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42
Greenbrier Resort
SUNDAY
The Greenbrier lobby was a vast single room with gigantic beams high overhead, dozens of lights beaming down. Huge light gray pavers covered the floor, with occasional accent rugs in bright colors, made by local artisans according to the online blurb. Seating arrangements were set around two huge fireplaces made of local stone, and beyond them large hallways stretched out on both sides. The Chalet, the resort’s four-star restaurant, was straight ahead, and on the far left, reception agents were busy with check-ins at a long counter made of distressed oak. The concierge, activities desks, and luggage handlers lined the right. Griffin and Kirra reached a smiling young woman dressed head to toe in the required black, wearing the name tag Holly. She didn’t wait for them to give her their names. She said immediately when she saw them, looking only at Griffin, “You must be our newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. Hammersmith. Congratulations and welcome to Greenbrier.”
Kirra wasn’t paying attention or behaving like a newlywed. She was looking for Melissa Kay. Griffin squeezed her hand and she jumped. He kissed her cheek and Kirra remembered she should be hanging all over him. She grabbed his arm, gave the woman a brilliant smile. “Thank you. Yes, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Hammersmith. I’m his wife now. Isn’t that an amazing thing to say?” She put emphasis on the “Mr.” and gave Griffin a possessive smile. “Isn’t he the handsomest husband you’ve ever seen? Look at those gorgeous eyes.”
Holly gave her a wide grin. “Yes, I was just thinking that.” It was a professional compliment, but the look she gave Griffin wasn’t designed to please the bride.
“And he’s all mine.” Kirra pressed her breast against his arm, smiled adoringly up at him. “I hope your honeymoon suite is as incredible as advertised.”
Holly’s eyes were still on Griffin. “It’s amazing, I promise. There are so many activities for you here—hiking and swimming in our heated pool, looking at the stars in our observatory, touring the grounds, or just relaxing here in the lobby.”
Kirra gave Griffin an adoring look. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful, darling?”
“Yeah, say on a visit in about ten years.”
Holly’s expression never changed, but her eyes heated. “Shall I take you up?”
Griffin said, “No need, just point us to the elevators.” He leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Kirra’s mouth. He saw she’d unbuttoned the two blouse buttons again, showing enough white flesh to make any man drool, including him. “You ready, sweetheart?”
“Yes, of course.” She gave a knowing smile at Holly, added a wink to rub her nose in it, just a little. She and Griffin walked together holding hands along the side of the lobby toward the elevators, pulling their carry-ons.
Griffin leaned close to her ear. “Button up those buttons, and stop cooing, you sound ridiculous.”
“Be careful what you say, new husband, or your new bride might kick you out of the bridal bed.”
The elevator let them off on the fourth floor. They pulled their bags down a thick gray carpet with woven pine cones and greenery to the end of the corridor, past large color photographs of the Blue Ridge Mountains in all four seasons. Griffin inserted his key card into the slot beside the double doors. They walked into a large room dominated by a king-size bed covered with a bright blue quilt, two bathrobes, and a basket filled with the requisite chocolates, body oils, and a loofah. A bottle of champagne on ice was set on the bedside table. Four large windows gave out onto the swimming pool and the mountains beyond it. The living area had a large TV on the wall next to stylized nineteenth-century pre-Raphaelite romantic paintings, meant, Griffin supposed, to inspire the groom on his wedding night. Kirra walked straight into the bathroom.
She came out a moment later, grinning. “Hey, Griffin, there’s a Jacuzzi in here the size of a small pool. We could go skinny jacuzzying. No need to leave the room.”
He pictured the two of them all too clearly in his mind, forced a laugh. “Come look at this incredible view.”
She stood beside him, sighed. “Too bad they allow criminals here. It messes with the juju.”
He smiled. “At least there’s no mirror above the bed.”
“Well, that shows some class on their part.”
Griffin looked down at his watch. “Why don’t we unpack and go trolling for our prey?”
Kirra said, “I’m thinking they’ll have lots of sex first, then a late dinner at the fancy restaurant downstairs, the Chalet. I bet they’ve got a reservation. I wonder if we can find out for sure.”
“Not easily. We can’t ask because the maître d’ might mention it to Talix. Let’s have an early dinner. Maybe I’ll have a chance to get a look at the reservations book. We’ll see. Otherwise, after we have our foie gras, we can sit in the lobby and wait for them to show.”
“Talix. You said you’d show me his file, his picture.”
Griffin unpacked his iPad and logged into an encrypted CAU database. “Here he is,” he said, handing her the iPad. Kirra looked at the mug shot of a forty-year-old man with the brutally handsome face of a fire-and-brimstone preacher or a small-time politician. His complexion was swarthy, maybe a Mediterranean lineage? His eyes were dark and ancient with violence, his hair long and ink black, curling at his neck. His lips were seamed together. He gave off an air of malevolent power. She said, “Jared Talix has Ryman Grissom eyes—cold and flat. They both look at you as someone they can use—someone no more important than a cockroach. What did he do to get arrested?”
“A drug bust eight months ago in Seattle when one of the gang members ratted him out. He was arrested, but the charges were dropped, insufficient evidence. Not surprising, the gang member who’d informed on him thought twice about testifying, and Talix had the best lawyers money could buy.”
“I’ll bet you if he’d been arrested in Porte Franklyn, Hailstock might have let him out with a stern warning. I’m thinking once we’re sure they’re having their dinner, we could find their suite. I don’t suppose you know their suite number?”
“Oh ye of little faith. I have my ways.” Griffin had hoped she’d cooperate even though it was against policy. “They’re in the suite below ours on the third floor, 325, and yes, it’s the second honeymoon suite.”
After a fairly spectacular spaghetti alfredo at the Chalet, Griffin and Kirra strolled to the seating area in the lobby, careful to hold hands, sit close to each other, and talk, while waiters came by to offer the guests who gathered around the immense fireplaces trays of coffee, cheeses, and liqueurs.
