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Colton's Mistaken Identity
Geri Krotow


The wrong twin… Or the right one? When Skye Colton disappears, putting the Roaring Springs Film Festival in jeopardy, Skye’s identical twin, Phoebe poses as her sister and catches the eye of A-list actor Prescott Reynolds. With Skye missing and a stalker at large, this is the worst time to fall in love …







The wrong twin...or the right one?

A Coltons of Roaring Springs romance

Marketing exec Skye Colton suddenly disappears, putting the Roaring Springs Film Festival in jeopardy. Enter Skye’s identical twin, Phoebe, who poses as her sister. In her starring role, Phoebe catches the eye of A-list actor Prescott Reynolds, and she can’t deny the electricity that erupts between them. With Skye still missing and a stalker at large, this is the worst time to fall in love, especially with danger racing toward them...


Former naval intelligence officer and US Naval Academy graduate GERI KROTOW draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com)


Also by Geri Krotow (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)

Her Christmas Protector Wedding

Takedown

Her Secret Christmas Agent

Secret Agent Under Fire

The Fugitive’s Secret Child

Reunion Under Fire Snowbound

with the Secret Agent The

Pregnant Colton Witness The

Billionaire’s Colton Threat

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Colton’s Mistaken Identity

Geri Krotow






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09413-9

COLTON’S MISTAKEN IDENTITY

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)


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To Patti McNulty,

who has never doubted my dreams.


Contents

Cover (#u313585be-3778-5898-954a-adabd6375d9e)

Back Cover Text (#u9b896644-fc2b-5bbf-9dab-9cf09bd69356)

About the Author (#u4f9c22e8-fe82-524c-ae5f-f382048e435e)

Booklist (#ue32cbca1-f3e7-5f06-8c46-b4734d35a976)

Title Page (#u87b7e9f3-ac8c-5e05-b681-8e423c1c184f)

Copyright (#ue040b153-4be9-5723-baed-fd307ce1c795)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u2e23bbe1-0c0c-5d48-afd6-ba36e63288f1)

Chapter 1 (#uc81909cc-af32-59be-8076-298e927c9e29)

Chapter 2 (#u27d7e227-ce45-5411-b780-3a6ba9ccb20d)

Chapter 3 (#uf1383eb5-66dc-5039-9eae-248c7d9739de)

Chapter 4 (#u022b7463-1ab9-5b5b-bf30-054086d42b50)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1 (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)


The mountains began to glow with the sunrise, and the sky’s violet streaks yielded to a deeper summer blue as Phoebe Colton ran along the resort’s jogging path. The Chateau stood two miles behind her, on the other side of the copse of aspen birch trees ubiquitous to Colorado.

Phoebe loved her work at The Chateau but also needed her morning run to escape the constant whirlwind that was Roaring Springs, Colorado, during its annual film festival. Her dawn workouts soothed her soul. Roaring Springs and these mountains were as much a part of her as her red hair and dimples—features she shared with her identical twin, Skye.

Why did you take off now, sister?

At the reminder that she had no freaking idea where Skye was assaulted her, her breath broke from the easy rhythm she’d enjoyed the past hour. She slowed to a walk and forced herself to calm down.

It didn’t make sense to be concerned, not to someone who didn’t know Skye. Skye’s jerk of a boyfriend had up and married another woman with zero warning to her, leaving Phoebe’s sibling devastated. In a move so typical of her more impulsive twin, Skye had taken off with no word of where she was going.

While Phoebe totally understood Skye’s need to be alone, she didn’t understand why her sister had left so close to the beginning of the Roaring Springs Film Festival. The weeklong event kicked off tonight with the first red carpet event—The Chateau’s welcome gala, held in The Chateau’s grand ballroom, the showpiece of the Colton empire. The following days would be a blur of activity until the end of the week, when their grand ballroom would again be the venue for the star-studded award ceremony that officially closed the Roaring Springs film fest.

Skye was needed for each and every event this week, as she was the public face of the Colton empire’s resort. Phoebe had to admit that Skye had created quite the social media stir, with hundreds of thousands of followers across several platforms, and she’d recently garnered a few top-earning videos featuring sponsored content. Not bad for her twenty-five-year-old sister, or for their hotel business. Even their father, Russ, normally more detached from the twins, had expressed keen enthusiasm at the power of “millennial marketing.” Their mother, Mara, was more about making sure the girls—and all of her five biological children—appreciated what they’d been brought up with and did their parts to give back to the Colton efforts. Her two older cousins that Mara and Russ had raised, Fox and Sloane, were also part of the family.

Phoebe leaned against a tree and gave herself a minute to go over what was bothering her, underneath her jangling nerves about her sister being off-site. A sinister cloud of fear had lingered over Roaring Springs ever since the discovery of several murdered bodies at the base of the town’s mountain. The saddest part was that one of the Avalanche Killer’s victims had turned out to be their cousin, Sabrina.

Phoebe and Skye had regrouped and decided they needed to be the energy behind keeping things positive for the film festival. Skye had been so excited about making this festival work no matter the odds, especially after she learned that the online Hollywood entertainment magazine In Film Today was in place at The Chateau and broadcasting Skye’s two red carpet events live.

Their father had certainly been pleased. Anything that spelled more money for the resort empire he’d built from the ground up thrilled the chronic workaholic.

“Give your father a break.” Her mother’s admonishment taunted Phoebe as she tried to not stress about her sister. It was only natural she’d blame her father for not worrying about Skye’s emotional state, instead of the always-present Mara. Whereas Russ tended to be emotionally unavailable, Mara made up for it in spades. Not in the motherly attention they’d enjoyed as kids but in her focus on keeping The Chateau the premier private resort spa in North America.

As the two youngest of five biological Colton siblings, Phoebe and Skye had been born years after their three older brothers and almost a decade after the two cousins her parents had raised as their own. Phoebe and her sister had learned to cling to one another through the thick tension that often existed between Russ and Mara, and through what often felt like strained ties with their immediate family.

Phoebe knew she could always count on Skye, one hundred and ten percent. Which was why she had to fight from allowing her concern over Skye to blossom into all-out panic. Skye was more outgoing, more engaging than Phoebe, and Phoebe liked it that way. It kept the social pressure off her. But it made a logical explanation of Skye’s disappearance challenging, if not downright scary.

She rubbed her sternum through her thin running shirt. Whenever Skye hurt, she hurt. And right now her entire body was humming with worry over her sister. It wasn’t the first time her “twin radar” had issued warning alerts about Skye. There was the time Skye had fallen out of a tree when they were six and Phoebe had convinced her mother that Skye’s sore leg was indeed broken. And when they were seventeen, Phoebe had somehow known that Skye’s homecoming date was going sour on their basement sofa and she had burst in upon her sister and that louse of a football quarterback who wasn’t taking no for an answer. Despite herself, Phoebe let an evil smile flicker across her lips for a second. It had been such a sister moment to face down their high school idol–turned–potential rapist by kicking him in the privates, tying him up with zip ties from their father’s work bench and then reporting him to the police. By coming forward and with Skye’s brave testimony, they’d helped half a dozen other young women the athlete had threatened find justice.

But they weren’t in high school anymore, and they had phones, the ability to text. Skye always texted her at least three times a day, if not more often. And she hadn’t heard a thing since that last message when Skye told her she needed space to work things out. Phoebe didn’t blame her sister, as she’d been almost as upset as Skye when they’d found out that Skye’s serious boyfriend, a successful music producer, had gone and married the rock star whose album he’d produced. They’d married in Las Vegas and had sold exclusive rights to a celebrity magazine, which meant the photographic proof of the infidelity was unavoidable. Skye’s broken heart was the topic of many gossip rags and social media posts.

Phoebe tried to distract herself from her worry by staring at the gurgling brook, where deer and birds hung out to get a sip to ease July’s heat. It led to the area exclusive to the resort that housed the refurbished thermal springs spa and sauna from the 1920s. Her muscles craved a soak in the mineral baths—she’d not visited her favorite respite in far too long.

She’d lost the ability to focus on anything but her own grief the past several weeks. Ever since Sabrina had been found, brutally murdered. It was one thing to host the premiere of a violent movie that portrayed a serial killer and his victims; it was devastating for it to become real life as unspeakable violence struck her own town, her family.

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 have taken the time to try to snap some photos with his phone.

After twenty minutes, the woman finally moved from where she’d stood practically motionless, as if meditating. He wasn’t fooled and braced himself for the confrontation. He was tired of running from life and from his haters. This overzealous fan had picked the wrong day to mess with him.

Before he had a chance to look into the woman’s eyes, she turned and ran. Not toward him, but in the opposite direction. As if she’d never seen him. As if he, Prescott Reynolds, weren’t her obsession. As if she’d just been someone out for a morning workout and had taken a break by the running water. Hadn’t he done the same?

The chuckle started deep in his gut, so rare since his abominable breakup with Ariella Forsythe last year. At first he wondered if he was losing it. But as he laughed at himself, admitted to himself that he wasn’t the center of everyone’s universe, he felt the tightness in his chest ease up. Hadn’t his mother always told him he took himself too seriously?

The unexpected relief that rushed through him was as cool and calming as the mountain stream. It’d been too long since he’d simply relaxed, stopped thinking about disastrous breakups or crazed fans. It was time he let go and enjoyed being plain old Prescott, the Iowa farm boy who was lucky to have had a big Hollywood break.

He ran his fingers over the smooth white aspen bark. Maybe this film festival wouldn’t be so bad. There was the problem of the Avalanche Killer making national headlines, but he faced more danger walking down a busy street in LA. At least in Roaring Springs he had his security detail with him, and the opportunity to draw on the beauty of the stunning valley surrounded by such powerful mountains. He needed all the peace and tranquility he could get.

* * *

Ariella adjusted the climbing belt and dug her spikes into the tree trunk. Thank goodness for the free-climbing and rappelling classes she’d taken at REI; they’d enabled her to keep tabs on Prescott no matter where he went.

He’d almost caught her, thanks to the stupid bitch who’d been running on the same trail he hiked. Another woman hoping to get into Prescott’s bed and have him declare how much he needed her, she was certain.

Her cheeks pulled tight as her lip curled. Prescott had been so gullible. He’d truly believed that she’d loved him. And she supposed that she had, as much as she could feel for anyone. When he’d told her he loved her, though, she knew he meant it. Unlike her, Prescott was able to give a damn about other people.

All she cared about was winning what she wanted. And what Ariella really coveted was Prescott’s pull and influence in the entertainment industry. His salaries had gone up by the millions for each film, along with his clout. Exactly what a girl like her needed to get her career going in the right direction.

Poor Prescott had been so righteously angry when she’d admitted she’d been screwing Donald Channing, another actor on their film set over a year ago. He’d left in a huff and then stopped taking her calls and texts. Said he was done with her.

But she wasn’t done with him, and Ariella was certain that once she presented Prescott with her plan, he’d agree to again partner with her. That had been her one mistake—she hadn’t let him in on her career plans right from the start.

He wasn’t going to come easily, though. It’d be impossible to get him to meet with her and have a calm adult discussion. Ariella knew it would be risky, but she was determined to win Prescott back, even if it meant officially kidnapping him to get him in the same room as her.

And getting rid of women like the redhead who were in her way.




Chapter 2 (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)


“Have you heard from Skye this morning, sweetheart?” Mara Colton was already dressed in her work clothes, which meant she looked like she’d just stepped out of a boardroom. Her navy suit was official looking enough to give her mom the impression of measured control over what they both knew could erupt into total chaos with one wrong decision. They planned all year for the Roaring Springs Film Festival and worked well together, but this year felt different. Between Skye’s failed romance, the Avalanche Killer, and the loss of revenue due to the latter, nothing was going as usual.

“No, not since she told me she needed some space.” Phoebe wiped her brow with the bottom edge of her running shirt. “Don’t worry, Mom. She’s had a rough breakup, and you know how she takes them.”

“‘Space’ is not an option, with the press arriving today. What on earth are we going to do if she’s not here to handle tonight’s event?”

Mara’s concern made the tiny lines around her mouth deepen, and Phoebe hated that her twin was putting her mother through this. It was one thing to go all trauma-drama when you were a teenager, or even in college, but at twenty-five it seemed a little excessive.

Not that Phoebe could relate. Skye had always enjoyed a healthy dating life, her outgoing nature attracting men like adrenaline junkies to the high mountains that surrounded The Chateau. As the quieter twin, Phoebe normally didn’t have a problem with her more introverted personality, but she was starting to wonder when she’d have more than the more casual relationships with men she’d enjoyed so far. She wasn’t sexually inexperienced, but it’d be nice to have a man who wanted something more. Something lasting.

While she tried to think of how to answer her mother, a skinny boy of thirteen came barreling around the corner, followed by a rosy-faced toddler.

“Hey, Phoebe!” Joshua pulled up short and looked over his shoulder to make sure the little girl was with him. “Come on, Chloe.”

“Good morning, you two.” Phoebe gave Josh a quick hug and then bent down to lift Chloe into her arms. She buried her nose into the baby curls, savoring the sweet scent.

“Grandma, can me and Chloe go to the playground? I’ll make sure she doesn’t climb too high.” Josh was Phoebe’s nephew and the son of her brother Blaine, who’d just returned from his military stint. They’d all only met recently, as no one had known that Joshua’s mother, Tilda, gave birth to Blaine’s son back in high school. Russ and Mara were proving much warmer grandparents than they had been parents, and immediately wrapped Joshua in unconditional love. Still, it was disconcerting to hear him call Mara “grandma.” Phoebe smiled and poked at Chloe’s stomach. “Who has a cute tummy?”

Chloe’s squeal of delight warmed Phoebe and chased away her worries about Skye. Chloe was the daughter of her cousin Sloane, the woman Russ and Mara had raised as their own. Both children were the first grandkids for Russ and Mara, and it showed in how very spoiled they were whenever they came to the resort.

“Phoebe. We need to settle how we’re going to fix this.” Mara hugged Joshua to her as she spoke, her eyes softening for the young teen.

Chloe started to squirm, her legs kicking like all get-out, and Phoebe reluctantly set her back down.

“You two go on ahead, I’ll have Lania meet you there.” Mara spoke to Joshua, referring to the nanny she’d hired to help during festival week.

“Thanks, Grandma! See you, Aunt Phoebe!” Joshua and Chloe sped off, the toddler’s legs furiously pedaling to keep up with her older cousin. Mara placed a quick call on her cell. She instructed the nanny to text the minute she arrived at the playground. With the Avalanche Killer on the loose, there was no such thing as being too careful.

When Mara turned to face Phoebe, she was ready with the best answer to ward off her mother’s inevitable freak-out.

“Skye will be back in time, Mom. I’ll text her in a bit and see where she’s at.”

“You remember that I still need you in the ballroom by nine this morning, right?”

Phoebe looked at her watch. “Yes, and that leaves me another two hours to shower, eat and show up.”

“And I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go running by yourself until everything gets cleared up?” Mara reminded her.

Great. Now her mother was turning her angst on the nearest target—Phoebe.

“Mom. There’s no safer place on the planet, second only to maybe downtown Roaring Springs. I never went off the main path, and it was light by the time I took off.” She opted to not mention the creepy feeling she had of being watched, nor the sounds of breaking twigs that she’d been afraid might have been some unseen trespasser. Her imagination had always been on hyperdrive, a byproduct of having her nose in a book since she was a kid. Her reading tastes ran the gamut of genres, but her favorites remained thriller and horror.

“Sabrina thought it was a safe place, too.” Mara’s mention of her niece and Phoebe’s cousin hit Phoebe square in her heart. She winced, wishing the pain would somehow ease and then immediately felt guilty. Sabrina Gilford hadn’t been given a chance to escape the pain and suffering of her murder. What right did Phoebe have to even consider complaining about her own life?

“I’m not going to win this conversation, Mom. Let me get something to eat and I’ll see you in the ballroom later.”

“Wait a minute, sweetheart.” Mara’s normal businesslike tone was tinged with concern.

“Yes, Mom?”

“You need to be prepared. If this is one of Skye’s more prolonged relationship-grieving periods, she might not be back in time for tonight. I’ll need you to step up.” Mara’s words made Phoebe’s heart stutter. Skye wouldn’t leave them in the lurch, not with the opening gala tonight, would she?

Her clenched jaw told her the truth. Skye could take breakup misery to a whole new level, and there was a good possibility she’d back out of tonight if she truly didn’t feel up to the task. But it wasn’t something Phoebe wanted to reveal to her mother, who always bore the brunt of the festival’s pressure each year. She forced a smile, made her stance more relaxed and put a hand on her mother’s shoulder.

“Mom, we’ve been through this. Skye is the face of The Chateau’s marketing. She’s a natural at dealing with the public and especially the press. I’m the depth of our team. Like when I ran cross country in high school and college. I never was the fastest, but Coach could always count on me.” And she never wanted to be in front of a television camera, not willingly. The thought of having to stand in front of the gauntlet of reporters, all craving the latest and greatest gossip on the featured actors, was more frightening than the scariest novel she’d ever read. “Trust me, Mom. You don’t want me doing one bit of her job.”

“Coltons don’t quit, Phoebe.” Mara clearly had her teeth sunk into the idea that Phoebe could instantaneously replace Skye, and she balked.

“Wait a minute—I’m not the one who took off with a broken heart. I’m right here, Mom, standing in front of you. Please don’t put this on me. If on the very tiny chance Skye isn’t here in time, we can ask one of the hotel management interns to step in. It’d be the best training for them, and we can let the press know we’re giving an intern from another part of the country a great opportunity.”

Mara’s mouth gaped. “You’ve had your nose buried in our financial books far too long, Phoebe. There is no way on earth I’d allow an intern to do Skye’s job. Not during the festival, anyhow. It’s too risky, even if we’d taken the last month to train them.”

“Mom, we’re wasting time here. Skye will be back on time—we can count on her for professional commitments.” And they could. Skye never missed a work appointment.

“Let’s hope you’re right and she shows up in time to get ready for the red carpet. For now, I’d feel much better if you’d plan on handling the press briefing at three. If Skye is back by then, great, no problem. If not, however, you’ll be ready to go.”

Mara wasn’t budging, and Phoebe couldn’t really blame her. More like her mother when it came to planning, Phoebe preferred a sense of direction and purpose. With no surprises. Once again, her heart cracked a little, seeing her mother’s anxiety during what was normally a time of year they all looked forward to.

“Fine.” She blew a long breath out of her mouth. “I’ll look over her notes after my shower. Just in case.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Mara turned and walked away, and Phoebe wished for once she was the more outgoing sister. The one who’d tell their mom that no way in heck was she going to talk to the press or corral the VIPs into the ballroom. She’d honestly be content to play the shadow sister for the rest of her life. It might mean she didn’t get the accolades that Skye enjoyed, but she’d have peace of mind.

Are you sure? Maybe this is a chance to show your mettle.

“Whatever.” Phoebe grumbled to herself as she went to her apartment, a collection of rooms in a private residential wing of the hotel. Skye had better show up sooner than later. Otherwise Phoebe was going to be pretending to be her sister, something she hadn’t done since high school, when Skye skipped two classes to go skiing with her boyfriend of the week. Because, ultimately, she knew that she’d never be able to stop her mother from getting what she wanted. Mara Colton was a force of nature all to herself.

Before she stepped into the shower, Phoebe sent off a quick text to Skye. She’d give her sister until noon to get it together and come back to work. Skye knew how important the next several days were, and no matter how shattered her heart was, she’d never put the Colton family in a rough position.

Unless something really wrong was going on. Phoebe’s twin radar wasn’t firing off as it had earlier, but it wasn’t giving her any warm fuzzies, either.

It’s because Skye’s upset over being dumped.

“Well, two can play at this game.” Phoebe spoke to herself as she got under the hot stream of water. Closing her eyes, she focused on her gut and envisioned the invisible cord that connected her to her twin. Once she had a solid mental image of the thread, she yanked on it, as if this would alert Skye to the fact that her twin needed her. “It’s your turn to feel my pain, Skye. Get back here now.”

* * *

Skye did feel Phoebe’s mental nudge, Phoebe assumed, because when she got out of the shower, her twin’s response was on her phone.

Sorry but still can’t come back. Need more time. Thanks for handling it all for me. Xx

Phoebe’s wet hair dripped water onto her phone as she fired a quick text.

No choice—we need you. Be here by noon, no later!

Her finger wavered over the emoji keyboard, wondering if their tried and true symbol would work its magic this time. She hadn’t used it since freshman year in college, when she’d found out her roommate was sleeping with the boy she’d hoped to spend the weekend with. Phoebe looked at herself in the steamy mirror and realized that Mara would have to take her from her current nondescript style to Skye’s over-the-top motif. That would mean cutting at least nine inches off her hair and wearing tons of sparkling makeup and equally glittery clothing. No, thanks. Without further hesitation, Phoebe texted back, Get back here or Mara’s going to be the end of me.

She added the barfing emoji symbol and pressed the send arrow. Skye would know how stressed Phoebe was because she’d referred to Mom by her first name, something they never did to her face.

* * *

Prescott had to admit that if he had to deal with his business manager’s constant pressure to make it appear that he was leading the life expected of a successful actor, it was best done from the balcony of his VIP suite. The warm air was dry and the colors of the mountain sharp.

As was his tone with Jon, his manager, but he was determined to be himself as much as possible, without falling prey to the trappings of celebrity.

“I’m here to promote the premiere of the film we’ve worked so hard on.” Prescott didn’t want to add the implied period at the end of his statement. Jon knew the deal.

“We’re only saying that it’s been a year since your big breakup with Ariella, and it would be nice if your fans saw that you’d moved on. Plus it will underscore who was the villain in that relationship.” By we, Jon meant not only Prescott’s agent and the business staff but also the director of the film being showcased in the festival.

“I don’t give a—” He stopped himself. Regrouped. Made his mind go back to this morning’s hike. The aspens, the breeze, the cute redhead... “You know I’m going to do the best job I can while I’m out here. You also know that press junkets aren’t my forte, but I’m not the worst. As for my ex, she’s not stopped bashing me every chance she gets. I think her reputation speaks for itself.”

“Just make sure you keep up with your security detail.” Jon’s reminder was warranted—some strange things had happened over the past several months, from weird packages being mailed to his home to random scathing voice mails from Ariella herself. But Prescott still didn’t like to dwell on it.

“The team’s here, and we’re talking. I won’t go anywhere without them, save for my room.” Which, as it was located in The Chateau, was surrounded by the top security in the business. “I am grateful to stay here this year, away from the throngs. Thanks for setting it up for me.”

“You’ve earned it, and it’s a nice break from being in downtown Roaring Springs. As small as that town is, it explodes into a mini–New York City for the film festival.”

Prescott agreed. “Jon, I’m sorry if I’m coming off like a dick. I’d hoped that Ariella and our breakup would be far behind me by now.”

“Sometimes the media can’t let go of it, Prescott. Either way, anything you can do to be seen with other single women this week would be a plus.”

Prescott ended the call and any thoughts of finding another actress to connect with. He’d carefully avoided any romantic commitments this entire year, keeping dates to one-night events and eschewing the Hollywood social scene. His ex had done the exact opposite, including getting herself kicked out of bars and fired from her last film set. No wonder she’d amped up her attempts to get his attention—he’d only ever been a celebrity ticket to her.

If he were to ever get involved with another woman again, as more than a sexual interest, it wouldn’t be with a celebrity.

That had to be why the image of the redheaded runner kept flitting through his mind. She’d been attractive, mysterious, and he hadn’t recognized her as anyone involved in the industry.

Prescott didn’t believe in fate.

He looked around the view of the resort property from his balcony and absorbed as much of the good nature vibes as he could. A small movement in one of the trees caught his eye and he set his mug down, intent to spy a bear or large raptor. It was impossible to tell what he’d noticed from this far away, though, as the tree line began a full half mile from the The Chateau.

Who was he kidding? The tight knot of apprehension in his gut hadn’t loosened since Ariella had begun her constant attempts to reconnect with him. Now he was getting paranoid, feeling as though she was around every corner, in each dark shadow that crossed his path. She didn’t have the money to travel here, much less stay in Roaring Springs during the film festival.

No matter how much he tried to approach his anxiety with logic, it never left. Ariella had done more than scar his heart—she’d taught him that you never really knew a person even after you’d lived with them.




Chapter 3 (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)


The rest of Phoebe’s morning went as planned, with several short meetings with the event staff and regular team to ensure everyone knew what was expected of them. She’d gotten through the ballroom meeting with Mara and told her mother that Skye had texted her back. But she didn’t tell her mother exactly what her twin had said, hoping to delay Mara’s descent into festival madness.

At ten minutes past noon, however, there was no more stalling. Skye still hadn’t answered back and was nowhere in sight. So she’d been forced to spill the beans to her mom.

Phoebe gritted her teeth. She was going to make Skye pay the next time she saw her. Maybe for that nice pair of leather-strap sandals she’d been eyeing in The Chateau’s boutique. They were still expensive with their employee discount, but since Skye’s departure at the worst time for the festival meant maximum distress for Phoebe, she figured it was the least her sister could do.

However, for now, she had to survive her mother’s attempts at making her look like her twin.

“Hold still.” Mara waved a pair of very sharp shears too close to Phoebe’s eyes.

“Please, Mom, let Amber do it.” They were in The Chateau’s spa, and Mara had actually canceled a regular client’s standing appointment so that Amber could fit Phoebe in. Mara’s dismissal of a client’s needs underscored the absolute necessity for the festival to go off without a hitch.

“I’ve got it.” Amber, the spa’s most congenial employee, took the scissors from Mara and motioned for Mara to stand back. She smiled at Phoebe, her white teeth stunning against her dark skin. “We’ll have you Skye-a-fied in no time.” They’d let Amber in on what had to happen. It would be bad PR for word to get out that Skye was out of the area for any reason, and most importantly, Mara didn’t want it to be discovered that Skye had been dumped in such a shoddy manner. To avoid in-depth explanations, it was easiest to let Phoebe play Skye for the immediate future. With so little time and such huge stakes at hand, there was no choice. Although Phoebe would have preferred to keep Mara’s shenanigans on the covert side. If she was going to commit a huge deception, she didn’t want everyone to know about it.

“This is crazy. It’ll never work. And Skye’s going to show up at any minute.” Her voice sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

“We can’t count on that, Phoebe.” Mara spoke as Amber snipped away at her crimson locks, the same shade as her twin’s but much longer and straighter. Phoebe wore her hair long and sleek and couldn’t be bothered to blow-dry and curl it for the time it took Skye to get her perfectly natural-looking hairdo to fan perfectly around her face and shoulders. She watched her sodden locks drop onto the protective salon cape that draped from her shoulders and she wanted to scream.

“It’s official. I’m going to kill my sister.”

“This isn’t the time to talk like that.” Mara’s quick admonishment made Phoebe cringe. Her mother had been through enough and had the weight of the festival launch event on her shoulders. “It’s only the first day of the festival, and after you cover the press conference and gala red carpet, Skye will no doubt come waltzing in and take over the rest of the week.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mom. Ow!” Sharp pains ran from her skull to her nape as Amber used a wide-tooth comb on the back of her hair.

“Sorry, hon, but you’ve got a snag back here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just cut away. As long as we got the long ponytail in one piece to donate for children’s wigs, I don’t care what you have to do now.” Phoebe had been meaning to cut her hair for the last several months and she’d found a charity that accepted long lengths to make wigs that helped out kids going through chemo treatments.

“You’re a champ for doing this for us on such short notice, Amber.” Mara at least had the decency to look apologetic to the hairstylist. As if reading Phoebe’s thoughts, she turned her gaze back to her in the mirror. “You, too, sweetheart. I know you’re already swamped with all the extra business this month.”

“You’re the one who trained me, Mom. Stepping up is what a Colton does.” Besides, most of what she did was via financial software. Once she set up an event, the invoices usually tracked pretty seamlessly. Automatically. Unlike today, so far.

“We can’t afford to make a public mistake. Not with the reservations down and the bad news trying to stomp out the good PR we planned for the festival.”

“I understand, I really do. It’ll work out, Mom. It always does.” Phoebe tried to reconcile the image that emerged with each cut of Amber’s shears to her response. Skye was naturally upbeat and would have sat here laughing at their mom’s concerns, cheering her up in a flash, unlike Phoebe, who considered herself more like a quiet strength in the family.

Maybe being Skye for a bit wouldn’t be so bad. It might break her out of the social and dating rut she’d been in over the past few months.

“Are the biggest actors here yet?” Phoebe didn’t think she’d be able to pull a real Skye move and personally introduce herself to the key players ahead of the gala, but she did want to be prepared.

“Not officially.” Mara watched as Phoebe transformed into Skye. Amber had started to blow-dry her hair using a ridiculously huge round brush, and both Mara and Phoebe were shouting over the dryer’s roar.

“But?”

Mara shrugged as she watched Amber brush out a long length of hair close to Phoebe’s temple and curl it backward, aiming the dryer nozzle to set the curl. “Several have checked in under their assumed names.”

“Do we have Mr. Sherlock Holmes or Ms. Elizabeth Bennett here?”

“No, nothing that obvious.”

“Mom? Who is it?” It wasn’t like Mara to be cagey or without information she could trust Phoebe with.

“The lead.”

“Prescott Reynolds?” Immediately the image of two aquamarine-blue eyes flashed in front of her mind’s eye. They drew her attention every time she saw a photo of the actor, or caught one of his movies. Tall, with dark hair and a cut body that he’d partially bared in more than one romantic scene, he fit the description of “tall, dark and handsome” but she sensed something else there, maybe true depth to his personality that so far, many of the men she’d dated had lacked. Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. Phoebe wasn’t one for celebrity culture and gossip—that was more Skye’s department. But he had starred in several historical dramas that she’d adored, not only for the beautiful settings and superb cinematography.

“Yummy.” Amber didn’t hide her opinion of the Oscar-nominated star.

“Yes.” Mara spoke so quietly it was only the movement of her lips that conveyed her response over the hair dryer’s noise. She looked at her with the same eyes Phoebe and Skye had. “Prescott is here already, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Well, we’ll meet him tonight.” Which was soon enough for her. Skye was going to show up, wasn’t she?

Not if Phoebe went by her twin’s last text.

Amber clicked off the dryer. “Okay, close your eyes while I spray.”

She closed her eyes and tried to relax as Amber doled out what felt like half a container of hairspray onto her “Skye” coif. After she was done, her mother and Amber fussed over her makeup application, matching her style exactly to Skye’s. While they were indeed identical twins, their personalities reflected in clothing styles as well as hair and makeup preferences. Skye loved more sparkling shades of eye shadow and lipstick, while Phoebe gravitated toward a more natural, polished look. And while Phoebe had intended to cut her hair after the festival, her cut would have been a fun chin-length bob, not the longish layers that required hot rollers and half a paycheck’s worth of hairspray.

It didn’t matter, though, as she’d peeked at the finished style and figured cutting off several more inches to attain the bob wouldn’t be a problem. She’d just have to wait until either Skye returned or the festival ended.

Annoyance flashed in her gut. Why was she so agreeable all the time?

“Here, let’s use Skye’s favorite perfume on you.” Her mother plucked a round glass bottle from the spa’s vanity.

Phoebe held up her hands, causing Amber to freeze midair with the mascara wand. “No. I am not going to smell like Skye. Look like her, act like her, fine. Please hand me the clear bottle, that one.” She pointed at her favorite scent, a very light floral with tones of linen. Skye’s signature scent was musky and overtly sensual. Phoebe liked it, too—on Skye.

For the next hour Phoebe could pretend that the worst thing facing The Chateau and the Coltons was her having to pose as her twin. It was impossible to forget the ever-present fear that smothered her positive ideas whenever she wondered why Skye hadn’t texted back again. Her thoughts kept jumping to the horrible conclusion that the Avalanche Killer had somehow found Skye and harmed her.

Stop it. She texted back, she’s fine.

Yeah, staying present by helping Mara and Amber pick out the makeup Skye would wear was a much better place to stay in.

* * *

Prescott liked his private time but could only stay in his hotel room for so long. He’d checked in to The Chateau last night under an assumed name, as he didn’t want the staff fussing over him before the big premiere. The staff knew their jobs well and never blinked when he’d presented his credit card. He’d noticed a few extra glances here and there, but no one had approached him for a selfie, and no camera phones had been aimed at him. None that he could see, anyway.

The hotel was remarkable. Unlike so many high-end places he’d stayed in around the world, The Chateau wasn’t just a catchy name. The entire building was styled like a French countryside manor, only larger. The huge fieldstone hearth in the entrance lobby looked like the perfect place to relax après ski, and it proved a good space to hunker down on an overstuffed leather chair, his baseball cap pulled low to hide his face. The coffee was excellent, and he’d enjoyed an espresso this morning but now was sipping a freshly made iced tea. He’d have to go upstairs to his room in a few minutes and get ready for the gala tonight, but right now he was enjoying people watching.

Prescott liked people, and he gained tremendous satisfaction from playing different characters on film and stage. His film career had soared over the past five years, but given his druthers he’d take a stage production any day.

The dream he’d nurtured for the past year or so was to open a summer theater back in his Iowa hometown. A place for young kids like he’d been to go and find themselves amid the rich stories playwrights provided, from Greek tragedy to contemporary, avant-garde works.

A flash of red, the distinct shade he’d first laid eyes on this morning in the copse of aspen trees, caught his attention. The same woman he’d seen on the trail walked past him and began to climb the stairs to the grand ballroom. He knew where the impressive stairs led, as he’d already memorized the layout of the hotel. His privacy had necessitated he know every nook and cranny to escape to if the paparazzi became rabid.

She wasn’t in running clothes any longer, and her hair was styled to show off the unique hue. From her profile he saw that she was wearing makeup, a little much for his taste, but he was used to being around women who enjoyed dolling themselves up. It was all part of being an actor.

This woman intrigued him when she shouldn’t. And yet as she’d walked by, oblivious to him, he’d caught a whiff of floral perfume that captured him like a trout in a net. The sight of her profile again, this time with makeup on and offset by the backdrop of the luxurious resort, struck a chord deep inside him. Prescott wasn’t a stranger to immediate attraction but this took it to a new place for him. Besides the obvious physical pull of her beauty, he sensed the potential for something deeper, more meaningful, between them.

What the heck was going on with him?

She wasn’t wearing anything exciting, and her business suit didn’t show off her curves as well as her workout clothing had. Still, in the view he had of her backside, there was no denying her very feminine shape under the jacket and dress pants. Insta-lust made him pause, not wanting to get an erection in public.

You’ve been alone too long.

After what he’d been through with his ex, he knew better than to even look twice at this stunning woman. But he couldn’t help himself. Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Nor how relieved he’d felt when he’d realized she wasn’t trailing him. It was always in the back of his mind that Ariella could show up again, and her penchant for ugliness wasn’t something he relished. He’d been drawn to Ariella’s intelligence and quick wit. And it had worked for a while, until her true nature of career-climbing at the expense of the men in her life reappeared. Or maybe he’d simply come out of his denial about her dark side. Either way, it had been a rough go of it for his dating life ever since.

But the redhead... His gut told him to go after her.

He didn’t entertain the rational side of his brain that told him he was out of his league. That not everyone was impressed by actors, not that he ever consciously used his job or status to seduce a woman. He believed more in allowing an attraction to grow organically.

This inexplicable urge to talk to the stranger, the only redhead he’d seen at The Chateau, was definitely organic on his part. But would she think he was odd?

What if she wasn’t available? Preston stopped midway up the staircase. He hadn’t even considered that she might be with someone already. Hell, she could even be married.

Chill, dude.

Prescott hadn’t had to go after a woman in years. And he missed it. The constant attention from the opposite sex had been heady when he’d arrived in Hollywood and been cast in his first roles ten, twelve years ago. But it quickly grew old, and he didn’t want to spend time with someone who only saw him as an actor. The redhead clearly worked here or had a role to play in the film fest, so she was probably used to celebrities. Would she see past the Caribbean-blue eyes that had become his trademark? Not that he’d ever expected to be known for his eyes. His dream wasn’t even so much to be recognized for his acting as to be give the opportunities to bring meaningful roles to life. He wasn’t a fan of the celebrity culture that came with it but he understood it was all part of the gig. Except when he wanted a woman to see him as more than a contender for a tabloid’s annual sexiest man.

He walked through open, massive carved oak doors and into the hotel’s pièce de résistance—the grand ballroom. The floor was entirely parquet but covered with a huge red carpet that ran into its center, where the area delineated for dancing remained clear. Hundreds if not a full thousand round tables framed the open area, the crystal chandeliers catching the fading sunlight, their bulbs still dim. Soon they’d be bright and the room a cacophony of press, actors, studio executives and the teams of people it took to make it all happen.

It was that rare quiet moment before a major event launched. Right now it was hushed as workers rapidly set tables and moved last-minute lighting equipment into place. A DJ set up in a far corner of the room, her control panel as large as any he’d ever seen in a concert. But in another hour and a half, it would burst to life with an entirely different personality.

Prescott liked the quiet anticipation before an event. As much as he enjoyed the slow build of desire as he met and wooed a woman into his bed.

The redhead stood alone in the middle of the room, silently moving her lips as she read from her phone. Her running clothes were gone but she hadn’t upgraded her look that much, wearing easy black pants and a simple pale pink silk shell. Her skin was dewy, and as he’d already noticed she liked her makeup heavy, but on her stunning features it only emphasized her beauty.

His running shoes, silent on the plush carpet, hit the parquet floor, and a loud squeak sounded. The woman gasped as she startled and dropped her phone onto the carpet. Her caramel-brown eyes lasered in on him, and he knew how a bug felt under a magnifying glass. But it was more like an ant under a sunbeam as heat immediately flared in his chest, rushing toward his groin. The woman was so damned beautiful, from her glorious red hair to her full lush lips, down to her full breasts and hips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so smitten, from the get-go.

Because you never have been.

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He bent down and retrieved her phone, on which he saw notes displayed before he handed it back to her.

“I-I’m not...scared.” She cleared her throat, and he had to consciously force his gaze from the creamy skin of her neck to her eyes. He swore he already knew what she’d taste like, how her soft skin would give under the pressure of his lips.

“What can I do for you?” She’d been surprised by his appearance but recovered quickly. The immediate shock in her brown eyes was already replaced by cool assessment. Yup, definitely someone used to working with celebrities. And not easily impressed, he’d guess.

“I’m Prescott—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Reynolds. Is there something you need before tonight’s premiere?” Her tone burst with brusque efficiency, but all he could see was the way her pink-glossed lips formed the words.

“You didn’t notice, but this morning we were both on the hiking trail.”

“You mean the running path?” She bit her lower lip, and her cheeks flushed under the makeup. Why did she have an expression of guilt on her feminine features? “Sorry, but I’m not a runner. You must have seen my twin sister, Phoebe. She, ah, goes for a few miles every morning. I’m more of a night owl. Did you enjoy your time on the property?”

“Yes, of course.” He waved his hand around, motioning at the room. “This entire place is amazing. It’s easy to feel like I’m in the middle of Normandy or Burgundy while I’m here.” Too late he realized what a snob he sounded like. His global travel was a direct privilege of his celebrity status, and the Iowa farm boy inside him cringed at his careless mention of a destination so few ever afforded.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that on to my parents. Is there something else?” There was an air of impatience, no, make that desperation about her as she repeated her question. Maybe she had to practice red carpet introductions, or there had been some last-minute disruptions to the festival’s launch gala.

“Actually, it’s me who’d like to do something for you. What did you say your name was?”

Most women were impressed enough by this point to at least show a spark of appreciation in their gaze. But not this woman. She actually hesitated before she answered, as if reluctant to let him know anything so personal. Talk about the tables being turned.

The warmth in his center from her nearness exploded into something he hadn’t felt in a long while. Joy.

Prescott realized that he’d sorely missed having a woman turn him on his head. Maybe this film festival wasn’t going to be the laborious weeklong junket that he’d resigned himself to.

“I’m Skye Colton, the resort’s marketing director.” She held out a slim hand, and he took it. As they shook he was again distracted, this time by the silky softness of her skin that contrasted sharply with the firmness of her grip. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Not as pleased as I am. Call me Prescott, please.” He loved how she grasped his hand like a boss. She’d be incredible in bed, he instinctively knew. But what stunned him was that he wasn’t interested in that, not right now. Well, maybe he was completely enthralled by how seductive her mere presence was, but he was feeling something very different from first-meet attraction. Something more palpable.

All Prescott wanted was to get to know Skye Colton better. Suddenly his seven-day junket in Roaring Springs felt as if it was already half over. There would never be enough time to know this woman the way he wanted to.

But damned if he wouldn’t give it his best shot.

* * *

Phoebe knew she gripped Prescott’s hand too tightly, but to his credit the man didn’t even wince. She’d had no choice, as there was no other way to hide her nervousness. Thank goodness she’d wiped her palm on her pants before she’d shaken his. Otherwise he’d have known how rattled she was.

The photos and films didn’t do this man justice. Not even close. She’d never had a zing of awareness when she’d seen him on the big screen, nor had she grown wet with pure feminine need as she’d watched his performances. Standing so near to him, it was a shock to her that his star status wasn’t at play. She felt as she would with a non-celebrity man she was attracted to. Except her reaction was so far over the top. Between his deep voice, his words that made her feel like she was the only woman in the room, and the confidence in his posture and body language that hinted at his athleticism, her knees felt like her mother’s pepper jelly. All wobbly but with heat washing over her skin, making her want to run away before she did what her hormones were begging for: to kiss Prescott Reynolds right here in the ballroom and tell him to follow her to her room.

This must be what groupies feel like, and why they go after movie and rock stars.

This had to be some kind of sexual overreaction due to the morning’s upheaval caused by Skye’s disappearance.

Prescott flashed his familiar white-toothed I-leave-hearts-crushed-with-every-footstep grin that she recognized from his film promos and it snapped it out of her sexual trance.

It was nothing like the smile she’d witnessed in her favorite work of his—an historical period piece where he’d played a struggling artist amid the French Revolution. While his smile was part of his trademark good looks, as he looked at her, she was aware that there was more to this man than his celebrity. And he knew how to turn it on and off, not a virtue of many people she’d met who lived in the spotlight.

“Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Prescott.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Skye.” Phoebe didn’t like lying, ever, yet as she stood in the middle of the grand ballroom, her hair and makeup perfectly done in Skye’s signature style, it was surprisingly easy to fall into the role. Save for Skye’s effervescent presence. And extreme comfort around attractive, powerful men.

“You must be very excited for tonight. I’ll be announcing each of you, I mean the VIPs, as you arrive.” She’d watched from the sidelines as her twin had handled actors over the past three years since they’d both left college. Skye made it look so easy, but Phoebe was drained at the mere thought of having to play “happy to meet you” with countless actors.

He shrugged, his tall, muscular frame formidable in measure but his energy anything but. He made her feel as though she were the only person he wanted to be with. No doubt all part of his practiced Hollywood charm.

“It’s a thrill to know the world’s going to finally see something I worked so hard on, but to be frank, I left this film’s set almost a year ago. My mind is on other...projects.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, his flirting was so obvious. “I’ll bet it is.” It seemed silly, but she went ahead and batted her eyes anyway. And immediately felt like Skye. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t really her twin, please forgive her, and would he call her Phoebe?

But she couldn’t. So she smiled, content to soak up his aura of good cheer as pseudo-Skye.

He smiled back, but it wasn’t the predatory grin of a man on the prowl. She’d watched plenty of actors behave poorly over the years, and this wasn’t it. Prescott seemed relaxed, and there was a special light in his eyes that she couldn’t attribute to the chandeliers, as they weren’t fully lit yet. She didn’t know the man, but if she had to name it, she’d say he was happy. A man in his element. Exactly where he wanted to be.

And oddly enough, he appeared a little...nervous?

“Please, Mr.—ah, Prescott, let me know if there’s anything you need while you’re our guest. The Chateau aims to please, and we want to make sure your every need is met to your specifications.” The Chateau’s mission statement rolled off her tongue, and she had to refrain from biting it.

He shook his head, looked away, as if gathering courage. Courage, to speak to her? No, wait—he thought he was talking to Skye. And she looked like Skye. A sad spurt of disappointment blossomed. He’d never know her as herself. Of course, he’d never be interested in Phoebe Colton, so she’d best count her blessings where she could.

“I, ah, know that you’re in the middle of the event planning, but is there any chance you’d have some time for me over the next several days?”

Crap. Playing her sister Skye was one thing, and Skye would definitely jump at the chance to get to know Prescott Reynolds better. But she wasn’t Skye, she was Phoebe and she didn’t want to add guilt to the list of emotions she was dealing with.

Where are you, Skye?

She smiled at Prescott. “Are you in need of a companion for any of the events?” Maybe that’s what he’d meant. The Chateau didn’t usually provide dates for their guests, but she supposed she could take a request for an escort to Mara and have her to worry about it.

“No, no. Nothing at all like that.” He shook it off dismissively. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go on a date with me. Although, in this environment, privacy is hard to come by. I can’t expect you to want to jump into the midst of a horde of paparazzi, and I don’t want that anyhow.” He sighed. “I’m screwing this up so badly. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, and I was wondering, if you’re also single, if you’d like to at least have a cup of coffee together?”

Phoebe couldn’t speak for a full moment. Prescott Reynolds, movie star extraordinaire, was behaving like a sixteen-year-old asking a date to prom. And coffee...he wasn’t trying to impress her with expensive wine or a fancy meal, as she’d watched wealthy men do with Skye. He was asking her to see him as any other guy who’d ask her out.

Which, whether she was Skye or Phoebe, was impossible. There was no question she needed to decline his endearing request.

“Of course. I’d love to spend time with you.” As soon as she spoke, she bit her tongue, hard. This was so not the time for her girl parts to begin calling the shots.

Prescott’s entire countenance lifted.

“Really? That’s great. Really, really great. Want to meet for a walk tomorrow morning? To be honest, I’m glad it was your sister who’s the runner. I’m a hiker. Running is something my knees gave up after I stopped playing rugby in college.”

What had she done? Nerves assaulted her, and she wished she could take her words back. This man thought she was Skye, and he wanted to get to know her. It would mean more than a walk through the woods if Prescott’s tabloid reports were any indication. This would be difficult enough if she were able to be herself, and not have to put on the exuberant act, but considering the circumstances...

It’s only for a week.

And what did Mara say? Coltons do whatever it takes to get the job done. The leading male actor in the film festival wanted to have coffee with her, to go on a hike, maybe more. In less than a week he’d be gone, and she’d be just another woman he’d been with to help while away the time. How much damage could it do to go along with it?

“I’ll meet you in front of the gym’s outside doors at six tomorrow morning.” Her mouth moved of its own volition, and Phoebe could hardly believe what she’d just agreed to.

Was she insane?

He lifted his arms as if he was going to embrace her, and then stopped, his expression unreadable.

“Make it five thirty, if that’s okay. And thank you, Skye.” He tipped his ball cap to her and left the ballroom, his footsteps silent once he stepped onto the plush red carpet.

Unlike her heartbeat, which clanged in her ears.




Chapter 4 (#u3db1fb6d-7f87-5181-9775-3e79a80dc9bc)


“Skye, how do you plan to make up for the minimal attendance at this year’s film festival due to the Avalanche Killer?” One of Roaring Springs’ most intrepid reporters spoke over the national news outlet that had asked a much easier question about the opening gala’s menu.

Phoebe fought for breath in the tight-fitting, couture suit that Skye had laid out for this year’s festival. Tried to remind herself that any hope of keeping the serial killer out of the national news cycle had always been futile. And she especially ignored the sting of tears behind her eyes at the reminder of her cousin Sabrina’s awful death. She thanked the makeup gods for waterproof mascara.

“We’re going to have a moment of silence for the victims, of course. I’m sure you’ve noted that our flags are at half-mast. The Chateau and Roaring Springs Film Festival share the grief of the families and friends affected. And we have every confidence that the sheriff’s department will find and apprehend the murderer imminently. We’ve upped our security profile, and I can personally assure each and every guest and festival attendee that their safety is our utmost priority.” She paused for effect, just as she’d witnessed Skye do countless times. When the reporters appeared as though they were ready to ask another question, she nodded. “And as much as we’re all hurting right now, the festival will go on, because it’s more important than ever that we celebrate life and all of its joys. I know you all agree that the best revenge is a life well lived.”

Murmurs and several nods gave her the first bit of relief from her nerves over posing as Skye since she’d first looked into the mirror after Amber had finished her makeup. The bronze foundation and colorful eye shadow, along with blush and lipstick, didn’t faze her. But the false eyelashes really took getting used to. They’d made looking at Prescott Reynolds without continually blinking a bit of a challenge.

“Call me Prescott.” She, Phoebe Colton, had been asked out by Hollywood hunk Prescott Reynolds and was going on a walk with him in the morning.

As Skye. He thinks you’re Skye.

The reporters fired more questions at her, and she had no time to revel in the soft glow that Prescott’s presence in the Chateau and subsequent request to spend time with her had ignited earlier today. Which was a shame, because it truly was a lovely way to move through the day. As she answered the more rudimentary festival questions, a separate part of her mind realized her sister must have this kind of feeling all the time. That a man she was attracted to was truly interested in her and wanted to get to know her better. Phoebe could certainly get used to it.

Once she wrapped up the press conference, she took a few minutes to stop in Skye’s room to find costume jewelry, accessories and maybe some clothes that were definitely more Skye than Phoebe. She had half an hour before the red carpet event.

The red carpet scene would be tougher for her than the press conference. Answering questions for which she usually prepped the answers for Skye had been doable, even if she was nervous about behaving like her twin. However, facing international celebrities and engaging them with small talk was Phoebe’s idea of a fiery hell.

Stop.

It was downright childish and self-serving to be so dramatic over all of this. The Chateau needed her; the Colton empire needed all hands on deck. Skye had pulled an ugly stunt by not returning in time for the gala, but at least Phoebe and their mother knew she was okay. Skye wouldn’t lie in a text to her twin, would she?

A prickle of warning skittered over her nape as she stood at Skye’s vanity and chose one of her sister’s more glittery sets. Not full-on twin warning radar, but the feeling she was being watched. She looked over her shoulder toward the open cathedral window that was her favorite part about their in-resort apartments. Both she and Skye had matching apartment suites, but they’d decorated them quite differently. Skye had gone for a very upscale, gilded, Louis XIV look, while Phoebe’s apartment was more relaxed with modern touches. “Colorado chic” was what she liked to call it. Skye referred to it as “something our grandmother would love.” Phoebe missed Skye’s constant teasing. It was how they often showed their deep affection for one another. She could use some sisterly love to help her get through the next several hours, possibly the next week.

Of course, if Skye were here, Phoebe would be happily engrossed with the production and guest services end of the festival. It wouldn’t matter what shade of lip gloss or eye shadow she wore.

The view of the mountains was unsurpassed even by the extensive terraces that surrounded the majestic Chateau. A summer breeze puffed the sheers that hung from the rods with French provincial finials, bringing the scent of Skye’s potted jasmine into the room. The French doors onto her small but well-used terrace were closed. Walking to the door to open it, Phoebe chided herself for being so edgy. It had to be a combination of playing her role as Skye and the scary murders that had tragically touched her family with Sabrina’s death.

But when she reached to unhitch the hook at the top of the door, it was already unfastened. Phoebe pushed open the door and stepped in bare feet onto the stone-paved terrace, checking to see if Skye’s chaise, small side table and several potted plants were as she’d last seen them this afternoon, when she’d been here to pick out some clothes and jewelry.

When she saw Skye’s potted jasmine was crushed on one side, and a smear of dirt drawn on the mortar railing, a cold rush of fear ran over her scalp and down to her toes.

Taking the few steps forward, she saw the imprint of feet on the soft lawn not more than six feet below. Someone had been in Skye’s room and exited via the terrace, but why? And who? And had they been in her apartment, too?

It could be Skye.

Skye was pulling a doozy on Phoebe and Mara, but if she was back in Roaring Springs she’d help with the festival, wouldn’t she?

Phoebe checked the terrace more thoroughly before she returned inside and shut the door. She’d have to ask about getting a dead bolt—on both of their patio doors. In all the years her family had lived in The Chateau, she’d never felt the least bit afraid for her safety. Mara had been vigilant, though, and always kept Phoebe and Skye away from the public and guest eyes as needed.

She walked into her sister’s closet, a luxurious feature they both relished, and stepped out of Skye’s dressy business suit that she’d borrowed earlier and dressed in the T-shirt and drawstring shorts she’d left behind on a small dressing bench. Wearing Skye’s business clothing helped her play the part to a T in front of the press, but she wasn’t going to trade out her own evening wear, which was cut to fit her shape and more comfortable. Even though she was an avid runner, Phoebe’s curves were slightly fuller than her twin’s, and she’d always worn dresses that flattered her bust and hips. Skye’s clothes tended to flatten out her curvier features, plus the waists were a tad tight.

Phoebe reached up to take a sparkly wrap from the hangar on the back of the closet door and stopped when she saw a large sheet of cardboard, one of The Chateau’s desk blotters that was in each and every guest room, hanging by a thread over the gossamer shawl. In matte, bloodred lettering, a shade creepily similar to Skye’s lipstick, Stay Away from Him! was lettered in slanted print. The sign definitely hadn’t been here earlier when Phoebe had raided the closet for the suit.

“Stay away from whom?” She wanted to believe the scary message was some kind of prank that her sister had done, but Skye wasn’t here and had no idea that Prescott had asked her out. And while Skye was the definite extrovert and prankster between the two of them, she’d never done anything this frightening.

Besides, Skye would never waste a good lipstick on something so childish.

Someone else clearly had seen Phoebe with Prescott and wasn’t happy about it. But who could it be?

She gingerly unhooked the warning, and when she lowered the cardboard to the floor, she noticed a lipstick case, open, the stick of makeup ground into the carpet. Sure enough, it was one of Skye’s designer shades. Phoebe wasn’t a cop, but she knew she needed to call the head of hotel security. If it needed to be reported to the police or sheriff, they could pass it on.

Grabbing all that she needed from Skye’s room, Phoebe check to make sure no one was in the corridor that linked the residential apartments before she scurried to her room, careful to keep the cardboard message facing away from her so it wouldn’t smear. Once in her room, she placed the warning sign on her dining table and went through to her bedroom and into her closet to change.

Call Security now.

But if she called the security officer, he’d tell her parents, then Mara would find out and have a freak-out, the last thing they needed as the festival launched. She’d have to speak directly with security, They’d handle it discreetly and have dead bolts placed on their terrace French doors.

Melancholy gripped her as she fumbled to zip her halter-style sparkly pink gown. In such a short time, her happy, secure life The Chateau in Roaring Springs had taken a serious nosedive. All because of a cold-blooded murderer who’d snuffed out Sabrina’s life so horrifically.

Her first instinct was to find Skye and talk out her feelings. While Phoebe always had a sense of being in Skye’s public shadow, she could trust her twin with her life and heart. Sadness slammed the thought back as she remembered Skye wasn’t here.

“You’d better get back here, Skye.” She spoke to the empty room as she added more powder to her face and made certain the false eyelashes weren’t going to fall off in the middle of her red carpet interviews.

Prescott Reynolds was going to be there, in a tuxedo and smiling his killer trademark grin. And instead of being behind the backdrop with an earpiece and clipboard, making sure it all flowed perfectly, she’d be the one interviewing him.

Playing her twin sister had its perks.

* * *

It was as if a dozen separate orbs of sunlight edged the red carpet that ran across The Chateau’s circular drive, up the stone stairs to the expansive landing and circled to the front entrance doors. The bright lights that were brought in by an event production tech group from Denver each year were the definition of blinding.

Phoebe longed for the familiarity of the smart tablet she usually carried, and her running shoes, which allowed her to work the entire red carpet behind the scenes. She’d done it for three years and was proud of how she’d streamlined the process, which had been pretty messy when Mara ran it. Her mother was more about keeping guests comfortable and well fed, while Phoebe was far more interested in the operational part of a business. The rest of the year she did the books, but during film fest week she liked to think of herself as a producer.

Not tonight.

Her legs quavered like a brook’s water trickling over craggy rocks as she approached the spot where she’d stand on the landing, microphone in hand, to greet each actor, film VIP and celebrity. Skye had worked out a deal with a major network last year, and the producers had spoken to Phoebe after the press conference. They’d gone over each part of the red carpet, including the opening ceremony, which would include the moment of silence she’d already briefed the press about.

“Hey, Skye.” Remy Colton, Phoebe’s cousin and the Colton empire’s public relations director, stood in front of her. The tall man exuded confidence and calm amid the chaos of pre-event preparation. Next to him was his maternal half-brother, Seth Harris, who had similar hazel-green eyes and brown-blond hair but whose temperament Phoebe had never synced with. Still, they worked well enough together during festival week.

“Hi yourself, Remy. Seth.” She gave Seth a bare glance, opting to keep their interaction minimal, and silently cursed Skye, who was so much friendlier with their extended family.

“Seth’s helping out with the production tonight.” Remy must have seen the question in her eyes. He held her gaze a beat too long and panic swelled in her chest.

“Have you seen Phoebe? I haven’t been able to reach her.” Remy’s concern paralyzed Phoebe, and she wondered if this was Remy’s idea of calling her bluff. Did he know she wasn’t Skye? But after another moment, she decided his concern was genuine.

“Uh, I’m sure she’s around, and her phone battery has been acting up. We had a lot of last-minute reservations, so she’s probably helping my mother in reception.” Lying for her sister was one thing, but now she was defending her own reputation. A swirl of nausea swarmed inside her belly. Phoebe counted integrity as one of her most important values. Having to skirt it was the pits. Skye couldn’t get back soon enough.

Seth nodded knowingly. “Phoebe’s always hiding. She’s shy.” Phoebe fought back a defensive retort, but Remy handled it with aplomb.

Just as Phoebe thought she’d have to literally turn and walk away to avoid either man from figuring out that she wasn’t Skye, a young man with a headset touched her forearm.

“Ready to get wired up?” The tech assistant handed Phoebe a large gold microphone with a rhinestone-studded handle, and an earpiece. “Give me a test, gorgeous.”

She blinked, not used to being spoken to with such familiarity. Her sister was as much a feminist as she was, but Phoebe didn’t encourage the sexy banter that Skye did, and this put her at a disadvantage. A disadvantage she was going to have to conquer right here, right now, in front of her two cousins.

“Um, please call me Ms. Colton, okay? Just to keep it professional!” Grinning like Skye would and batting her eyes at the man, she tapped the top of the mic. “One, two, three.” Nothing.

“Good one, Skye. Now try turning it on and do it again.” Seth’s tone matched his smirk. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Way to toe the professional line when she didn’t even bother to see if the mic was on.

She found the switch on the bottom of the wireless mic and pressed. “Is this better?” She spoke into it, and the techie pressed his hand to his earpiece, listened, then nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before he jogged away.

“Looks like you’ve got this, Skye. Let me know if you need anything else.” Remy turned to walk away and Seth lingered a brief moment, waiting for her to meet his eyes.

“See you, Seth.” She kept it light and kind, as Skye would do.

“Yeah, you too, Skye. Break a leg!” As he walked away, she felt a pang of guilt. Seth wasn’t a bad guy, he’d just had it tough, as Remy’s half sibling, and he’d most likely had always felt like an outsider to the huge, extended Colton family.

Phoebe sucked in a deep breath and pasted a large, wide smile on her face. Tonight she had one job: to play the role of Skye.

Scores of people stood on either side of the red carpet, and the bleachers erected on the south side of the drive were full of fans. They’d all won a ticket lottery, so that they could be prescreened for security. It was a festival standing practice since tonight’s gala was on private property and meant to be a safe haven for the VIPs before the onslaught of premieres and press interviews that made up much of the week, culminating with the huge awards ceremony. But this year it felt more necessary than ever, after word of the Avalanche Killer got out.

And, on top of that, someone in their midst was threatening Phoebe, or Skye, for being around Prescott. At least that’s what both she and the security team had agreed was the motive for the harassing note in her closet. They had assured her he’d have the dead bolt in place before she returned to her room tonight, and that he’d inform the local police. Mara wouldn’t find out until Phoebe planned to tell her about it, tomorrow morning after her run.

Er, after her hike with Prescott.

She had to remember she was Skye, and Skye not only didn’t run, she detested working out unless it was in a yoga studio with the perfect temperature and high-end workout gear that left little to the imagination. Phoebe bit her lower lip, tasting the heavy lip gloss her sister wore. How did Skye deal with all the layers of makeup every day?

At least she only had to do it for tonight, hopefully. At most, a week. Then she could return to her regular ol’ life.

“Skye, the first set of limos are pulling up.” The voice of the television network’s producer filled her ear, and she looked down the steps and out toward the main road. Sure enough, the dozens, if not hundreds, of gala goers were arriving. Reminding herself that she was only interviewing the key actors and VIPs, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders and plastered a wide smile on her Skye-lipsticked mouth. When the first set of actors and actresses climbed up the stairs, and the producer’s voice rang out “Action!” over the wireless sound system, she planted her feet in the thick carpet. Action, indeed.

* * *

Prescott felt the tightening in his stomach that anticipation triggered as the limo approached The Chateau’s red carpet. He thought it was silly to have to arrive in a fancy car when he was staying here, but the cocktail reception his film production company threw had been in downtown Roaring Springs, so he needed a ride back, anyhow.

Focus on the film.

He let a long breath out, remembering how much he’d enjoyed shooting the action drama, and how eager he was for the audience to see the story of a single dad who worked as an FBI agent play out. Prescott had bonded with the five-year-old who’d played his son, and thought the film did a great job of showing how torn his character was between his duty as a parent and his career.

The young actor who’d played his son had tonsillitis and was missing the premier. That left Prescott as the main attraction for the media and fans.

“You ready for the onslaught of babes, Prescott?” Brian Gordon, the film’s director, sat directly across from him in the spacious automobile.

“Not interested.”

“You’re not still letting Ariella bother you, are you? She’s treated every other guy on set the same, trust me. I’ve watched her bad behavior through three of my films.” Brian spoke, but his eyes were on his phone. “Hey, look what my kid just did.” He held up the screen to show a picture of toddler completely covered in something purple.

“What is that stuff all over him?”

Brian grinned with pride. “Shower soap, grape scented for kids. My wife says he grabbed the bottle out of her hand and poured it all over himself.”

“I hope it’s the kind that won’t make his eyes hurt.” Prescott kept Brian talking. He knew the director was anxious to be back home with his family, as his wife was due with their third child at any moment.

Brian laughed and wiped his eyes. “You know I used to dream about this level of success for so many years. But other than being able to bring stories to life and work with great actors like yourself, what makes my life worth it each morning is my family. My wife, these incredible kids. How I got to be so damned lucky I’ll never know.”

“It’s nice to hear that.” Prescott meant it. Too many people in his industry were all about the material and didn’t stop long enough not only to enjoy what mattered, but to share it with others.

Brian’s gaze rested on him. They couldn’t be more than five or six years apart, but the director often filled the role of mentor for Prescott since he’d cast him in his very first film twelve years ago. “You deserve the same, buddy. I know that Iowa calls to you, and I think it’s great that you want to build yourself a place back there. But nothing will protect you and keep you sane from the Hollywood crazies as much as the love of a family.”

“I hear you. Unfortunately the love gods don’t agree.” His mind went back to the ballroom, and Skye Colton. He’d not been enchanted by a woman in so long—even Ariella had been straight, no-holds-barred sexual attraction from the get-go. And while he was incredibly attracted to Skye, there was something more about her. As if she had a special secret she’d only share with him.

“You don’t believe that, man.” The limo halted, and Brian leaned over and affectionately slapped Prescott on the shoulder. “Just look at all the women who are here to meet the award-winning actor.”

Prescott opened his mouth to tell Brian that he wasn’t interested in any of the adulation that fans so generously gave, but the driver had opened their door and the roar of the small crowd drowned out any opportunity to reply.

He stepped onto the red carpet and nodded at his security guards, who waited just feet away. They’d shadow him most of the evening unless he asked them to leave him alone. He noticed a lot more RSPD officers than he had last year. Security was definitely a top priority of The Chateau.

He admired the red carpet’s setting. The Chateau earned its name as it stood in the middle of the valley with all the mountains around it, and tonight with the red carpet, twinkling fairy lights and bright camera illumination, it looked otherworldly. He appreciated the immense amount of work that went into such a show and made a mental note to personally thank the hotel staff.

But the only staff member he was truly interested in stood at the top of the grand outdoor staircase landing. He spotted her immediately. Skye Colton was a blaze of pink glamour as she held out the mic to his costar. The cameras made it hard to keep his gaze on her for long, but only encouraged him to get to his spot so that she could interview him sooner than later. At least that way he’d be next to her again.

Five thirty tomorrow morning seemed too far off. With a desire that was surprising even to him, he wanted to be alone with Skye tonight, to find out what ticked behind those enchanting whiskey eyes.

Prescott wasn’t a stranger to industry events and did his part to grip and grin, making eye contact and sincere small talk with each person who approached him. What kept him going tonight with a bounce in his step and positive attitude was the beacon of Skye at the top of the landing.

Finally it was his turn to be interviewed by the experienced hostess. He’d heard from several other colleagues that Skye had a knack for bringing out the best in each actor, and she never tried to dig out personal information that other entertainment reporters prided themselves on. Of course, the Colton heiress’s realm of reporting was pretty much on social media, but he saw the familiar network logo on the camera and microphone she held. Their interchange would be very public, on a global scale.




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