Blood Loss (2 page)

In winter, the population of Breck could go from three-and-a-half thousand to more than ten times that, yet its magic was how it held its ground and its charm. There were plenty of hotels, inns and condos to accommodate Breck’s visitors, and the newest was The Merlin Lodge & Spa. It was a small hotel in a small town with a big heart, and it had a mid-sized problem: it had opened too early.

‘That’s my opinion, anyway,’ said the desk clerk. His name, Jared Labati, was printed on a gold badge on his white shirt. The shirt was a size too small, his black pants a size too big. He was only in his late teens, yet strikingly at odds with the healthy image of the country’s skinniest state. His shaggy brown hair curled out at the ends and was combed forward and sideways across most of his wide face. It was a style for a slimmer kid. A tiny diamond ring shone in a right ear that was prominent enough to poke through his mass of hair.

Erica Whaley was standing at the check-in desk with her husband, Mark. ‘It didn’t say anywhere on the website that the hotel was brand new,’ she said. ‘Lucky us.’ She smiled.

Mark Whaley was holding his credit card paused in mid-air. He glanced at his wife. They laughed. ‘OK – go ahead,’ said Mark.

‘Did you have far to come?’ said Jared.

‘No – Denver,’ said Mark.

‘The rooms are completely finished – don’t get me wrong,’ said Jared, ‘and any extra work that needs to be done won’t happen on weekends, so it will be quiet during your stay. The major work is done … except for the Spa. Sorry.’ He directed this at Erica. But she had turned to see her three-year-old son, Leo, hanging upside down from the back of a brown leather sofa, his face red with the rush of blood.

Mark spoke to Jared. ‘Our son tests all surfaces and objects for suitability to climb or swing from.’ He paused. ‘Then climbs or swings from them, regardless of his findings.’

Erica sprinted for Leo, grabbing him under his arm and swinging him into the air.

Mark raised his eyebrows at Jared. ‘That was close. His Spidey sense is weak.’

Jared smiled.

‘OK, be honest,’ said Mark, leaning in to him, speaking quietly. ‘Will this be a comfortable stay? My little girl isn’t feeling too good.’ Mark’s eleven-year-old daughter from his first marriage, Laurie, was on the sofa reading a book, oblivious to her Spiderbrother.

‘You bet,’ said Jared. ‘They’re just doing some things like wiring, and putting fancy room numbers on the doors, etc.’

‘Hmm …’ said Mark. ‘No room numbers? That could be interesting.’

‘The doors are numbered with laser print-outs for now, don’t worry,’ said Jared.

‘OK,’ said Mark. ‘I just wanted to make sure that if the Parkers are coming back to reclaim Leo that they know which room to go to.’

Jared paused for a moment, then smiled. ‘Peter Parker is Spiderman, right?’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Mark, ‘just so we’re clear …’ He smiled, and turned around to see his wife struggling back to the reception desk with her bucking son jammed onto her hip and shouting at her to let him go.

‘Take him,’ said Erica to Mark. She almost dropped Leo at Mark’s feet. The little boy sprang up.

Erica shook her head. ‘He’s like those indestructible, I don’t know,
zombies
that you can’t kill – they keep coming back to life.’

Mark looked at Jared. ‘We don’t want to kill him,’ he said. ‘Honestly. Or return him to the Parkers.’

Erica had clearly heard the Parker reference before. She called, ‘Laurie, sweetie?’

Laurie closed her book and came over.

‘Just like that,’ said Erica, squeezing Laurie against her, and kissing the top of her head. ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’

‘I’m fine now,’ said Laurie. ‘I don’t know what happened, but the pain’s gone.’

Erica held the back of her hand to Laurie’s forehead. ‘No fever. And you’ve got good color in your cheeks. I pronounce you fit and well.’

Laurie smiled. ‘Why, thank you.’

Leo was swinging out from the reception desk, his feet working hard to climb to the top. He dropped to the floor and ran away.

‘Your turn,’ said Erica.

Laurie ran after him.

Jared went into the back office.

‘Loving the loose cannon desk clerk,’ said Mark.

‘I know,’ said Erica. She wrapped her arms around Mark, and kissed his neck. Then she moved up to his ear.

‘Is this about hotel sex?’ said Mark, leaning back.

Erica smiled. ‘That goes without saying,’ she said. ‘This is about dinner.’

‘What about Laurie … is she feeling better?’ said Mark. ‘Is she OK to be left with a sitter?’

‘Oh, she’s fine,’ said Erica. ‘I think it might have been a little attention seeking?’

‘Or she wanted to make sure we wouldn’t leave her to go to dinner,’ said Mark.

‘No,’ said Erica. ‘I was just talking to her, she said she was absolutely fine. So?’

Mark hooked his arm around Erica’s waist, and pulled her close. ‘I promised the kids I’d watch
Toy Story 3
.’

‘Well, I promised myself I wouldn’t lose my mind,’ said Erica. ‘So, you watch the movie, I’ll go down to the bar and pick up a snowboarder.’

‘Mrs Whaley,’ said Mark, ‘the kids and I can watch the movie while you take a bath, slip into something less comfortable, and by the time you have done the makeup I don’t think you need to wear, yet apply so beautifully, I’ll be ready to accompany you to the bar to oversee your choice of snowboarder.’

‘Deal,’ said Erica.

Jared came back to the desk. ‘Alrighty,’ he said, setting two keys on the desk.

‘Old-fashioned keys,’ said Erica. ‘Nice touch.’

‘You’ll be in Room 304,’ said Jared. ‘That’s on the third floor. Elevator is that way. You’ll be staying in a family suite – two inter-connecting rooms. Do you need help with your bags?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Mark.

‘Well, OK then. Enjoy your stay.’

‘Oh, we will,’ said Erica.

‘We’d like to arrange for a sitter to look after the kids for a couple hours, while we go down to dinner,’ said Mark.

‘Not a problem,’ said Jared. ‘For what time?’

‘Eight thirty for the sitter?’ said Mark. ‘Nine for dinner?’ He turned to Erica. ‘That’ll leave us some time to check her out before we entrust our prized possessions to her.’

Agent Ren Bryce sat at her desk in The Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force, a violent-crime squad of eleven based in Denver. It was Saturday night, and everyone had gone to the bar, except the boss, Special Supervisory Agent Gary Dettling, and Cliff James, Ren’s big-bear buddy. Cliff was ex-Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department. At fifty-three, he was the eldest of the team, and at two-hundred pounds, the most huggable. Cliff and Ren, along with blond, kind, grandma-friendly Robbie Truax and arrogant, short-ass numbers-guy Colin Grabien, had become a mini-squad of movable parts. The arrangement of their desks and the maneuvering of two filing cabinets could create a subtle break in the squad’s bullpen that was more psychological than visible. Otherwise, their boss would have done something about it. If he could have only thrown Colin Grabien out into the general population, that would have worked for Ren. The book was
The Three Musketeers
. Not
The Three Musketeers and the Dickhead
.

Ren’s cell phone rang, and the screen flashed with a photo of her older brother Matt – her best friend, therapist, and moral conscience rolled into one. He was thirty-nine – two years older than Ren – and lived in Manhattan with his wife, Lauren, and their three-month-old son, Ethan.

‘Finally,’ said Matt when Ren answered.

Silence.

‘You’re alive,’ said Matt.

‘Yes, I am,’ said Ren.

‘Just, you didn’t text back,’ said Matt. ‘And … did you get my voicemails?’

‘Sorry, yes,’ said Ren.

‘Are you OK?’ said Matt.

‘Yes!’ said Ren. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Pause. ‘Um … maybe because last month, you could barely make it from the bed to the sofa? And you phoned me several times bawling your eyes out. In the middle of the night—’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I know that’s hard with Ethan and everything …’

‘You can call me any time, you know that,’ said Matt. ‘I’m always here, but … that’s not the point. You dropped off the face of the earth.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’

‘You never do,’ said Matt.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Ren.

‘Exactly that. You never
mean
to. Next time, keep me posted, that’s all.’

‘Fine.’
Jesus.

‘So … what have you been doing?’ said Matt. ‘Are you OK? What changed? I was so worried. Ever since Helen …’

Ren was bipolar, unmedicated, and shrink-free. Her beloved psychiatrist of two years, Helen Wheeler, had been murdered four months earlier, and Ren and her FBI undercover past had been painfully entangled in her death.

‘Positive thinking!’ said Ren. ‘Talking to you really helped that last time, Matt. You cheered me up. And when I got off the phone, I just said, OK, what can I do? So I went online, looked at positive thinking websites, ordered some positive thinking books on Amazon. I looked up psychiatrists in Denver, printed off a few names … and I just told myself, get a grip.’

‘And did you find a psychiatrist?’ said Matt.

‘No …’

‘Ren … you’ve been very down for … months.’

‘I’m OK now,’ said Ren. ‘I’m feeling much better.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear that,’ said Matt. ‘I really am.’

‘And,’ said Ren. ‘I met this amazing guy.’

Silence.

‘Matt?’ said Ren. ‘Are you there?’

‘Yes,’ said Matt. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two weeks ago—’

‘Which might explain the radio silence …’

Ugh.
‘Anyway, I went out with work, then the guys all went home, I stayed on with Colin Grabien’s girlfriend, Naomi. The woman is nuts. Anyway, next thing, I met this really cute guy—’

‘And off the radar you go.’ His tone was flat.

‘I wasn’t off the radar,’ said Ren. ‘I was in work.’

‘I got one text from you weeks ago, then nothing,’ said Matt.

‘You sound like mom …’

‘Your worst nightmare. We’ve been through this before, Ren. This is not an on/off thing: you can’t call me all upset, then drop off the face of the earth when everything is OK.
I
didn’t know everything was OK.’

‘Well, I would have called you if I was going to jump off a cliff …’ Ren laughed.

Silence.

‘So … how’re things with you?’ said Ren.

‘Exhausting,’ said Matt.

‘You don’t sound yourself,’ said Ren. She could hear him sigh.

‘So,’ said Matt, ‘are you going to call one of the psychiatrists?’

‘Yes …’ said Ren.

‘Once more with feeling.’

‘I will. It’s Saturday night …’

‘Ren … Monday morning, please do.’

‘Yes, OK. Jesus.’

‘Enjoy the rest of your weekend.’

‘You too.’

Ren put down the phone.

Well, that was depressing.

Ren turned to Cliff.

‘I’m taking advantage of Colin’s absence,’ she said. ‘To ask you this question – is he serious about crazy Naomi?’

‘I think he has found The One,’ said Cliff, smiling.

‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not sure she feels the same way. I really like the woman. I do. But … remember I ended up staying out with her a couple of weeks back? We had a lot to drink, but she was … behaving like a single lady. All the single ladies.’

‘All the single ladies,’ said Cliff. He put his hand up.

‘She zoned in on this guy at the bar, like it was her mission to bag him,’ said Ren.

‘And did she?’ said Cliff.

‘No, but … I was right there – she was hardly going to disappear with him.’

‘Maybe she’s just insecure,’ said Cliff, ‘or competitive, or …’

‘Hmm,’ said Ren. ‘She’s like those women who other women love … until they see them around their man. She’s a girl’s girl, and a man’s girl, but … you get the feeling she’s distracting you with her high-larity, while she’s got her hand on your boyfriend’s ass.’ Ren paused. ‘I’m safe for girlfriends and wives. I’ll laugh or joke with yo’ man, but I don’t want him, he’s all yours. I think I make that clear. I’ve never taken someone’s man. Naomi … I think … she
does
want to take other men.’

‘And I thought you didn’t care about Colin …’ said Cliff.

Ren smiled. ‘And don’t mention this to him, by the way.’

‘No,’ said Cliff.

‘It would be quite the irony,’ said Ren, ‘a manwhore hanging up his riding boots for a womanwhore.’

‘Ren, that sentence is wrong “on so many levels”,’ said Cliff.

‘I’ll get you coffee for that,’ said Ren.

Cliff’s phone rang. He picked up. ‘Glenn? Shoot,’ he said. Glenn Buddy was a Denver PD detective, and Cliff’s closest friend.

‘Really?’ said Cliff. ‘No. Nothing.
I’m here with Ms Ren. Let me put you on speaker.’

‘Hey, Ren,’ said Glenn. ‘We’ve got a second rape. Victim’s parents found her in her bedroom when they got back from the movie theater. She is hanging by a thread. We think it’s the Kennington guy …’

‘Shit,’ said Ren.

‘That’s bad news,’ said Cliff.

‘How old is she?’ said Ren.

Glenn let out a breath. ‘She’s fourteen.’

From the windows of The Merlin Lodge & Spa, the peaks of the Tenmile Range over Breckenridge glowed against the black sky. Snow was falling, more than was forecast, a white powdery gift for the next day’s competitors. The town was hosting a snowboarding championship two weeks ahead of the world-famous Winter Dew Festival, when up to one hundred thousand visitors would hit Breck.

Mark and Erica Whaley sat at a table against the wall half way down the restaurant.

‘OK,’ said Mark, looking at his watch. ‘It’s eleven thirty. I told the sitter I’d go check on the kids half an hour ago.’

Erica pulled the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket beside the table and held it over her glass.

‘I think you’ll find that’s empty,’ said Mark, smiling.

Erica leaned back in her chair. ‘Oh, well …’

There was a moment of silence between them.

‘Honey, are you OK?’ said Erica, reaching out for Mark’s hand.