in there?" he asked.

Jenny thought of the broken porcelain pitcher and the glass shards on the floor. Some of them were big enough to cut through flesh and bone.

"They must have had a fight. Both of them were injured. The door was locked, so I don't . . . don't think anyone came in from outside." She looked up at him as an awful thought struck. "Oh, my God. Their room . . . room ten is in the new wing. Uncle Charlie said bad things happen there. What if it was—"

"Don't even say it. Whoever killed that man was very real. You and your hotel had nothing to do with it. Come on. We're going downstairs. You have an office somewhere, right?" She nodded. "The police can talk to you there."

She didn't resist when he guided her through the maze of police and emergency services people, down the stairs to the lobby.

"Which way?"

"The door in . . . in the back on the left."

Her laptop sat on an old oak desk. There were two wooden chairs in front of the desk and an office chair behind it. Several oak file cabinets had seen plenty of use. A green-velvet settee sat against the wall. A small refrigerator hummed next to an open door that led to a tiny bathroom with a sink and toilet.

Cain eased her over to the velvet settee, went to the fridge, and found a bottle of water. He cranked off the cap and wrapped her fingers around the bottle.

"Drink," he said. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and came out with a wet paper towel, which he folded and draped over the back of her neck.

Jenny took a long swallow of water as Cain sat down on the settee beside her.

"You going to be all right?"

She took another drink of water. The cool towel helped calm her nerves. "I'm okay. It was just such a shock." For an instant, her throat tightened. She glanced up at the ceiling as if she could see into the rooms upstairs. "I've got to get back up there. I'm the person in charge. I need . . . need to handle this."

"Let me go up and—"

"No. It's my responsibility." Taking the bottle with her, she rose and headed for the door, with Cain right behind her.

Jenny turned. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I wanted some lunch. I got here just as the EMTs arrived. I figured whatever was going on, you'd be in the middle of it."

A faint smile curved her lips. "You always seem to show up at just the right time."

Cain smiled back. "I have a knack."

They returned upstairs together, found Chief Nolan had arrived on the scene.

"The woman's stable but unconscious," the chief said. "We found a wallet and purse in the room. Driver's license says the man's name is Brian Santana, forty years old, unmarried. The woman is Leslie Owens, thirty-three, also unmarried. Two separate addresses, both of them in Phoenix."

Aside from the information on the hotel registration form, which was the same as the information on Brian's driver's license, Jenny knew nothing about the couple that could help Chief Nolan and the police with the investigation.

She gave a brief statement to Gerry Simons, one of the officers who had arrested Ryder Vance after he had attacked her, then stood next to Cain as police cordoned off the newly opened section of the hotel, treating it as a crime scene, stringing yellow tape across the corridor and the door to room 10.

It occurred to her that she would need to find accommodations for the guests arriving later that afternoon, a thought that reminded her of the dead man and injured woman, and her eyes burned.

Suck it up, and get back to work.

She pressed her lips together as she looked at the yellow tape. Secretly, part of her was glad no one else would be staying in the new section, not until they knew exactly what had happened to Brian Santana and Leslie Owens. No until Jenny was sure something unexplainable hadn't occurred.

Cain's voice drew her from her thoughts. "You've done all you can," he said. "You ready to leave?"

"I need to talk to my staff, explain what's happened. Then I'm driving over to the hospital. Leslie Owens needs someone there when she wakes up. Until her family or a friend can get to the hospital, I want to make sure she's okay."

Cain gave her a long, assessing glance. "All right, staff meeting and trip to the hospital. We better get started."

Her head came up. "What? You don't have to do that. You've already done more than most people would have. I've been working at the Grandview. I know how much stuff you have to do."

"Lots of people work at the Grandview. Mostly, I'm just in their way."

That wasn't true. The man was as efficient as a machine, a master of making things move rapidly and smoothly.

"You go have your staff meeting," he said. "Then I'll drive you to the hospital. Once we've made sure Leslie is in good hands, I'll bring you back."

Jenny shook her head. "It's too much to ask."

"You aren't asking. I'm offering."

She wanted him to go with her. She couldn't deny it. He was the most solid, comforting presence she'd had in her life in years.

"All right, if you're sure."

Cain just took her arm, and they headed down the stairs.