The sound of broken twigs, followed by a sudden silence, sent a jolt of fear spiraling through her. Phoebe stood straighter and took stock of her surroundings, swinging her gaze over the running water, the wet stones, the woods beyond. Since she’d found out a murderer was on the loose, she hadn’t felt safe. It galled her, losing the security this land had always given her. The mountain was a constant source of reliability in her life. Now its serenity was tainted by an evil serial killer.
Nothing seemed out of order as she scanned the running path, the birch and pine trees that made up the woods, the flowing brook. When a buck’s hooves sounded on the forest floor, she caught sight of the animal as it sprinted not more than ten feet in front of her, fleeing an unseen predator.
Phoebe let out a shaky sigh.
It’s just nature, nothing more.
She suspected the culprit for the deer’s run was a fox or even a stray dog, nothing that threatened her. Midsummer wasn’t hunting season, nor was it a time to worry about grizzly bears, which were busy enjoying the plentiful berries and smaller wildlife. They’d had occasional grizzly sightings over the years, but nothing too close. The bears liked to wander the mountains that surrounded their valley but rarely ventured anywhere near the Roaring Springs population.
When she’d first heard of the Avalanche Killer’s activity, Phoebe had wanted to believe it was a grizzly attack. It might explain the gruesome nature of the killings, and it allowed her to deny that such a brutal murderer lived among them in their close-knit town. The killer was most likely someone they all knew, which made it so much more personal to Phoebe and her family. It also increased her constant stress, as the fear of being the killer’s next victim was relentless.
Phoebe put herself under enough pressure—the last thing she needed this week was more from a lethal predator. While Skye grasped the concept of joie de vivre, Phoebe was the more sensible and grounded of the two. She rarely admitted it to Skye, but Phoebe liked the role she played in their twinship. Sure, sometimes she took herself too seriously, and wished like heck that her sister would do the same, but Phoebe never saw herself being able to behave so lightheartedly as Skye. That was why Phoebe had earned her college degree in finance in under three years, while Skye still had some courses to complete for her bachelor’s.
She shuddered in the warming air, and it wasn’t from her perspiration’s cooling effect. She’d text Skye as soon as she got back. Once again, her twin radar was going off like fireworks. Phoebe had purposefully left her phone in her room, wanting the freedom from the constant intrusion of texts and emails about the Roaring Springs Film Festival. But now she wished she’d kept it with her.
Since the film festival was upon them, it was by far the busiest time of year for The Chateau. That said a lot, considering Roaring Springs was nestled in the heart of ski country. A film event second only to Sundance and maybe the Toronto Film Festival, the Roaring Springs Film Festival was also an important source of income for The Chateau. The resort her mother had started from the ground up years ago had turned into a literal gold mine. Until this year.
Normally they’d be sold out for almost a year in advance. But reservations had dropped since the discovery of bodies on the property, on its most striking feature, the mountain that overshadowed the beautiful valley where The Chateau was nestled.
Her parents had informed her last night that the national news outlets were about to carry the story of the Avalanche Killer, and it was stressing her out. Having the criminal reports shared word-of-mouth locally had cut into their bookings, and they’d dropped off more when the local television station reported them. The chance that their film festival earnings would tank was high.
Phoebe offered a last glance at the brook, the surrounding peace of the forest, and sent up a little prayer that there would be a text from Skye when she returned to her room. Her sister most likely wanted to talk to Phoebe about her boyfriend’s unforgivable betrayal. Phoebe had never been a fan of Brock, the overly flashy record producer. Skye’s relationship with him had been constant trauma-drama and now it was clear why—Brock had been lying to Skye about loving her.
As painful as life was for Skye, and as hard as the drop in reservations and thus cash flow was for The Chateau, the film festival would go on. Phoebe’s days would be filled with taking care of the guests who showed up. And fortunately, the movie companies were still showing off their best and most promising works, regardless of the Avalanche Killer. That meant that the actors and actresses would appear, and along with them, their fans. Maybe the rooms weren’t all filled yet, but Phoebe sent up an affirmation that they would be, soon.
She squared her shoulders and began to run back to The Chateau. To her work, her family, her life.
* * *
Prescott Reynolds saw the lithe woman with striking, flame-red hair as she ran up to the edge of the brook. Her ponytail reached between her shoulder blades, which meant her unbound hair would be at her waist. An image of scarlet waves flowing over her creamy naked shoulders struck him, and he mentally batted it aside. This wasn’t a time to entertain his libido, not with a probable crazed fan on his tail. He mentally caught himself up short. He assumed this was a fan, he was so used to his struggle to get solitude. Maybe the redhead was just another nature lover.
“Don’t ever let your guard down.” His security detail’s implicit instructions reminded him that he’d not alerted them that he was coming out here this morning, alone.
The redhead’s footsteps had alerted him that he wasn’t alone on his hike, setting off his anger.
He was upstream of the attractive redhead, on the other side of the creek, by at least twenty yards. It was twenty yards too close, though. She stood stock-still, as if she’d seen a ghost, but he didn’t trust her, didn’t trust any other human being who “happened” to show up when he was trying to live a normal, private life.
He’d come out for an early-morning hike to escape the cacophony of the Roaring Springs Film Festival. From the first ping of his phone at dawn until he excused himself from the last social event of the evening, he was never alone. Usually he rolled with PR junkets like the professional he’d become, but in the midst of healing his sore heart, he despised the promotional part of his job.
What he really resented, though, was his privacy being invaded, especially by an innocent-looking woman. He’d been burned enough times to know better. There were no coincidences when you were one of Hollywood’s highest-paid actors.
He stood behind the nearest tree and decided to wait for the redhead to make her move. Maybe he’d play naive for a bit before he told her in no uncertain terms that not only was he not interested, but his security detail would be happy to provide her name and contact information to the local sheriff.
It’s your nerves.
True, he’d been on edge since thinking his ex might be stalking him, but it wasn’t as if his concern wasn’t justified. A young woman was literally yards from him, and he’d heard her nearby footsteps as she approached, running, then slowed to a walk more in rhythm with his stride.
Maybe you’re being paranoid.
Anger swelled at the constant need for vigilance. He’d known PR and media attention was all a part of pursuing his life’s passion, but there were days he had to ask himself if it was all worth it.
Take a breather.
Prescott wasn’t unmoved by the beauty around him, and as he waited for this possible latest superfan to try her hand at charming him, he distracted himself with a family of woodpeckers. As he watched, two large black-and-white birds with red crowns pecked voraciously at various tree trunks, then flew to a hidden nest in a nearby tree. He heard the peeps of the woodpecker chicks, and if he hadn’t been intent on confronting the interloper, he would