Page 27 of Colton's Last Resort

“Then what did you mean?”

“A guest, maybe,” she decided. “That would get you in the restaurant, the bar, the spa, the golf course and stables...everywhere but C Building.” Her eyes cleared. “Oh.”

“What?” he asked, feeling his stomach muscles tighten as he watched her pupils dilate.

Her gaze trickled down his throat, over his shoulders and down his chest. “It’s that simple...and that complicated.”

“Throw me a bone here, Colton.”

“You need to immerse yourself among staff and guests. You need a cover. Being my boyfriend would guarantee access to pretty much anything.”

“Your boyfriend.” He heard his tone flatline. It was the worst idea he’d ever heard.

And it was the best idea he’d ever heard.

She was right. Being Laura Colton’s paramour wouldn’t just open doors. It would make people openly curious about him. Those people would lower their guard enough...maybe be clumsy or trusting enough to let something slip. To let him in.

The possibilities came tumbling down as reality set in again.

Who the hell was going to believe that she would datehim? She ruled this high-class joint. She was Mariposa’s princess. He lived on a city salary, drove a decade-old city-issue sedan that ran rough in the winter, and he had no family left to speak of.

Who would buy that Laura Colton would choose to slum it with Noah Steele?

He backed off. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work.”

“Why not?” she asked his retreating back. She gained her feet again. “If someone here killed Allison, they have to be found. They have to be brought to justice. What if they strike again? What if someone else is killed? I have to protect the rest of the staff, the guests, my family... You’re the man to help me do that. Not Detective Fulton.”

Fulton had cop written all over him while Noah...didn’t. “I don’t exactly fit into the woodwork around here either. I’m not the country-club type.”

“I told you I don’t like labels, and we get many people here of different backgrounds, Detective.”

“I bet I don’t know a single person who could afford a night in one of your bungalows. What’s the going rate these days?”

“For a night?”

“Yes.”

She paused. “Five thousand.”

A strangled laugh hit his throat. “Holy sh—”

“That includes food and all resort amenities except alcohol, spa packages and special excursions,” she explained. “Our guests are happy to pay the price because they know it means we take care of their privacy and security while they’re here. They can immerse themselves in the resort and landscape.”

“And there are no cameras anywhere,” he recalled.

“No.”

He cursed. “That’s going to make my job difficult.”

“All staff members also sign nondisclosure documents when they join the Mariposa team,” she warned.

“Then you’re wrong,” he said, crossing his arms. He eased back against the wall, tipping his head against the plaster. “It’s the perfect place for a murder. And I bet Allison’s killer knew it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I’m not here to make you feel better,” he reminded her. “I’m here to catch a killer.”

She drifted into thoughtful silence. Finally, she came around the desk. “What if you weren’t Noah Steele from Sedona? What if you were Noah Steele, the politician’s son?”

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