Killing Season: A Thriller

Her heart started beating. “Like what kind of corporate discount? What corporations do we have in Santa Fe?”

“Not for corporations we have, for corporations coming into the city. Mostly we get tours coming in that book with us. Like if we go back to Christmas . . .” He clicked some keys. “Here we go . . . all these rooms have a star after them. This was booked out by some corporation.”

“Do you know which corporation?”

“I can look it up, but I have to go to another window.”

“Out of curiosity, which corporation was this one?”

He turned to her. “Why?”

“I’m a curious person.”

He was puzzled, but he took her at her word. He clicked a few more keys, closed a window, and opened another window. “Okay . . . this was done by the Peyton Museum in Dallas.” He pointed to the monitor. “See in this aside . . . they booked a Christmas art tour.”

“You have the asides so you know what it was about.”

“Most of the time, yeah.”

Ro was dying to ask about Los Alamos discounts, but of course she didn’t. Her head was buzzing. First thing on the agenda was flattery. “This is really complicated.”

He smiled. “Not so much once you know it.”

“How long did it take you to learn all of this?”

“Six months. Now it’s just kinda boring. There are lots of details and it’s easy to screw up, especially doing it hour after hour.”

“So why don’t you take a break?”

“Uh, do you see anyone else at the desk?”

Ro pointed to herself. “It’s a gorgeous day outside.”

“I’m sure Pearl’s enjoying it.”

She homed in on him with her baby blues. “Tomas, you did me a favor. Let me do one for you. Take an hour off. I can handle the desk.”

“No, no, no—”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Her smile was brilliant. “You need a lunch hour anyway.”

“I have my brown bag in the back.”

“Take your lunch outside and breathe some fresh air. I’m not doing anything anyway. I’m happy to help you out.”

He was clearly suspicious. “Are you trying to worm your way into my job?”

She was offended—for real. “Not at all. I’m a full-time student, remember. I couldn’t work your job even if it was offered to me. Besides, no one is as good at it as you are.”

“You’re definitely up to something.”

“Forget it.” She acted hurt and, of course, it worked. He was a guy and she was gorgeous.

“You really think you can handle the desk?”

“Tomas, it’s after the official checkout time and an hour away from checkin time. It’s called a lull. Go to Fort Marcy. It’s like five minutes away. Take your cell. If I have a problem, I promise to call you.”

“O-kay.” He went into the back room and retrieved his sack lunch. “I’ll be at Fort Marcy.” He gave her a weak smile. “Why do I think you’re after something?”

“Because you’re dedicated and you don’t want me to screw up and get you busted. I won’t. Go.” She practically had to push him out the door. She waited five minutes before she went to work.

She punched in the date of Ellen Vicksburg’s abduction and the monitor shot back a list of thirty names. She printed them out. Then she started going backward and forward—a week before Ellen was abducted, a week after it happened. She printed out those lists. Then she went a full month before the abduction, figuring if he had dug a grave in the mountains, he would have had to have been in town before he’d done what he did. No repeat names immediately popped out, but she couldn’t print out the forms and investigate at the same time.

People came up to the desk. One wanted a wake-up call. One wanted to know a good place for dinner. Another asked if a fax had come through. Another paid for a card to use the computer at the business center. But even with the interruptions, she had almost used up a ream of paper, printing out names and dates. When she looked at the clock, almost forty-five minutes had passed, but she had barely scratched the surface when Tomas walked through the door. Panicked, she tried to return the computer to the home screen, but she must have pressed the wrong button. She tried again, then again, and the computer froze.

Then she froze.

Turning her back to the monitor, she picked up the phone and pressed one of the lines just as Tomas walked through the gate to the front desk.

“Line three for you. You can take it in the back.”

“Sure.” He walked into the back room. Again, she frantically pressed the home button while Tomas was talking to a dead line in the back room. She pressed the button again, and finally, all her spy work was suddenly offscreen and she was left with the floating home icon. There was still a pile of paper in the printer and a lot of explaining to do if he saw it. Ro gathered up the paper and wrapped her coat around the sheaves. Tomas came back out.

“No one was on the line,” he told her.

“Strange.” She picked up her crumpled coat and swung the gate open, liberating her from the front desk. “Be right back.”

Before he could ask any questions, she ran to the bathroom. Once inside, she straightened the papers into a neat pile. Looking back out the door, she peeked at the desk and saw that Tomas was involved with a guest. Taking the opportunity, she ran out and dumped everything in her SUV. Tomas was on the phone when she went into the back room and opened up a new ream of paper, replacing what she had taken. It wasn’t right to steal, even for a noble purpose. She’d buy some replacement paper tomorrow at OfficeMax. When Tomas got off the phone, she gave him a dazzling smile. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, actually I did. Thanks, Gretchen. Any problems?”

“No, everything went swimmingly. Uh, Mr. Graydon in three-twenty wants a six o’clock wake-up call. I don’t know how to program it.”

He was relaxed and happy. That made him cooperative. “I can show you that.”

“Please.”

He did and she made a point of checking her watch. “I think I’ll take a little breather before I start my shift.”

“Sure. Thanks again.”

“I’m happy to help. Even if Pearl is here, I’ll pitch in. I know you guys can get very busy. And people get impatient—”

“You ain’t kidding.” Tomas looked at her with wonderment. “You’re so pretty. Surely you have a life. I know you have a boyfriend.”

“You’ve been talking to Salvador?”

“It seems like a complicated situation. We could talk about it over dinner sometime . . . just as friends.”

“If we can ever find a few moments, sure.”

“He’s very lucky, your boyfriend.”

“He is, but truly he doesn’t know it.” She left, knowing Tomas was looking at her ass. And that was okay. Keep them guessing. It keeps them interested.

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