years ago and I’d like to clear the air. I’ve been catching up with Emily.”
She cringed at the words. She and Brodie didn’t need to “catch up.” They had had a fun time together once, and if it had ended badly, she took most of the blame for that. She’d been young and naive and had expected things from him that he had never promised to give. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
While he and Travis continued to talk about the case, she turned away and began opening the boxes, enjoying the way the scissors ripped through the tape, letting the sound drown out their conversation. As an investigator with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, Brodie would no doubt bring a welcome extra pair of eyes to the hunt for the Ice Cold Killer. She needed to remember that he was here to help Travis and probably didn’t have the least interest in her. So there was no need for her to feel awkward around him.
Brodie tapped her on the shoulder and held out her phone. “Travis didn’t sound very happy to hear from me. Why is that, do you think?”
“You’ll have to ask him.” But she would make sure Travis didn’t tell Brodie anything he didn’t need to know. Best to leave the past in the past.
“I’m going to meet him in town and get caught up on this case,” he said. “But I’m hoping to see more of you later.”
Before she could think of an answer to this, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “It’s great to see you again, Emily,” he murmured, and she cursed the way her knees wobbled in response.
Then he strode from the room, the door shutting firmly behind him.
Emily groaned and snatched a pillow off the sofa. She hurled it at the door, half wishing Brodie was still standing there and she was aiming at his head. Brodie Langtry was the last person in the world she wanted to see right now. This next week with him was going to be her own version of hell.
Brodie drove through a world so blindingly white it hurt even with sunglasses shading his eyes. Only the scarred trunks of aspen and the bottle-brush silhouettes of pine trees broke the expanse of glittering porcelain. If not for the walls of plowed snow on either side of the road, it would be difficult in places to distinguish the road from the surrounding fields. After five hours of similar landscape between here and Denver, Emily, in her crazy ruffled pink dress, had stood out like a bird of paradise, a welcome shock to the senses.
Shocking also was how much Travis’s little sister had matured. She’d been pretty before—or maybe cute was the better word—vivacious and sweet and attractive in a lithe, youthful way. She had filled out since then, her curves more pronounced, her features sharpened into real beauty.
She seemed more serious, but then so was he. Life—and especially a life spent working in law enforcement—did that to people. He’d seen a dark side to people he couldn’t forget. It was the kind of thing that left a mark. He couldn’t say what had marked Emily, but he saw a new depth and gravity in her expression that hadn’t been there before.
He had been such a rascal when they were together five years ago. He had thought Emily was just another fling. He had felt a little guilty about seducing one of his best friend’s sisters, but she had been more than willing. And then he had fallen for her—hard. He hadn’t been able to imagine a future without her, so he had laid his heart on the line and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him. And she had stomped his heart flat. The memory still hurt. He had offered her everything he had, but that hadn’t been enough.
So yeah, that was in the past. He wasn’t here to rehash any of it, though he hoped he was man enough to treat her with the respect and kindness she deserved. He owed that to her because she was Travis’s sister, and because she had given him some good memories, even if things hadn’t worked out.
And now there was this case—a serial killer in Eagle Mountain, of all places. Remote tourist towns weren’t the usual hunting grounds for serial killers. They tended to favor big cities, where it was easy to hide and they had a wide choice of prey, or else they moved around a lot, making it tougher for law enforcement to find them. Yet this guy—this Ice Cold Killer—had targeted women in a limited population, during a time when the weather kept him trapped in a small geographic area.
Then again, maybe the killer had taken advantage of the road reopening today and was even now headed out of town.
Brodie steered his Toyota Tundra around an S-curve in the road and had to hit the brakes to avoid rear-ending a vehicle that was half-buried in the plowed snowbank on the right-hand side of the county road. Skid marks on the snow-packed surface of the road told the tale of the driver losing control while rounding the curve and sliding into the drift.
Brodie set his emergency brake, turned on his flashers and hurried out of his vehicle. The car in the snow was a white Jeep Wrangler with Colorado plates. Brodie couldn’t see a driver from this angle. Maybe whoever this was had already flagged down another driver and was on the way into town. Boots crunching in the snow, Brodie climbed over a churned-up pile of ice and peered down into the driver’s seat.
The woman didn’t look like a woman anymore, sprawled across the seat, arms pinned beneath her, blood from the wound at her throat staining the front of her white fur coat. Brodie was reminded of going trapping with an uncle when he was a teenager. They’d come upon a trapped weasel in the snow, its winter-white coat splashed with crimson. Brodie hadn’t had the stomach for trapping after that, and he hadn’t thought of that moment in twenty years.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he stepped away from the vehicle and marshaled his composure, then called Travis. “I’m on County Road Seven,” he said. “On the way from the ranch into town. I pulled over to check on a car in a ditch. The driver is a woman, her throat’s cut. I think we’ve got another victim.”
BRODIE KNEW BETTER than to tell Travis that he looked ten years older since the two had last seen each other. Working a long case would do that to a man, and Travis was the kind who took things to heart more than most. Brodie was here to lift some of that burden. Not everyone liked the CBI interfering with local cases, but Travis had a small department and needed all the help he could get. “It’s good to see you again,” Brodie said, offering his hand.
Travis ignored the hand and focused on the vehicle in the ditch, avoiding Brodie’s gaze. A chill settled somewhere in the pit of Brodie’s stomach. So this really was going to be tougher than he had imagined. His old friend resented the way things had ended five years ago. They’d have to clear that up sooner or later, but for now, he’d take his cue from the sheriff and focus on the case.
“I called in the plate number,” Brodie said as Travis approached the stranded Jeep. “It’s registered to a Jonathan Radford.”
Travis nodded. “I know the vehicle. It was stolen two days ago. It was driven by the killers.”
“Killers? As in more than one?”
“We’ve learned the Ice Cold Killer isn’t one man, but two. One of them, Tim Dawson, died last night, after kidnapping one of my deputies and her sister. The other—most likely Alex Woodruff—is still at large.”
“And still killing.” Brodie glanced toward the Jeep. “Most of that blood is still bright red. I think
