The Colton Sheriff. Addison Fox

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      “Great idea. Spend more money on an already mismanaged case. Smart move, Sheriff.”

      Trey never fumbled but even in the back row Aisha saw the narrowing of his mouth and the steel that filled his deep brown eyes. “We’ve followed protocol every step of the way.”

      “This should have been wrapped up weeks ago. You’ve Keystone-Copped this from the start. Sheriff.” Evigan’s pointed use of the word sheriff clearly wasn’t a sign of respect. And while she couldn’t see his face from her seat, Aisha had no doubt the man’s smirk had vanished and that sneer was firmly back in place.

      “We are in the midst of a thorough investigation over the death of six women. I’d hate to shortchange any of their lives or the crimes perpetrated against them out of a concern for poor publicity.”

      Score! Aisha thought with no small measure of satisfaction. Trey had refused to go on the offensive with Barton but he had every right to defend himself. Pushing on the publicity angle was one of the best blocks he had.

      “So in the meantime you put the rest of the town at risk for a serial killer.”

      Clearly done with Barton and his taunting, Trey stood up. He wore his dress uniform, the starched press of khaki only making his shoulders look broader and more authoritative. “This investigation isn’t a TV show, Mr. Evigan. I’m not looking for a daily spot on the evening news. I want the perpetrator of these heinous crimes apprehended and put behind bars as quickly as possible. But I will not put this investigation at risk, making shoddy decisions over protocol, because of uninformed hecklers poking at the work done by the good men and women of my department.”

      The tide of the meeting turned in Trey’s favor, several hoots and hollers swelling up along with the clapping. Evigan had enough sense to sit down but Aisha could still see the hunch of his shoulders. It reminded her of a wounded animal, biding its time as it waited to strike.

      “Real charming guy,” Prescott said. “I can’t believe that clown is running for sheriff against Colton.”

      His voice was low enough not to carry all the way to the front, but it could be overheard by the people sitting a few rows in front of them. Aisha had already seen their furtive glances back toward Prescott, and their excitement that he was in their presence. Although Aisha wanted Trey to win the reelection fairly and squarely, the clear endorsement in his favor, from an influential celebrity, no less, was a big help.

      The meeting continued with little interruption. One of the town’s matrons asked about overall public safety with her grandchildren coming in for a two-week visit. Trey assured her they were on high alert and refocused her attention on some upcoming activities sponsored by the local tourism board designed for family-fun days throughout the month of August.

      What he didn’t mention but Aisha knew was that the risk to children and families was relatively low. Unless cornered, the Avalanche Killer had a specific pattern in victim selection. Small children—thankfully—didn’t fit that MO.

      It was only when Russ Colton spoke up that the room seemed to take on a new vibe.

      “I appreciate all you’re doing, Trey. There’s no one in town I respect to keep law and order more than my brother’s son. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t air my concerns about tourism. The film festival last month had a few hitches, as we all know. My daughter Skye is still missing. How are we supposed to rest easy?”

      “Oh, boy.” Phoebe whispered the words under her breath and reached for Prescott’s hand while Aisha raced over her notes once more, hoping to find something to diffuse the situation.

      She’d barely stood, hoping to take the mic floating around the room, when Barton beat her to the punch. The obnoxious ass didn’t even wait for the mic, he just launched in with his latest round of shouting.

      “Even your family’s getting worried, Sheriff Colton! If the big, bad, rich Colton family is worried, what does that say for the rest of Roaring Springs? For all of Bradford County! What do you have to say to that?”

      * * *

      Trey employed every single ounce of self-control he possessed not to lash out at Evigan. The man was a troublemaker, and while Russ had technically started round two, his uncle’s concern for Skye was palpable. His cousin had been missing for well over a month and the family was on high alert as to why she’d gone missing and desperate for some way to get her back.

      The death of a prostitute earlier in the year had provoked upset, of course. No one wanted any whiff of murder in and around tourists, especially at the height of the ski season. But practicality had also won out at the time. The death of Bianca Rouge was deemed sad and momentarily troubling, but ultimately a blip in the high-stakes life that went on for the wealthy high rollers who stayed at The Lodge.

      The death of Sabrina Gilford, however, had changed Russ’s tune. He might be willing to overlook a few dismaying events in the life of running a major tourism empire, but the risk to his missing baby girl was something else entirely.

      Trey had always tolerated his uncle. His prominent family had given him both a privileged upbringing and a huge albatross around his neck when he decided to run for public office. The change in Russ over the past few weeks had been somewhat refreshing to see. Even if Trey hated the reason for it.

      “Mr. Colton, I understand your upset and can assure you we’re all working toward the same outcome. A safe return of your daughter. A positive identification for the women discovered on the mountain. And a quick capture of the Avalanche Killer. The department is working as hard as it can to achieve all of those things as expediently as possible.”

      “Yeah, right,” Barton shouted back.

      Trey ignored the heckles and kept his focus on Russ, opting at the last minute to take a more personal tack. “What we need from you, Uncle Russ, from all of you—” he stopped, allowing his gaze to roam around the room, settling on all of the assembled townsfolk who’d come in for the proceedings “—is vigilance. We get a lot of strangers in and out of town as a tourism mecca. They come here for a good time and to forget their own lives for a while. We shouldn’t become suspicious of them but we should remain on our guard. Friendly but focused. Aware of who’s visiting us.”

      “That’s your answer to catching a deranged serial killer?” Barton heckled again, this comment getting more murmurs and a few more “oh, yeahs” from the crowd.

      Trey ignored Barton and pressed on. “The public’s safety is in our hands. And based on the bodies we’re still trying to identify from the base of that mountain, someone around here didn’t want to let some of the kind souls who’ve visited here go home.”

      As public disclosures went, it was ham-fisted and clumsy, but Trey had vowed to share what he could, when he could, with his constituents. Nothing in all their investigating had turned up a local connection with the victims and Roaring Springs or, even more broadly, Bradford County until Sabrina Gilford. Which meant they had a different issue on their hands.

      A local killer who captured—nay, depended upon—those who came from somewhere else to feed his bloodlust.

      A muttered “way to kill the tourism industry” echoed loud enough from the audience to draw Trey’s attention, but it was the lone figure who stood in the back who redirected his attention.

      Aisha.

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