Murder on the Mountain. Cassie Miles

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      “I should talk to your guests now.”

      When he gave her a broad smile, his cheeks dimpled. He was just too sexy for words. Her repressed imagination again caught fire. She wanted to kiss those dimples, to taste his mouth.

      He took a step toward her.

      Julia’s breath quickened.

      She heard, very clearly, a gunshot.

      Chapter Two

      Paul charged through the door of the shed with his gun drawn. “Julia, stay back.”

      “No way.”

      Another gunshot. Paul looked up.

      Standing on the cedar deck behind the lodge was an older man, bald with a neatly trimmed fringe of graying hair around his ears. His posture was ramrod straight. He stood with legs apart and one hand behind his back. With the other hand, he aimed a chrome automatic handgun into a nearby stand of trees. What the hell did he think he was doing?

      “Freeze.” Paul sighted down the barrel of his gun. “Police.”

      The bald man looked down his nose. “Nothing to worry about, young man.”

      Paul thought otherwise. Without lowering his gun, he climbed the staircase to the deck. “Drop your weapon.”

      “You’re overreacting.” He squatted and carefully placed his gun on the deck floor. “I was just taking target practice, shooting at a rabbit.”

      “Hunting season is over.” Paul scooped up the weapon. A Colt Double Eagle. A nice piece. And well cared for.

      Julia stepped onto the deck behind him. “Deputy Paul Hemmings, I’d like to introduce General Harrison Naylor.”

      The general’s squint and his square jaw seemed familiar. His formal bearing gave Paul the feeling that he was supposed to snap to attention and salute. But he had guns in both hands, so he merely nodded. “Army?”

      “Marines,” the general said.

      Which still didn’t give him the right to take potshots off the deck. “I’m sure you don’t need a lecture on gun safety, General. In future, if you want to take target practice, choose a less populated location.”

      “Away from the barn,” Julia added. “We have several horses, and they’re not accustomed to gunfire.”

      Reluctantly, Paul returned the Colt Double Eagle. The general took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the moisture from the gleaming silver gun. Though dressed in a casual cardigan, the man was impeccable. His trousers held a razor crease, and his shirt was buttoned all the way up to the collar.

      Paul cleared his throat. “I’m here because of a car accident. The driver was from Washington, D.C., and I have reason to believe he was looking for someone staying here.”

      “I’m stationed in D.C.,” the general said.

      “The driver’s name was John Maser.”

      The general paused for a moment. His lips moved as he silently repeated the name several times. “That’s Maser as in Maserati?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “It’s hard to remember all of the men I’ve had under my command. You said there was a car accident. What happened to Maserati?”

      “He was killed.”

      “A shame.” The general shook his head. “Can’t say that I know the gentleman.”

      Paul was dead certain that he’d seen the general before. “Do you come to this area often? Maybe for skiing?”

      “This is my first time. I usually ski in Utah.”

      “General Naylor, have we met?”

      “I don’t believe so.”

      “You might have seen the general on television,” Julia said. “He does a lot of expert commentary.”

      “You can’t believe everything you see on TV,” the general said. “Nothing they’ve said about me is the truth. Not one damned thing.”

      He executed a sharp turn and marched through the door into the lodge.

      Paul exchanged glances with Julia, who seemed as puzzled by the general’s statement as he was. “Interesting guest.”

      “Very,” she said.

      “How many other people are staying here?”

      “Four. And I have two full-time guys who help me run the place.”

      Since it was obvious that she didn’t want to invite him inside, Paul took the initiative. He held open the storm door. “After you.”

      As she sauntered past him, her curly ponytail came so close that he could smell the fresh scent of her shampoo. There was no other perfume on Julia. She didn’t seem like the type to fuss with girlie things. And yet, she was all woman.

      When he’d seen her chopping wood behind the resort, Paul’s heart had pounded harder than thunder across the valley. He’d been stunned, unable to do anything more than stand and stare as this Amazon raised the ax over her head and swung down with force. She’d been breathing hard from her exertions. Inside her white turtleneck, her full breasts heaved. Damn, but she had a fine figure. An hourglass shape.

      She reminded him of the early settlers in these mountains—women who were strong, resourceful and brave. And beautiful. Her complexion flushed with abundant health. Her eyes were blue—the color of a winter sky after a snowfall had washed the heavens clean.

      Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t particularly want him around. Not that she was rude. Just standoffish. He wondered if one of the men who helped her run the lodge was her boyfriend.

      In the kitchen, she introduced him to a young man who was doing the cooking for dinner. Though Paul was pleased to see that their relationship fell into the category of boss and employee, there was something disturbing about this guy. Young Roger Flannery had the bulge of a shoulder holster under his flannel shirt. Not illegal. But worrying.

      A small, sleek woman entered the kitchen, and Julia introduced her. “Another of our guests. This is RJ Katz.”

      She looked like a cat with a button nose, a tiny mouth and wide, suspicious eyes. As Paul shook her thin hand, he asked, “Where are you from?”

      “I travel a lot.”

      That was an evasive answer if he’d ever heard one. “Business or pleasure?”

      “Both.”

      Just like a cat. Snooty, cool and independent. When RJ Katz sidled toward the fridge, he half expected to see her take out a bowl of cream and lap it up with her tongue.

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