She spotted no cuts or breaks along the trees—or near the small branches at the base of the saplings. She didn’t know much about bears. But she did know it was strange for the trees themselves to be untouched if a two-ton ball of muscle and fur had come barreling in here hunting two fleeing skiers.
No. The crime scene photos suggested a hatchet, or an axe. Rusted, perhaps—blunt. But human—definitely human. Whoever the killer was, though, had to know his or her way around the area. The ski trail was known, but not obvious. Whoever had killed the Benevetis had been waiting for them, watching.
Now, it was up to Adele to discover why.
“See anything?” Agent Marshall asked.
Adele glanced back and gave the faintest shake of her head. “Nothing new. When did you say that new resort was opening?”
“Tomorrow,” Marshall said, tone clipped, her eyes darting to Luka and back to Adele.
“Millionaires, politicians, and murder,” Adele said with a humorless smile. “Sounds like the start to a movie.”
And following another scan of the trees and snowbound floor, Adele and the two Germans turned and began their long hike back up the trail toward the resort. Vaguely, Adele could only hope John and Robert’s case was faring better back in France. She hoped the Swiss couple hadn’t met the same horrible fate as the Benevetis.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Second gate so far,” John muttered in French. “What are they guarding in here, hein? A pile of gold?” He glared through the front of the faintly tinted windshield as the automatic gates opened before the DGSI vehicle, and his partner guided their car up the path.
“It is a very exclusive resort,” said Robert, patiently. “They take their security seriously.”
John glanced at the much smaller man, raising an eyebrow. “Friends of yours?”
Robert guided the vehicle along the quiet path toward the resort in the distance. The French resort was impressive in its sheer size. Few other nations could compete with the acres and acres of ski trails and lifts—nor the small villages interconnected by cable cars lounging through the air, or the ski trails moving along the mountains.
On all sides, the trail they currently used was lined with ornamentation—including sculptures and quaint glass and wood gazebos beneath ancient, towering trees. A couple of guards—with their weapons hidden out of sight—smiled politely from beneath blue berets and nodded as the approaching vehicle rolled by. One of the guards cast a longer look toward the DGSI car. Likely, he hadn’t seen a regular sedan in months of wealthy tourists in flashy coupes.
“Bonjour!” the soldier called out, tipping his flat cap. Even the guard was sipping a cup of vin chaud, and looked to have quickly lowered a cigarette into an ashtray as they’d approached.
John could spot a military man from a mile away. And the last six guards they’d spotted all had the look. Ex-military private security didn’t come cheap. Then again, nothing in this gated resort looked cheap.
Robert cleared his throat. “Not everyone who has means is related,” he said.
“Means? You mean stinking rich, oui?”
Robert frowned a bit, his hands clasping the steering wheel in the perfect ten and two position, his eyes glued dutifully on the road ahead. His hair was slicked back and, when he spoke, occasionally John glimpsed two missing teeth in the front of the older agent’s mouth.
He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of the small man. Robert’s old partner, Adele, had a fondness for him, and the investigator was a bit of a legend around the DGSI, but half the time it was nearly impossible for John to discern what the other Frenchman was thinking.
“Where do we park?” John asked as they pulled into a roundabout beneath old stone pillars set across from four wide glass sliding doors at the top of a gently curving marble stairway.
“We don’t,” Robert said, primly.
He pulled off his driving gloves and turned off the engine. Then he switched to a couple of mittens he had in the backseat, daintily pulling them on. John watched all this with mild amusement.
“Nice mittens,” he said.
“Thank you. And, thank you.” The second thank-you was directed toward the valet who had hurried up and opened the door for Robert.
“Mr. Henry!” the valet called. “It is good to see you!”
Robert refused to look at John as he returned the greeting and stiffly exited the vehicle, handing his keys to the valet. The young man in the red cap and crimson outfit smiled politely at John as a second helper hurried over and opened the door for the tall DGSI agent.
John scratched at the scar along the underside of his chin, then with more than a little discomfort, he exited the vehicle.
Robert adjusted his sleeves. He’d insisted on wearing a suit and a pea-coat for warmth. John, on the other hand, wore two hoodies, one on top of the other. Robert had offered to buy him a jacket, twice, on the drive up to the Alps, but John had refused. Mostly, though he hadn’t told Robert, because of sheer enjoyment at the look of discomfort on the older agent’s face every time he saw the hem of one of John’s sweaters poking out beneath the other.
“Luggage?” asked the valet who had opened John’s door.
The tall Frenchman grunted, stretching his leg as he exited the car. “Old guy has some. I don’t.”
The valet gave John a strange look, but nodded to show he’d understood before hurrying to the trunk and grabbing Robert’s three separate suitcases.
John watched in wry humor as the attendant carried the suitcases up the marble steps one at a time. John wasn’t sure what Robert had needed so desperately that it took three suitcases. John was relatively confident he’d never packed a single suitcase in his life. They would only be here a few days—what he couldn’t buy in a gift shop, he could likely borrow from lost and found. All fancy hotels had them.
John eyed the sliding doors with the severest of distrust as Robert walked stiff-legged up the marble steps and waited for the attendant—still lugging the investigator’s final suitcase—to pause, lower the suitcase, and open the door with a smile, before entering into the resort’s atrium.
For a moment, in the cold, Robert paused, grimacing and coughing.
John called out, “Are you all right?”
But Robert simply waved him away and moved into the hotel.
John followed after Robert, bunching his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and stalking up the marble steps. On either side, jutting turret-shaped towers framed the stone, glass, and log building. Even John, who had never developed a taste for the finer things, paused to admire the architecture. He also noted three windows, tinted blue, which would serve as a perfect lookout spot for a sniper.
Useful information given their circumstances? Perhaps not. But John could little afford to put his instincts behind him. They’d served well on more than one occasion.
“We need to speak to the manager,” Robert said, quietly, as John joined him in the expensive atrium. Marble, glass, ornamental lights, and tastefully arranged plants and art gave the resort entrance an impressive feel.
John grunted. “Where’s the manager?” he asked the attendant who was now lodging Robert’s three suitcases onto a trolley.