Noah could see blondish hair. The bigger question came with the guy’s outfit. A black T-shirt and pants. Not exactly the best choice for hanging around a hot climate. The scene looked less like a case of Lexy’s sloppiness and more like an issue of someone trying to steal something out of her room.
Noah had no idea what she could have that someone would want enough to die for. And if the dead guy was a bad guy, why the hell was he dead? Exactly how many bad guys were wandering around the desert?
After a few minutes of animated conversation with the 911 operator, Lexy hung up the phone. She sat down hard on the bed. “The police are on the way. So is Tate.”
Half of that information amounted to good news. “How did Tate find out?”
“I called the front desk first and had someone track him down.”
“Couldn’t have been too hard, since he was at the party.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Not.”
“A private evening aerobics class, I assume.”
“Something like that.”
The entire resort and every law enforcement officer in the area would track through the room within the next hour. There would be questions and more questions. Seeing the dead guy’s face might make a few of those easier to answer, but Noah knew not to touch the body. No matter how much he wanted to.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
He forgot about the anxiety balled up inside of him. Seeing Lexy hurt knocked into him like a kick in the chest.
“We’re going to wait for the police and then take it from there,” he said in his calmest voice because he wanted her to stay calm.
“But, I—”
He slipped his hands into hers and lifted her off the bed. With his arms wrapped around her waist, he pulled her close and let his body warm her cold skin. “At least there’s one positive here.”
She stared up at him. “What in the world could that be?”
“Tomorrow’s hike is probably canceled.”
Chapter Seven
L exy stayed anchored in her room’s doorway while Tate, the detectives, and numerous medical personnel buzzed around. The chill racing through her finally slowed down to a jog when Noah got permission from the police to grab one of her sweaters. When Noah threw it around her shoulders, then left his arm resting there, she did not argue. His strength and self-assurance calmed her.
All the people, all the lights, all the noise from the conversations of her fellow guests standing on the stone path just outside her room, it all worked together to ease the fear churning in her stomach. Maybe there was something to the strength-in-numbers theory.
Being pinned to Noah’s side helped, too. So did the two no-nonsense police detectives circling around the room with the guns strapped to their sides. They came in, pushed Tate around, and had been issuing orders ever since. Even Noah stayed out of their way, which was quite something because one of the officers, Detective Ellen Sommerville, was about twenty-five, all of five-foot-three, and a smidge over a hundred pounds.
But she could yell. Despite her slight stature and fresh-faced college co-ed look, she walked in and ordered the ambulance crew members here and Tate over there. Unfortunately, the “there” included letting him back in the room.
Detective Rob Lindsay was a good two decades older and one foot taller than his partner. He refrained from yelling, but his hand never left the top of his weapon.
Lexy liked both officers immediately. They qualified as the most sane people she had met at the resort since arriving.
“How can we keep this quiet?” Tate took turns rubbing his temples and talking at the speed of sound as he paced the small space between Lexy’s bed and the bathroom door.
Lexy winced as his foot tangled in one of her discarded sweaters. She wanted to pick up the room before half of Utah showed up at her door. Noah insisted she leave everything right where it was. Something about her clothes being part of a crime scene.
She just wished they were
Noah had no idea what she could have that someone would want enough to die for. And if the dead guy was a bad guy, why the hell was he dead? Exactly how many bad guys were wandering around the desert?
After a few minutes of animated conversation with the 911 operator, Lexy hung up the phone. She sat down hard on the bed. “The police are on the way. So is Tate.”
Half of that information amounted to good news. “How did Tate find out?”
“I called the front desk first and had someone track him down.”
“Couldn’t have been too hard, since he was at the party.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Not.”
“A private evening aerobics class, I assume.”
“Something like that.”
The entire resort and every law enforcement officer in the area would track through the room within the next hour. There would be questions and more questions. Seeing the dead guy’s face might make a few of those easier to answer, but Noah knew not to touch the body. No matter how much he wanted to.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
He forgot about the anxiety balled up inside of him. Seeing Lexy hurt knocked into him like a kick in the chest.
“We’re going to wait for the police and then take it from there,” he said in his calmest voice because he wanted her to stay calm.
“But, I—”
He slipped his hands into hers and lifted her off the bed. With his arms wrapped around her waist, he pulled her close and let his body warm her cold skin. “At least there’s one positive here.”
She stared up at him. “What in the world could that be?”
“Tomorrow’s hike is probably canceled.”
Chapter Seven
L exy stayed anchored in her room’s doorway while Tate, the detectives, and numerous medical personnel buzzed around. The chill racing through her finally slowed down to a jog when Noah got permission from the police to grab one of her sweaters. When Noah threw it around her shoulders, then left his arm resting there, she did not argue. His strength and self-assurance calmed her.
All the people, all the lights, all the noise from the conversations of her fellow guests standing on the stone path just outside her room, it all worked together to ease the fear churning in her stomach. Maybe there was something to the strength-in-numbers theory.
Being pinned to Noah’s side helped, too. So did the two no-nonsense police detectives circling around the room with the guns strapped to their sides. They came in, pushed Tate around, and had been issuing orders ever since. Even Noah stayed out of their way, which was quite something because one of the officers, Detective Ellen Sommerville, was about twenty-five, all of five-foot-three, and a smidge over a hundred pounds.
But she could yell. Despite her slight stature and fresh-faced college co-ed look, she walked in and ordered the ambulance crew members here and Tate over there. Unfortunately, the “there” included letting him back in the room.
Detective Rob Lindsay was a good two decades older and one foot taller than his partner. He refrained from yelling, but his hand never left the top of his weapon.
Lexy liked both officers immediately. They qualified as the most sane people she had met at the resort since arriving.
“How can we keep this quiet?” Tate took turns rubbing his temples and talking at the speed of sound as he paced the small space between Lexy’s bed and the bathroom door.
Lexy winced as his foot tangled in one of her discarded sweaters. She wanted to pick up the room before half of Utah showed up at her door. Noah insisted she leave everything right where it was. Something about her clothes being part of a crime scene.
She just wished they were
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