Page 33 of Double Exposure

Chapter Ten

Carter Weston

I’m glad I convinced Jade to come to Mom’s with me and have a real dinner—not a bag of peanuts from a vending machine. First, she needs to grab more clothes and take a shower. She’s quiet in the Jeep and I even have to remind her to buckle up. When she stares at me, slightly glassy-eyed, I do it for her.

She’s exhausted and starving. At least I had a sandwich at the hospital.

Pulling up to her hotel in Aspen Park, I realize it’s not a hotel. It’s a resort.

“The Lotus Crane? Swanky.”

She ignores this. “Thanks for letting me grab my stuff,” she says handing my keys to a valet, a I stand for a moment, unsure what to do. After refusing my help, she hoists her pack onto her back and walks through the lobby. It’s all laid out with marble, in exquisite taste, with large green plants in pots and people walking hurriedly while chatting on cell phones.

I can't help noticing how many people turn to stare at us. This is not the kind of place that people bring backpacks to. The décor is elegant, with appointments and curtains, original artwork, and fresh flowers that had to have been flown in—nothing's in season here. Not even in the greenhouses.

She steps into an empty elevator and presses a button to the 4th floor. I thought she’d want to huff it up the stairs. She takes the key card, swipes the door lock. It’s not until we are inside that she slips one arm out of her pack.

“Tell me about your dad.”

Off balance for a moment when the weight suddenly shifts, Jade starts to list to the right. I quickly grab her arm.

“Easy,” I say, leaning over and unbuckling the belt. I lift the pack from her back. I steady her with one hand on her arm and then lean the pack against the wall with the other.

She rotates her shoulders and then pulls them back, heads for the cupboards, and pulls down two glasses. She runs the water in the bar sink, filling them and slides a glass in my direction.

“My dad is complicated. He's incredibly accomplished, clearly.”

There’s something there. “And . . .?”

“He was after bears, I know it,” she says, pulling open the minifridge on top of the granite bar. “But he won’t fess up.”

“You’re that sure? Is that what he said?”

“Here,” she says, “I’ll explain later. Help yourself to whatever’s in here, I have to shower, I feel disgusting. Oh—” she stops herself in the bathroom doorway, a hand on the doorframe. “Are you sure it’s okay? For me to come?”

I smile. “It’s more than okay. The rest of the team wants to meet you.”

“Really?”

“Don’t worry about it. Take a shower.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“Take as long as you want,” I say, settling myself on the sofa. If this place ever ran out of hot water, it would mean the world was imploding and our problems were much bigger.

I hear her shedding clothes in the bathroom. She hasn’t hit the fan switch yet.

Tipping my head back, I call up to the ceiling, “What's the deal with you and your dad?”

“What's what?”

I repeat the question, adding, “that’s what I meant earlier.”

The door opens a crack. “That’s a long, complicated, ridiculous, story.” She starts to close the door again, then stops. “Just wait ‘til I’m out,” she explains. In a few moments, the sound of the shower running drowns out any hope for further conversation.

This gives me a chance to survey the room. It’s a bit chilly, but the esthetics are amazing. Overstuffed leather chairs. A kitchen and wet bar with a small but full refrigerator and freezer. A chandelier in the middle of the dining room table, casting soft light. A three-sectioned-sofa, large flat screen television fills one end of the room. Two untouched wine glasses sit on the coffee table next to an unopened fruit basket.

Upscale.