What had he done?
Gregory walked around the couch, behind Kellen, lifted the pickax, slammed it into her head.
Her skull split. Gore…blood…death. Oh God, death!
Cecilia screamed, stumbled to a halt, covered her face with her arms.
Then…a whiff of gas. And she knew. She looked.
Inside the house, Gregory walked to the drawer where they kept the lighter for the fire.
I’ll kill you and I’ll kill myself.
That was what he intended. But he hadn’t killed Cecilia. He had killed Kellen and now—
He clicked the lighter a few times. No spark. No flame.
Something drew his gaze up and out the window. He saw Cecilia standing there. He looked down at Kellen’s body. Looked up again, his face twisted by a too-familiar fury.
The house exploded.
4
“Captain? You okay? It’s really rainin’ out here. You want to come inside?”
At the sound of Russell’s voice, Kellen shed the grim memories like rainwater. She looked at the man who stood outside the portico, holding an umbrella over her and staring anxiously.
RUSSELL CLARK:
MALE, 46, 5’11”, 220 LBS., AUTISTIC. YEARNING SANDS DOORMAN SINCE HE WAS 16. GOOD AT HIS JOB. WILL NOT GO ON VACATION EVEN IN WINTER. LIKES/NEEDS ROUTINE.
She looked down at herself, at the yellow plastic rain poncho that draped her to her knees and protected her from the worst of the rain, and at the soggy hem of her long black dress and the damp leather of her fashion boots.
She mentally checked her schedule, made sure she had her top-security-I’m-the-acting-manager pass card that would open any room in the resort and said, “Yes, thank you, Russell. It’s time to go inside.”
“Captain, you’re an interestin’ woman,” Russell said.
“A lot of interesting people work at Yearning Sands Resort.” As if the fires of hell pursued her, Kellen hurried into the resort. A familiar feeling—she’d been pursued by a devil before. She walked into the tall, warmly appointed lobby that glowed with golden, color-washed stucco, a lush plant wall, an eccentric floor-to-ceiling gas fireplace that produced flame from artfully arranged metal rods, and comfortable seating areas where, every morning, the resort served a full complimentary breakfast. She was, for the first time, on duty as resort manager.
As Kellen walked through, she accepted a cinnamon roll bite from the servers who were cleaning up the meal and replacing it with platters of cookies and bowls of fruit. The lobby’s comfort and the warmth were dwarfed by the two long window walls. Drawn by the panorama, Kellen walked over and looked, first to the west at the thrashing ocean and gray clouds rimmed with gold, then to the north, toward the towering Olympic Mountains. In every mood, even in this unrelenting rain, the view was stunning. Breathtaking. No wonder Yearning Sands was one of the world’s most exclusive, expensive, out-of-the-way resorts.
A critical voice sounded behind her. “Taking a moment, are you?”
“There are no words to describe this setting,” Kellen said and turned to face Sheri Jean Hagerty.
SHERI JEAN HAGERTY:
FEMALE, AMERICAN/ASIAN/POLYNESIAN, 40, 5’2”, PROPORTIONED LIKE A CLOTHING MODEL FOR PETITE SIZES. EMPLOYED 18 YRS. GUEST EXPERIENCE MANAGER. SHAKES HANDS TOO FIRMLY. RIGID SCHEDULE. STAFF FEARS. GUESTS ADORE. WANTS MY JOB.
Sheri Jean gave the roiling Pacific a cursory glance. “Yes, it’s pretty.”
“Pretty?”
“Grand, epic, blah blah.” Sheri Jean waved a dismissive hand. “I know how to do the tourist spiel—I simply choose not to waste it on you. Don’t you have something more important to do than look out the windows?”
Kellen’s teeth were suddenly on edge. “Sheri Jean, when we meet this afternoon at two fifteen, if you wish, we’ll discuss Annie’s decision to hire me as assistant manager.”
Sheri Jean’s eyes narrowed. She looked like a small tiger ready to pounce. “It should have been me.”
“Yet it was not, and perhaps you should consider why.”
“I could have assumed the role with no training.”
“The employees would have fled the resort.” Kellen watched a man in a suit walk toward them, then step back, away from the confrontation.
Sheri Jean followed her. “No one would be challenging me now.”
“Ladies, excuse me.”
Sheri Jean flung herself around.
The data scrolled in Kellen’s mind.
CARSON LENNEX:
MALE, 64, IRISH/SPANISH, 6’3”, 200 LBS., IRON GRAY HAIR, HAZEL EYES (CHANGEABLE), TANNED, SWIMMER, AMAZING WHEN SEEN IN A BATHING SUIT CLIMBING OUT OF THE HORIZON POOL. ACTOR, MOVIE STAR, FORMER ACTION-ADVENTURE HERO. MARRIED TWICE. DIVORCED TWICE. LIVES ALONE IN A YEARNING SANDS TOWER SUITE. LEAVES CAPRICIOUSLY. RETIRED. ALOOF.
Sheri Jean smoothly made the transition to guest experience manager. “Mr. Lennex, good to see you back! I hope you enjoyed your vacation.”
“I had never visited Machu Picchu. Words cannot express the magnificence.” Carson nodded coolly to Kellen and spoke to Sheri Jean. “The Shivering Sherlocks are arriving this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mr. Lennex. We look forward to them every year.”
He included Kellen in the conversation. “The Shivering Sherlocks are six ladies from Alaska who come to Yearning Sands for a murder mystery weekend.”
His deep, Irish-accented voice melted away Kellen’s irritation with Sheri Jean. “They have a lovely reputation here at the resort.”
“I’ve grown to know them over the last few years, and this year I’m the author of the murder mystery script.” He laughed a little, a laugh so warm and smooth Kellen wanted to bottle it. “I’m nervous.” He turned back to Sheri Jean. “I’m hosting the welcome party in my suite. I wanted to make sure we have appropriate killer foods.”
“I’ve spoken to the chefs, Mr. Lennex,” Sheri Jean said, “and they assured me they had the appropriate hors d’oeuvres in mind.”
“Wonderful.” Mr. Lennex rubbed his palms together. “I can’t wait to see what they concoct.” With a nod to them both, he strode toward his private elevator.
Kellen realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. “He’s never spoken to me directly before.”
“Don’t let it give you ideas,” Sheri Jean snapped. “The last assistant manager got reprimanded for thinking she would make him a good trophy wife.”
“Sheri Jean, do you see this?” Kellen circled her own unsmiling face. “This saw combat in Afghanistan and Kuwait. This has no illusions left, and you do not comprehend what you’re challenging.”
Sheri Jean took a step back.
Kellen continued, “In fifteen minutes, I’m scheduled to speak to Chef Norbert about tonight’s menu and I know he, also, will be testing my fitness to run the resort in Annie’s absence. After that, I speak to Chef Reinhart, who will be irritated that I spoke to Chef Norbert first. Both of those gentlemen will also have to be reminded that after several tours into the world’s war zones, I was wounded and then honorably discharged from the US Army as a captain, and I am fit to lead this resort.”
Sheri Jean’s mouth opened, then closed without a word.
“It’s a good thing we’re currently running only a skeleton crew. If I had to repeat that too often, I would grow irritated. I’ll see you at two fifteen.” With military precision, Kellen turned back to the view and waited while Sheri Jean’s heels clicked away across the tile.
The men and women Kellen had led could have warned Sheri Jean not to challenge Kellen’s authority. In Afghanistan, in her first deployment, superior officers and soldiers had taken one look at her and assumed she would be a pushover. They hadn’t realized how fiercely she would push back, and why.
She would never be abused again.