Page 26 of Colton's Last Resort

He could see the apprehension lurking behind her icy blues. “Is there a place we can talk?”

“Detective Fulton didn’t mention an update in the case,” she said. “Is that why you’re here?”

The envelope from Steinbeck weighed heavily in Noah’s pocket. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked again.

She looked around and seemed to decide that the bar was not the place to have this conversation. “Follow me.”

She led him to a back hallway with windows where paintings would have been in any other setting. The Coltons’ resort decor leaned heavily on their natural surroundings.

She swept keys out of the small jeweled bag she carried and unlocked one of the closed doors. “Have a seat,” she said as she pushed the door open and switched on the light.

Her office, he decided. With its buttery-leather ergonomic desk chair and the wide crystal vase overflowing with fresh desert blooms, how could it be anything but?

“Coffee?” she asked as she rounded the desk.

“No.” He didn’t sit, although the plush chair looked inviting. Was that a real cowhide or just for show?

She remained standing, too. “Well?”

He pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it across the desk. “Coroner’s report.”

She held it for a moment, then turned it over. The flap wasn’t sealed. She pulled it back, then pried the report from its pocket. Unfolding it, she gathered a steadying breath in through the nose.

He watched her eyes dart across the page, reading Steinbeck’s findings, and knew the exact moment she learned the truth. She raised her eyes to his in a flash of disbelief before staring at the paper again. “She died of an overdose?”

“Of fentanyl,” he said grimly.

She shook her head. “That can’t be right. That would mean...”

“Somebody drugged her,” he finished, advancing another step toward the desk. “The coroner showed me the entry site. The needle went in above her left hip.”

The page and envelope fluttered to the surface of her desk. Her hands lowered, limp, to her sides. “You were right,” she breathed. “How is that possible?”

“She was killed,” he reiterated. “At your resort. And you’re going to let me find who did it. That was the deal.”

Fumbling for the arm of her chair, she sank into it.

He gripped the edge of the desk, fighting impatience. Fighting the inclination to circle the thing and put his hands on her. Whether it would be to help her snap out of it or just to see if she would let him, he didn’t know. “Look, my CO doesn’t want me on this. He asked me to back off. Stay home. Wait for Fulton to tie up the case.”

“Something tells me you’re not going to do that,” she said wearily.

“If I had your cooperation,” he replied, very close to begging, “if I had your permission, I could dig through back channels. I could find what’s under the surface. The underbelly.”

Her throat moved in a swallow. “This morning, I would’ve argued that Mariposa doesn’t have an underbelly. But this...” She touched the edge of the autopsy report. “Who could have done this? Who here could be capable...?”

He went around the desk. Instead of touching her, he gripped the arms of the chair. He pushed himself into her space and watched her eyes go as round as pieces of eight. “I’ll help you. I won’t rest until the person responsible is behind bars. But you have to help me.”

She bit her bottom lip carefully. It disappeared inside her mouth as she searched his eyes. Her guarded expression closed him off and he was certain the answer would be no.

Her lip rounded again, pink. Perfect, like the rest of her. She canted her head to the side. “You need a reason for being here,” she said. “In case Fulton or your CO catches you on-site.”

She was...saying yes? He missed a breath. “If I could pass under the radar...if everyone could see me as something other than a cop...a guest, maybe, or a new member of staff, they could be inclined to talk. That would make my job easier.”

“Not staff,” she said contemplatively. “That wouldn’t be right.”

He frowned at the tattoos on his hands. They were right there for her to see. “What, you don’t hire criminals?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said defensively.

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