She glanced at Connor, who was also sitting up, watching her. “I’m with Connor,” she said.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got trouble.”
“Dad?” She sat up straighter, heart racing. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But there’s a Special Agent Damien Anthony who’s looking for you.”
“Anthony! What is he doing here?” The last time she had seen Anthony, he had been providing far too many details about surveillance he had done on a mobster’s girlfriend to a group of agents at the Denver office. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“He’s been ordered to assume control of the investigation. I take it he drove straight from Denver and started searching for you right away.”
Stacy couldn’t speak. Anger choked off the words. Anthony wasn’t going to wait even until morning before wresting control of this case away from her. She gripped the phone so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.
“What’s wrong?” Connor asked. “Is your dad okay?”
She pressed the phone to the blankets. “The FBI sent another agent to take over the investigation.”
“Why would they do that?”
She put the phone to her ear once more. “Why did they send Anthony?” she asked.
“He said someone from the resort called to complain that a man had died because the FBI wasn’t taking the case seriously enough. He said he’s here to take it seriously.”
“I am taking the case seriously!” Then she blushed. The declaration would have sounded better if she hadn’t been naked in Connor’s bed. But it wasn’t as if she would be out interviewing suspects at this time of night. “They can’t do this to me.”
“The Bureau can do pretty much whatever it pleases,” George said. “You can’t fight these people. But you can outsmart them.”
“How am I going to do that?” She kept her voice calm, though inside, she raged.
“We need to come up with a plan.”
She threw back the covers. “I’ll be right there, Dad.”
“No. Don’t come here. I’ll come there. Put on a pot of coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter Thirteen
Connor and Stacy were dressed and waiting when George arrived. Even Farley had gotten out of bed to greet the older man at the door. “This place reminds me of my first apartment,” George said as he shed hat, parka and gloves. “Except for the skis. I had posters of motorcycles. Never had the bike, just lots of posters.”
“Like some guys and supermodels,” Connor said.
“Just like that.” George walked over and hugged Stacy. “It’s going to be all right,” he said and patted her back.
“Thanks, Dad, but I’m not six with a broken toy. You can’t fix everything.”
“I’m crushed.” George looked to Connor. “Where’s that coffee?”
“In here.” Connor led the way to the kitchen and filled three mugs. They gathered around the table.
“I can’t believe Anthony showed up here like this,” Stacy said. “At night.”
“Apparently, someone lit a fire under the Bureau over this.” George took a long drink of coffee.
“Would Doug do that?” Stacy asked. “Call and complain about me?”
“It was probably one of Doug’s bosses,” Connor said. “They’re allergic to bad publicity. An inbounds avalanche and a dead snowboarder on the same day probably has them in a terror.”
“Did Anthony say what’s going to happen to me?” Stacy asked.
