Avalanche Pass

  “Jesse,” he asked himself, a few moments later, “why the hell didn’t you ask her in?”

  “I was wondering the same thing myself,” she said from behind him. He spun around. She was leaning against the door, the security keycard in her hand. The V-necked top was unbuttoned and she dropped it to the floor, revealing the white lace of her bra and the rounded tops of her breasts. A push-up bra he noticed, but as she shrugged out of it, he could see that the breasts didn’t need too much help in the push-up department. He felt himself hardening as she unzipped the skirt and let it slide to the floor after her top. She stood before him, wearing only a lacy pair of bikini panties. He was glad she didn’t wear a thong. Thongs did nothing for him. The sight of her body definitely did plenty for him.

  “Tina,” he began, but she moved toward him and put a finger on his lips to stop him.

  “Jesse,” she said, “I like you. And I think you like me. Now, I don’t plan on following you back to Steamboat, and I guess you’re not planning to come back to Utah looking for me, right?”

  He grinned at her succinct appraisal of the situation and nodded.

  “I guess that’s pretty much right.”

  “Now,” she continued, taking his hand and placing it on her breast. He felt the nipple stir and harden and her breath came a little faster. Her other hand was working at the buckle of his belt, then at his jeans. “I’ve got to tell you that the majority of men I meet these days are either gay or married. I’m guessing you’re not gay,” she said and her hand stroked the hardness inside his jeans. “So are you married?”

  “No,” he said immediately. Then, feeling he should, he added, “There is someone in Steamboat who—”

  But again, her finger went to his lips, silencing him.

  “I don’t need to know that. You answered the important question. You’re not married. Far as I’m concerned she’s crazy to let you run loose. But I figure that’s my good luck.”

  She’d worked his jeans down now and was unbuttoning his shirt. He helped her, then hooked a thumb inside the waistband of her panties, sliding them down over her smooth thighs. He placed both hands on her rounded, smooth buttocks and drew her against him, feeling his erection searching for her. His shirt was gone and her hand was on him, teasing him gently, urging and guiding him.

  He picked her up then, hands still cupping her buttocks and her legs wrapped around him as he took the two short steps to the bed. They half fell onto it and his mouth found her breast, rolling the hard nipple around his tongue. Just before he entered her, she chuckled, close to his ear.

  “Damn glad I had that keycard.”

  When he awoke, a little before dawn, she had gone. The place beside him in the bed still retained a little of her warmth so he knew she had left only recently. He smiled at the memory of the night. He felt a slight twinge of guilt, then pushed it aside. He didn’t love her. He knew that. And she didn’t love him. It wasn’t about love or a lasting commitment. But he liked her. And he liked her too much to go feeling guilty about what they had done. Somehow, that would cheapen it, he felt. And that would be unfair to her.

  He sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over the side to the floor. There was a note on the side table, torn from one of the pads left in the room. She’d drawn a rough version of the Marine Corps anchor and globe badge. Under it, she’d written:

  “Semper fi. Tina.”

  He smiled to himself. That was one way of putting it, he thought.

  SIX

  CANYON ROAD

  WASATCH COUNTY

  1515 HOURS, MOUNTAIN TIME

  SATURDAY, DAY 1

  The leading minivan in the three-vehicle caravan dropped back to low gear for the final climb into Snow Eagles Canyon. Kormann, seated beside the driver, checked his watch.

  Three-fifteen in the afternoon. Maybe a few minutes ahead of schedule. He hunkered down to check the other two minivans in the outside mirror, considered slowing down for a few minutes, then, even as the thought entered his mind, abandoned it.

  Ahead of him, moving down the winding road that led from the higher reaches, he’d caught sight of another group of vehicles. A few minutes later they passed, their occupants glancing incuriously at the three minivans grinding their way uphill. Kormann nodded to himself. Perfect. There had been no reason why the resort should change its normal pattern of operations this weekend. But there was always the possibility that they might. An accident, a blackout, anything could have delayed the departure of the contract cleaning staff.

  Even, he thought, with an almost imperceptible twist of his lips, an avalanche.

  His driver had slowed fractionally as they’d inched their way past the oncoming traffic on the narrow mountain road. Now the exhaust note picked up again and the eight-seater moved forward a little faster. He craned his neck to look up at the snow-laden mountains towering above them on either side of the road. He nodded in silent satisfaction as he saw the extent of the snow. Plenty there. Plenty of fine powder snow for skiing.

  Or for other purposes.

  And late in the season as it was, the snow was becoming more and more unstable every day as the warmer weather raised the water content and the fine powder settled upon itself. Just the way he wanted it.

  In the main, Kormann was an unremarkable looking man. Around thirty-five or -six, he stood five feet eleven and had a slim build. His features were regular, average, you might say. Neither excessively handsome nor excessively unpleasant. The mouth and nose were normally sized and shaped—plastic surgery had seen to that some years back. In Kormann’s line of business, it didn’t pay to have features that were too easily remembered or described. His hair was medium length, parted on the side and black, with a hint of gray beginning at the temples.

  The one feature that did stand out was his eyes. They were a brilliant blue and plastic surgery could do nothing to disguise them. Tinted contact lenses might have, but much to Kormann’s annoyance, he was unable to wear contacts. His eyes were particularly sensitive and anything more than ten minutes with contacts in would see them red and streaming. So his eyes remained the single, memorable feature of the man. At least in snow country such as this he could conceal them behind dark glasses.

  The bus finally crested the rise and the huge gray bulk of the Canyon Lodge loomed before them. Kormann gestured quickly to the entrance of the underground drive-in and his driver swung the Dodge into the tunnel. A quick glance behind confirmed that the other two buses had followed suit. A moment later, he heard their engines echoing in the confined space of the tunnel. There was room for the three buses by the automatic doors leading to the hotel interior. He pointed: “There.” The driver nodded and pulled past the spot, reversing neatly back into it. Kormann had the door open and swung down, breathing the strange mixture of exhaust fumes and crisp mountain air that pervaded the tunnel. As he walked quickly to the doors, the other buses parked in their turn. Doors slid open and men began climbing down, stretching their legs after the seventy-minute drive up from Salt Lake City.

  Three sets of double rear doors slammed open and the drivers and their passengers began unloading bags.

  Kormann hurried through into the hotel proper. He twitched his uniform blazer straight and took the escalator to the reception level, one floor up. As he’d expected, the lobby was deserted, with only one staff member—a girl in her early twenties—manning the reception desk. This was something else he’d relied upon. With the previous week’s guests gone, and the new ones not due to arrive until the following morning, Canyon Lodge usually operated on a skeleton staff on Saturday evening.

  The young girl looked up, a little surprised, as Kormann appeared in the lobby. Then, recognizing the familiar uniform of the Canyon Transportation Service, she smiled at him. Kormann smiled in return.

  “Hi. Roger Kormann, Canyon Transport,” he said by way of introduction. “Everything okay here?”

  The girl allowed herself a slight frown. “Yeah. Sure. Any reason why it shouldn’t be?”


  “No, none at all,” Kormann told her, then, gesturing toward the escalators, “I’ve got the group downstairs unloading, so I’ll just bring ’em up for registration, okay?”

  He started to turn away but she stopped him. “Group? What group?” There was a worried tone in her voice. This was something she hadn’t been told about. It had the uncomfortable feeling of a foul-up and, in her experience, foul-ups in the bookings had a habit of being blamed on junior desk staff. Like her.

  Kormann stopped and was walking back toward the desk. He spoke deliberately, as if not wishing to confuse things further. As if making everything perfectly clear and understood.

  “The special tour group. We got permission to bring ’em in a day early because of the heating problem.”

  “Heating problem?” she repeated, her eyes wandering involuntarily to one of the duct grills set in the ceiling. She hadn’t heard of any problem with the thermostat. She hadn’t noticed any change in the temperature in the lobby, either. There seemed to be nothing wrong with the heating system as far as she could tell.

  “Yeah. Look—,” he paused, his eyes searching for her name tag.

  “Jenny,” she supplied nervously, “Jenny Callister.”

  “Fine,” he said, comfortable now that they were on first name terms. “Now look, Jenny, Ray Archer rang earlier to let you people know. We had this group booked into the Meriton Hotel in Salt Lake City but their heating system had some kind of a meltdown. They’ve got real problems down there with three-quarters of their rooms having no heat of any kind, so Ray organized for this group to check in here tonight. Weren’t you told?”

  His easy manner suggested that he knew it wasn’t her fault. It was simply a breakdown in communications within the hotel. Jenny wasn’t so sure. She shook her head.

  “It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” she said defensively. Her hand hovered over the phone on her desk. “Maybe I’d better call Ray myself.”

  Kormann shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.” He shook a cigarette from a pack and lit it, unconcernedly, while she hit the buttons on the phone. Ray Archer was the Day Manager of the transport company. If the call went through to him, it would be the first he’d heard of this arrangement too.

  Jenny Callister looked at the phone receiver in exasperation.

  “The line’s dead,” she said. He raised an eyebrow in polite surprise. It wasn’t unheard of for the phone line to go down in Snow Eagles Canyon. Usually it was a case of a small, localized avalanche bringing down one of the power poles that carried the line.

  “Yeah?” he said. “Well, I guess it won’t be down for long.”

  In fact, it would be down for another forty-five minutes. Then the linesmen who had cut the line a few miles from the hotel would reconnect a bypass line some eight miles down the road before driving back to Salt Lake City and a payment of ten thousand dollars in their bank accounts. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a slim Nokia cell phone, offering it to her.

  “Here. Try this,” he said but the girl shook her head, the exasperation mounting.

  “They’re no use in here. The hotel’s in a dead spot.”

  He’d known that too. But for her benefit, he feigned ignorance and replaced the phone in his pocket. “Look,” he continued in a helpful tone of voice, “just check your computer there. You’ll see this group is booked in: name of Pallisani. Eleven double rooms.”

  Quickly, she punched the computer keys. An abbreviated guest list flashed up on the screen before her and she sucked in her lower lip nervously. She really didn’t like the way things were going here. There was no sign of any Pallisani group. She punched up the bookings for the next day.

  “They’re here,” she said. “But not till tomorrow.”

  The Canyon Transportation representative looked at her, throwing his hands out and letting them fall to his sides, with a slight show of exasperation. “That’s right. I told you that. They were supposed to be in Salt Lake City tonight but there was a problem. Your list for tonight should have been altered.”

  “Well, it hasn’t,” she said, beginning to dig her heels in. Kormann leaned over the desktop and swiveled the computer screen slightly so that he could read it.

  “Look, help me out here, Jenny,” he said placatingly. “This guy Pallisani has been on my butt all day about the heat at the Meriton. You’d think the whole damn thing was my fault. Could you check it one more time?”

  She shrugged. “Well, okay. But it’s not going to have changed.” She punched the keys again and the display flickered and changed, showing the current guest list. Kormann checked it, hiding the edge of tension he felt. His eye ran down the short list and stopped as he reached the entry “Senator’s Ski Buddies.” Inwardly, he felt a little surge of relief. He hid the emotion, feigning exasperation instead.

  “They’re not here,” he said and she gave him an “I told you so” look.

  “That’s all we’ve got staying here tonight,” she told him.

  “Now, Roger, is there some kind of problem here?”

  It was another voice from behind Kormann. Loud and abrasive. Even Jenny’s limited experience in the hotel business told her that this was a voice that didn’t like having its plans changed. She looked to the top of the escalators and took in the expensive down parka, casually unzipped, the dark good looks, the iron gray hair, cut en brosse, and the alligator hide overnight bag slung from his left shoulder. Everything about the man simply shrieked money. And it shrieked it in a decidedly bad-tempered way. Another half-dozen or so men, dressed in parkas and casual pants, all carrying shoulder bags, were milling around at the top of the escalator.

  “No problem at all, Mr. Pallisani,” said Kormann, moving to intercept the newcomer as he made his way toward the desk. Jenny detected a note of nervousness in his voice and her heart sank. This was trouble. A rich client, with a large group of customers and a bad temper, and no record on the computer that she should check them in.

  Only too clearly, she could see the problems that would arise.

  Check in twenty-two extra guests and that would mean someone was going to have to pay for twenty-two extra room nights. And twenty-two extra included breakfasts. And twenty-two extra God only knew what.

  Come the end of the week, it wouldn’t be the customers who’d pay. They’d claim their accommodation had been prepaid and at one hundred and fifty bucks a night there’d be a bill for over three thousand dollars floating around with no one willing to pay it. And then all hell would break loose.

  Jenny shook her head, coming to a decision. She wasn’t going to book these people in on her own authority.

  “I’m sorry,” she told Pallisani, “but I’ve explained to Mr.… er…” She couldn’t remember his surname so she slurred over it, “that there’s no record of your booking on the computer.”

  The gray-haired man regarded her as if she were some kind of particularly offensive insect. Then, refusing to talk to her, he swung on Kormann, his dark eyebrows knitting together in an angry line.

  “Am I hearing this right? They’ve got a goddamned empty hotel here,” he swept his arm around, encompassing the deserted lobby, “and this… person… is refusing to check us in?”

  “Mr. Pallisani,” Kormann began in a placating sort of voice. “I’m sure she doesn’t—”

  “Because a fucking computer is telling her not to?”

  Jenny winced slightly at the obscenity. Not that she hadn’t heard it before. Or used it herself for that matter. It was more the vehemence with which the word was uttered.

  “Sir, I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to do this. I’m going to have to call the manager here to—”

  “Fucking-A you are, honey!” the angry man spat at her. “And you can tell the stupid son of a bitch to get here right fucking now!”

  Again, Jenny flinched at the language. There was something doubly offensive about it, coming as it did from a well dressed, successful looking businessman like this. Kormann watched the inter
play between the two with a quiet sense of satisfaction. The overall confusion, coupled with the embarrassment caused by Pallisani’s intentional coarseness, were serving to keep the girl off balance. She reached for one of the internal phones, then hesitated.

  “Maybe you and your group would like to wait in the coffee lounge downstairs, Mr. Pallisani?” she suggested. The idea was greeted with an angry negative gesture.

  “No. I’m waiting right here till I meet the bozo who’s fucked up. Then I’m going to nail his ass to the wall out there. Now I am tired. I want a shower. I want to change. I’ve been fucked around from here to Salt Lake City and I’m not being bought off with a fucking cup of coffee. Capisce?”

  His voice was rising with each word and Jenny looked helplessly to Kormann for assistance.

  “Maybe we could wait in the office?” he suggested. Pallisani grunted a surly assent and she nodded gratefully. She’d do anything to get this loud-mouthed, angry customer out of sight. Hurriedly, she raised the lift-up section in the counter and ushered them through to the office behind the reception desk. Pallisani, only a little mollified, paced angrily as she dialed the duty manager’s number. The receiver burred softly against her ear. Once. Twice. Oh, please God, she thought, let there be someone there. Then, to her infinite relief, she heard the receiver lifted at the other end.

  “Markus. Can I help you?”

  The words spilled out of her, almost running over each other in her relief.

  “Oh, Mr. Markus, it’s Jenny Callister here at the front desk. Well, we’ve got a problem, sir, and I wondered could you come here right away?”

  Four minutes passed in awkward silence. Then the rear door to the office opened and Ben Markus entered.

  He was a good-looking young man in his early thirties, with a square face and a strong jaw, and a slightly crooked nose that was the result of a football injury in high school. The gray eyes were behind rimless glasses and they were an inch or two higher than Kormann’s, putting him at just over six feet. He was a capable, unflappable professional.