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Snowblind Justice
Cindi Myers
Snowblind Justice A killer stalks Eagle Mountain… Emily Walker is back home for her brother’s wedding. But the occasion is marred by a blizzard, a murderer on the loose…and Brodie Langtry, the man who broke her heart! But Brodie is convinced Emily is the killer’s next target. How can he protect a woman who wants nothing to do with him—a woman he's terrified to let out of his sight?


A killer stalks Eagle Mountain…
And a visiting lawman is determined to protect the next target…
Emily Walker is back home for her brother’s wedding. The joyous occasion is marred by a blizzard, a murderer on the loose…and Brodie Langtry, the man who broke her heart. As he searches for the Ice Cold Killer, Brodie becomes convinced that Emily is his next target. How can he protect a woman who wants nothing to do with him—a woman he’s terrirfied to let out of his sight?
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming.
A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Also by Cindi Myers (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
Ice Cold Killer
Cold Conspiracy
Saved by the Sheriff
Avalanche of Trouble
Deputy Defender
Danger on Dakota Ridge
Murder in Black Canyon
Undercover Husband
Manhunt on Mystic Mesa
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Snowblind Justice
Cindi Myers


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09449-8
SNOWBLIND JUSTICE
© 2019 Cynthia Myers
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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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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For Gay and Reed.
Contents
Cover (#ue14f6203-1e9d-5dfa-88ce-3760e5339785)
Back Cover Text (#uf542246e-8d20-5f09-89cb-ae4378222c66)
About the Author (#uea7ba469-a286-5123-8875-400489963954)
Booklist (#u8ba9f16c-0360-5a10-a5d6-c4ff15bd0f7a)
Title Page (#ud65a8cc8-6b5d-5f65-81c2-88b05cb66046)
Copyright (#u8326e2ee-6110-5202-8be8-0f7fe2e60526)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u08a3ee03-d20c-5f32-8a2d-8eb9a7342a0a)
Chapter One (#ue19dc860-b639-5025-8a40-6efb79d077db)
Chapter Two (#ubf6bd944-9df3-5596-8fa0-5feacab026d6)
Chapter Three (#u6045a164-9574-5651-aba9-12b8cb325828)
Chapter Four (#u67470b9d-63a3-5661-b4c1-834f3e55fb29)
Chapter Five (#ud97b52e5-86e3-5be2-98af-bfb6b4cdaf85)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
Snow sifted down over the town like a downy blanket, turning trash piles into pristine drifts, transforming mine ruins into nostalgic works of art, hiding ugliness and danger beneath a dusting of wedding-cake white.
The murderer lurked behind a veil of snow, fresh flakes hiding his tracks, muffling the sound of his approach, covering up the evidence of his crimes. Deep cold and furious blizzards kept others indoors, but the killer reveled in his mastery over the landscape. His pursuers thought he was soft, like them. They couldn’t find him because they assumed conditions were too harsh for him to survive in the wilderness.
And all the while he was waiting, striking when the right opportunity presented itself, his intellect as much of a weapon as his muscles. The woman who lay before him now was a prime example. She hadn’t hesitated to stop when he had flagged her down on the highway. He was merely a stranded motorist who needed help. He was good-looking and charming—what woman wouldn’t want to help him?
By the time she realized his purpose, it was too late. Like the officials who tracked him, she had underestimated him. The lawmen doubted his ability to instill trust in his victims, and were awed by his talent for killing quickly and efficiently while leaving no trace.
He lifted the woman’s inert body into the car, arranging it into an artful tableau across the seat. There was very little blood—none in the vehicle—and no fingerprints or other evidence for the sheriff and his deputies to trace. They would search and examine and photograph and question—and they would find nothing.
He shut the door to the car and trudged away as the snow began to fall harder, a sifting of sugar over the bloodstains on the side of the road, and over his footprints, and over the signs of a struggle in the older snow beside the highway. The killer ducked behind a wall of ice, and disappeared out of sight of the empty road. Wind blew the snow sideways, the flakes sticking to the knit mask he had pulled up over his face, but he scarcely felt the cold, too absorbed in the details of his latest killing, reveling in his skill at pulling it off—again.
There were no witnesses to his crime, and none to his getaway. The lawmen thought they were closing in on him because they had linked his name to his crimes. But they didn’t realize he was the one drawing nearer and nearer to his goal. Soon he would claim his final victim—the woman who had brought him to Eagle Mountain in the first place. After he had taken her, he would disappear, leaving his pursuers to wonder at his daring. They would hate him more than ever, but some part of them would have to admire his genius.


“I FEEL LIKE I should apologize for seventeen-year-old Emily’s poor taste in prom dresses.” Emily Walker looked down at the dress she had unearthed from the back of her closet that morning—too short in the front, too long in the back, entirely too many ruffles and a very bright shade of pink.
“It will be fine as soon as we straighten out the hem and maybe take off a few ruffles.” Lacy Milligan looked up from her position kneeling on the floor beside the chair Emily stood on, and tucked a lock of her sleek brown hair behind one ear. “You’ll look great.”
“Everyone is supposed to be looking at you when you walk down the aisle in that gorgeous bridal gown—not at the clashing train wreck of attendants at the front of the room,” Emily said. Watching Lacy wouldn’t be a hardship—she was gorgeous, and so was her dress. The same couldn’t be said for the bridesmaids’ makeshift ensembles. “Let’s hope the highway reopens and the dresses you chose for your wedding can be delivered.”
“Not just the dresses,” Lacy said. “The wedding favors and some of the decorations are waiting to be delivered, as well. Not to mention some of the guests.” She returned to pinning the dress. “With less than a week to go, I can’t risk waiting much longer to figure out how to use what we have here—including this dress.” She inserted a pin in the hem of the skirt and sat back on her heels to study the results. “As it is, I may be going through the wedding shy one bridesmaid if the highway doesn’t open soon.”
“The road is going to open soon,” Emily said. “The weather reports look favorable.” Since the New Year, the southwest corner of Colorado had been hammered by a wave of snowstorms that had dumped more than six feet of snow in the mountains. The snow, and the avalanches that inevitably followed, had blocked the only road leading in and out of the small town of Eagle Mountain for most of the past month.
“Travis tried to talk me into delaying the wedding.” Lacy sighed. “Not just because of the weather, but because of this serial killer business.”
A serial murderer who had been dubbed the Ice Cold Killer had murdered six women in the area in the past few weeks. Lacy’s fiancé—Emily’s brother Sheriff Travis Walker—had been working practically ’round the clock to try to stop the elusive serial killer. Emily thought postponing the wedding until the killer was caught and the weather improved wasn’t such a bad idea, but she wasn’t a bride who had spent the past six months planning the ceremony and reception. “What did you tell him?” Emily asked.
“I told him I’m willing to postpone my honeymoon. I understand that being a sheriff’s wife means putting my needs behind those of the town. And I’ve been patient—I really have. I haven’t seen him in two days and I haven’t complained at all. But Sunday is my wedding day. All I ask is that he be here for a few hours. The case will wait that long.”
“It’s not just Travis,” Emily said. “Half the wedding party is law enforcement. There’s Gage.” Emily and Travis’s brother was a sheriff’s deputy. “Cody Rankin—he’s technically on leave from the US Marshals office, but he’s still working on the case. And Nate Harris—he’s supposed to be off work from his job with the Department of Wildlife to recover from his ankle injury, but he’s as busy as ever, from what I can tell. Oh, and Ryder Stewart—he’s had plenty of time to help Travis, since most of his highway patrol territory is closed due to snow.”
“Then they can be here for a few hours, too,” Lacy said. “That may sound terribly selfish of me, but I put so much of my life on hold for the three years I was in prison. I don’t want to wait any longer.” Lacy had been wrongfully convicted of murdering her boss. She and Travis had fallen in love after he had worked to clear her name.
“Then you deserve the wedding you want, when you want it,” Emily said. “I hope my brother was understanding.”
“He was, after I whined and moaned a little bit.” Lacy stood and walked around the chair to take in the dress from all sides. “I didn’t tell him this, but another reason I want to go ahead with the wedding is that I’m beginning to be afraid the killer won’t be caught. Travis and every other lawman in the area has been hunting this guy for weeks. It’s like he’s a ghost. Travis and Gage and the rest of them work so hard and the murderer just thumbs his nose at them.”
“It’s crazy.” Emily climbed down off the chair and began helping Lacy gather up the sewing supplies. “At first I was terrified. Well, I guess I’m still terrified, but honestly, I’m also angry.” She patted Lacy’s shoulder. “Anyway, I’m not going to let the killer or the weather get me down. The weather is going to hold, the road will open and you’ll have a beautiful wedding, without my fashion faux pas spoiling the day.”
“I hope you’re right and everyone I invited can be here,” Lacy said.
“Who in the wedding party is still missing?” Emily asked.
“Paige Riddell. She recently moved to Denver with her boyfriend, Rob Allerton.”
“Of course.” Paige had run a bed-and-breakfast in town prior to moving away. “I never knew her well, but she seemed really nice.”
“She is nice. And I really want her here for my wedding. But you can’t fight nature, I guess, so we’re going to make do no matter what.” She turned to Emily. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done to help,” she said. “Not just with the wedding preparations, but all the work you’ve put into entertaining the wedding guests who are already here. I forget that the weather has forced you to put your own life on hold, too.”
Like everyone else who had been in town when the first blizzard struck, Emily had been stuck in Eagle Mountain for most of the past month. “The first few weeks I was on my winter break,” she said. She was working on her master’s at Colorado State University and was employed by the university as a teaching assistant and researcher. “It’s just the last ten days that I’ve missed. Fortunately, the university has been very understanding, letting me complete some of my coursework and research online, delaying some other work and arranging for another researcher to teach my undergrad class until I get back.”
“I’m glad,” Lacy said. “Can you imagine having to delay your master’s degree because of snow?”
“Snow has its upsides, too,” Emily said. “That sleigh ride last week was a blast, and I’m looking forward to the bonfire Wednesday.”
“Every party you’ve thrown has been a big success,” Lacy said. “I’m sure most brides don’t entertain their guests so lavishly.”
“Well, everything has gone well except the scavenger hunt,” Emily said. “I wouldn’t call that a success.”
“It’s not your fault Fiona was murdered during the party.” Lacy hugged herself and shuddered. “I thought for sure Travis would catch the killer after that—he was so close, right here on the ranch.”
Just like that, the conversation turned back to the Ice Cold Killer as the two friends remembered each of his victims—some of them locals they had known, a few tourists or newcomers they had never had a chance to meet. But every person who had fallen victim to the killer had been young and female, like Emily and Lacy. They didn’t have to say it, but they were both keenly aware that they might have been one of the killer’s victims—or they still might be.
Emily was relieved when the door to the sunroom, where they were working, opened and Bette Fuller, one of Lacy’s best friends and the caterer for the wedding, breezed in. Blonde and curvy, Bette always lit up the room, and today she was all smiles. “Rainey just got back from town and she says the highway is open.” Bette hugged Lacy. “I know this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“Is Rainey sure?” Lacy asked.
“Rainey isn’t one for spreading rumors or telling lies,” Emily said. The ranch cook was even more stone-faced and tight-lipped than Travis. Emily looked down at the dress she was wearing, now bristling with pins and marks made with tailor’s chalk. “Maybe I won’t have to wear this old thing after all.”
“Rainey said there was a line of delivery trucks coming into town,” Bette said. “Which is a good thing, since the stores are low on everything.”
“I’m going to call Paige and tell her and Rob to drop everything and drive over right now—before another avalanche closes the road,” Lacy said. “And I need to check with the florist and look at the tracking for the bridesmaids’ dresses and the wedding favors and the guest book I ordered, too.”
“I can help you with some of that,” Bette said.
“You two go on,” Emily said. “I’ll finish cleaning up in here.” The prom dress—pins and all—could go back in the closet. If she was lucky, she’d never have to put it on again.
As she gathered up the clutter from around the room, she thought of all the work that went into weddings. This was only her second time serving as a bridesmaid, and she was looking forward to the ceremony, though she was a little nervous, too. Mostly, she hoped she wouldn’t get too emotional. Weddings were supposed to be hopeful occasions, but they always made her a little melancholy, wondering what her own wedding would have been like—and how different her life might have turned out if she had accepted the one proposal she had had.
Who was she kidding? If she had agreed to marry that man, it would have been a disaster. She had been far too young for marriage, and he certainly hadn’t been ready to settle down, no matter what he said. At least she had had sense enough to see that.
She was stowing the last of the sewing supplies and looking forward to changing back into jeans and a sweater when the door to the sunroom opened again and a man entered, obscured from the waist up by a tower of brown boxes. “I met the UPS driver on the way in and he asked me to drop these off,” said a deep, velvety voice that sent a hot tremor up Emily’s spine and made her wonder if she was hallucinating. “Whoever answered the door told me to bring them back here.”
“Thanks.” Emily hurried to relieve the man of his burdens, then almost dropped the boxes as she came face-to-face with Brodie Langtry.
The man who had once proposed to her. She felt unsteady on her feet, seeing him here in this house again after so long. And if she was upset, her family was going to be furious.
“Hello, Emily.” He grinned, his full lips curving over even, white teeth, eyes sparking with a blatant sex appeal that sent a bolt of remembered heat straight through her. “You’re looking well.” A single furrow creased his brow. “Though I have to ask—what is that you’re wearing?”
She looked down at the prom dress, the hem lopped off and bristling with pins, one ruffle hanging loose where Lacy had started to detach it. She looked back up at Brodie, feeling a little like she had been hit on the head and was still reeling from the blow. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
“As it happens, the Colorado Bureau of Investigation sent me here to help your brother with a case,” he said. “I hear you’ve got a serial murderer problem.”
“Does Travis know you’re coming?” Her brother hadn’t said anything to her. Then again, he was probably trying to spare her feelings.
“He requested assistance from the CBI, though he doesn’t know it’s me. Is that going to be a problem?”
She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”
“It’s been five years, Emily,” he said.
Right. But it might have been five minutes for all the pain that was twisting her stomach. She hadn’t expected to react like this. She was supposed to be over Brodie. “You never answered my letter,” she said.
The crease across his brow deepened. “You sent me a letter?”
“You mean you don’t even remember?” The words came out louder than she had intended, and she forced herself to lower her voice. “I tried calling, but your number had been changed. Travis found out you’d been transferred to Pueblo, so I wrote to you there.”
He shook his head. “I never received your letter. Why did you write?”
Did he really not know? She pressed her hand to her stomach, hoping she wasn’t going to be sick. This was too awful. “It doesn’t matter now.” She turned away and tried to make her voice light. “Like you said, it was five years ago. I’m sure Travis will appreciate your help with the case.” Her brother was nothing if not a professional.
Brodie was silent, though she could feel his eyes boring into her. She began looking through the stack of packages. “I’ll ask again,” he said after a moment. “What is that you’re wearing?”
“It’s a prom dress,” she managed.
“Isn’t it the wrong time of year for prom? And aren’t you in graduate school?”
Her eyes widened and she froze in the act of reaching for a package. “How did you know I’m in graduate school?”
“I might have checked up on you a time or two. They don’t have proms in graduate school, do they?”
He’d checked up on her. Should she be flattered, or creeped out? “It’s the new thing. Haven’t you heard?” She continued scanning the labels on the boxes. She picked up the one that surely held her bridesmaid’s dress. Maybe instead of stuffing the prom dress back into her closet, she’d burn it at Wednesday night’s bonfire. That would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?
“What is all this?” Brodie swept his hand to indicate the piles of boxes, bits of tulle, sewing supplies, silk flowers and other flotsam piled around the room. “Are you getting ready for a big party?”
“Travis is getting married on Sunday,” Emily said. “I guess you didn’t know.” Then again, why would he? He and Travis had stopped being friends five years ago.
“No, I didn’t know. Good for him. Who’s the lucky woman?”
“Her name is Lacy Milligan. I’m sure you don’t know her.”
“No, but I know of her. Now it’s coming back to me.” He grinned. “Lacy is the woman Travis arrested for murder—then after new evidence came to light, he worked to clear her name. I remember the story now, though I didn’t know a wedding was in the offing.”
It hadn’t taken long for the media to latch onto the story of a wrongly accused woman falling in love with the law enforcement officer who had sent her to prison in the first place, then worked to clear her name. Most of the state was probably familiar with the story by now, but Emily didn’t want to discuss it with Brodie. “Travis is at his office in town,” she said, deciding it was past time to send Brodie on his way. “It’s on Main. You can’t miss it.”
Before he could answer, her cell phone buzzed and she grabbed it off a nearby table. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Travis’s greeting was casual, but his voice carried the tension that never left him these days. “I was trying to get hold of Lacy, but I can’t get through on her phone.”
“I think she’s talking to Paige, letting her know the highway is open.”
“She’s terrible about checking her messages, so do me a favor and tell her I’m not going to be able to take her to dinner today. I’m sorry, but we’ve had a break in the case.”
Emily’s heart leaped. “Have you made an arrest?”
“Not exactly, but we know who the killers are. One of them is dead, but the other is still on the loose.”
“A second murderer?” Travis had long suspected the Ice Cold Killer might be more than one man. If he had caught one of the killers, surely that meant he was closing in on the second. Maybe the case would be solved before the wedding after all. “Lacy will be glad to hear it,” Emily said.
“Maybe not so glad when you tell her I have to miss dinner. I need to focus on tracking down the second man.”
Which meant he probably wouldn’t be home to sleep, either. “Travis, you can’t keep working around the clock like this.”
“We’re going to get some help. The Colorado Bureau of Investigation has agreed to loan us one of their investigators. Now that the road is open, he—or she—should be showing up anytime.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Brodie, who was looking out the window. The past five years had been kind to him, filling out his shoulders, adding a few fine lines around his eyes. He wore his hair a little longer than when she’d last seen him, and sunlight through the window picked out the gold streaks in the brown. Add in chiseled cheekbones, a dimpled chin and a straight nose and it was no wonder he could be mistaken for a model or a movie star.
As if sensing her staring at him, he turned and met her gaze, then cocked one eyebrow, lips half-curved in a mocking smile.
“Emily? Are you still there?” Travis asked.
“Um, your help from the CBI is here,” she said. “It’s Brodie Langtry.” Not waiting to hear Travis’s reaction, she thrust the phone at Brodie. It’s Travis,she mouthed.
Brodie took the phone. “Travis! It’s been a long time. I’m looking forward to working with you on this case…Yes, I volunteered for the job. To tell you the truth, I thought it was past time we mended fences. I know we didn’t part under the best of circumstances five 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.

Chapter Two (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
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 she wasn’t killed that long ago.”
Travis walked around the Jeep, studying it closely. “Before, Alex and Tim—the killers—always left the victims in their own vehicles.”
“Except Fiona Winslow, who was killed at the scavenger hunt on your family’s ranch.” Brodie had familiarized himself with all the information Travis had sent to the CBI.
“They broke their pattern with Fiona because they were sending a message,” Travis said. “Taunting me. I think Alex is doing the same thing with this Jeep. He knows that we know it’s the vehicle he was driving until recently.”
“Do you think he’s driving this woman’s car now?” Brodie asked.
Travis shook his head. “That seems too obvious to me, but maybe, if he hasn’t found another vehicle. He thinks he’s smarter than we are, always one step ahead, but we know who he is now. It won’t be as easy to hide. And it will be harder for him to kill alone, too. He’s going to make mistakes. I can see it with this woman.”
“What do you see?” Reading the case files Travis had emailed was no substitute for eyewitness experience.
“The woman’s feet aren’t bound. The others were. Maybe that’s because he didn’t have time, or without Tim’s help he couldn’t manage it.” He moved closer to look into the car once more. “The collar of her fur coat is torn. I think she struggled and tried to fight him off. Maybe she marked him.”
“The others didn’t have time to put up a fight,” Brodie said, recalling the case notes.
Travis opened the door and leaned into the car, being careful not to touch anything. With gloved hands, he felt gingerly around the edge of the seat and along the dash. When he withdrew and straightened, he held a small rectangle of card stock in his hand, the words ICE COLD printed across the front. “He’s following his pattern of leaving the card,” Brodie said.
“He doesn’t want there to be any doubt about who’s responsible,” Travis said. He pulled out an evidence envelope and sealed the card inside. “It’s another way to thumb his nose at us.”
They turned at the sound of an approaching vehicle, or rather, a caravan of two sheriff’s department SUVs and a black Jeep, traveling slowly up the snow-packed road. The vehicles parked on the opposite side of the road and two deputies and an older man bundled in a heavy coat got out.
“Hello, Gage,” Brodie greeted one of the deputies, Travis’s brother, Gage Walker.
“You’re about the last person I expected to see here,” Gage said. He seemed puzzled, but not unfriendly, and, unlike his brother, was willing to shake Brodie’s hand. “Typical of CBI to show up when we have the case half-solved.”
“Dwight Prentice.” The second deputy, a tall, rangy blond, offered his hand and Brodie shook it.
“And this is Butch Collins, the county medical examiner.” Travis introduced the older man, who nodded and moved on to the car. His face paled when he looked into the vehicle.
“Something wrong?” Travis asked, hurrying to the older man’s side.
Collins shook his head. “I know her, that’s all.” He cleared his throat. “Lynn Wallace. She sings in the choir at my church.”
“Do you know what kind of car she drives?” Brodie asked, joining them.
Collins stared at him, then back at the Jeep. “This isn’t her car?”
“It was stolen from a local vacation home two days ago,” Travis said. “We think the killer might have been driving it.”
“I don’t know what kind of car Lynn drove,” Collins said. “Only that she was a lovely woman with a beautiful soprano voice. She didn’t deserve this. But then, none of them did.” He straightened his shoulders. “Are you ready for me to look at her?”
“Give us a few seconds to process the outside of the car, then you can have a look.” Travis motioned to Gage and Dwight, who moved forward.
Travis indicated Brodie should follow him. “I need you to get to work on identifying Lynn Wallace’s vehicle,” he said. “I think Alex will ditch it as soon as he can, but he might not have had a chance yet. You can use my office.”
“Tell me what you know about Alex,” Brodie said.
“Alex Woodruff. A college student at the Colorado State University—or he was until recently. He doesn’t have any priors, at least under that name, and that’s the only name I’ve found for him.”
“Emily goes to the Colorado State University, doesn’t she?” Brodie asked. Knowing he was coming to Eagle Mountain, he’d checked her Facebook page. “Do they know each other?”
The lines around Travis’s mouth tightened. “She says he participated in a research study she and her colleagues conducted, but they weren’t friends, just acquaintances.”
“What brought him to Eagle Mountain?”
“He and Tim supposedly came here to ice climb over their winter break and got stuck here when blizzards closed the highway. They were staying at an aunt’s vacation cabin until recently.”
“I’ll get right on the search for the car,” Brodie said. As he walked to his SUV, he considered the connection between Alex Woodruff and Emily Walker. His work investigating crimes had taught him to be skeptical of coincidence, but until he had further proof, he wasn’t going to add to Travis’s concerns by voicing the worry that now filled his mind. What if the thing that had brought Alex and Tim to Eagle Mountain wasn’t ice climbing—but Emily?

Chapter Three (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
“Thank you, Professor. That would be so helpful. I’ll review everything and be ready to discuss it when I see you next week after the wedding.” Emily hung up the phone and mentally checked off one more item on her Tuesday to-do list. All her professors had agreed to excuse her for another week so that she could help with the preparations for Travis and Lacy’s wedding. Though she could have made the six-hour drive back to Fort Collins to attend a few classes and try to catch up on all she had missed while stranded by the snow, the last thing she wanted was for the road to close again, forcing her to miss the wedding.
Instead, someone in her department had volunteered to make the drive out here to deliver files for Emily to review. She had protested that it was ridiculous to make such a long drive, but apparently more than one person had been eager for the excuse to get off campus for a while. The risk of getting stranded in Eagle Mountain if another storm system rolled in had only heightened the appeal.
She moved on to the next item on her list. She needed to check on her horse, Witchy. The mare had developed inflammation in one leg shortly after the first of the year and veterinarian Darcy Marsh had prescribed a course of treatment that appeared to be working, but Emily was supposed to exercise her lightly each day and check that there was no new swelling. Slipping on her barn coat—the same one she had worn as a teenager—she headed out the door and down the drive to the horse barn. Sunlight shimmered on the snow that covered everything like a starched white sheet. Every breath stung her nose, reminding her that temperatures hovered in the twenties. She still marveled that it could be so cold when the sun shone so brightly overhead, giving the air a clean, lemony light.
The barn’s interior presented a sharp contrast to the outside world, its atmosphere warm from the breath of animals and smelling of a not-unpleasant mixture of molasses, hay and manure. A plaintive meow! greeted Emily, and a gray-striped cat trotted toward her, the cat’s belly swollen with kittens soon to be born. “Aww, Tawny.” Emily bent and gently stroked the cat, who started up a rumbling purr and leaned against Emily’s legs. “It won’t be long now, will it?” Emily crooned, feeling the kittens shift beneath her hand. She’d have to make sure Tawny had a warm, comfortable place to give birth.
She straightened and several of the family’s horses poked their heads over the tops of their stalls. Witchy, in an end stall on the left-hand side, whinnied softly and stamped against the concrete floor of her stall.
Emily slipped into the stall and greeted Witchy, patting her neck, then bent to examine the bandaged front pastern. It no longer felt hot or swollen, though Darcy had recommended wrapping it for a few weeks longer to provide extra support. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. For a brief period during her childhood, she had considered studying to be a veterinarian, but had quickly ruled out any job that required dealing with animals’ suffering.
“Are you contemplating climbing down out of your ivory tower and hiring on as the newest ranch hand?”
Emily froze as Brodie’s oh-so-familiar teasing tone and velvety voice flowed around her like salted caramel—both sweet and biting. She was aware of her position, bent over with her backside facing the stall door, where she sensed him standing. She turned her head, and sure enough, Brodie had leaned over the top half of the stall door, grinning, the cat cradled in his arms.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she released her hold on the horse’s leg and straightened. “Brodie, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He stroked the cat under the chin. Tawny closed her eyes and purred even louder. Emily had an uncomfortable memory of Brodie stroking her—eliciting a response not unlike that of the cat. “I was looking for you,” he said. “Someone told me you’re in charge of a bonfire and barbecue here Wednesday.”
“Yes.” She took a lead rope from a peg just outside the stall door and clipped it onto Witchy’s halter. The mare regarded her with big gold-brown eyes like warm honey. “What about it?”
“I was hoping to wrangle an invite, since I’m staying on the ranch. It would be awkward if I felt the need to lock myself in my cabin for the evening.”
She slid back the latch on the door and pushed it open, forcing Brodie to stand aside, then led the mare out. “I have to exercise Witchy,” she said.
He gave the cat a last pat, then set her gently aside and fell into step beside Emily, matching his long strides to her own shorter ones. “I didn’t realize you were staying at the ranch,” she said. He hadn’t been at dinner last night, but then, neither had Travis. The two men had been working on the case. Frankly, she was shocked her parents had invited Brodie to stay. They certainly had no love lost for him, after what had happened between him and Emily.
“When the CBI agreed to send an investigator to help with the Ice Cold Killer case, Travis asked your parents if they could provide a place for the officer to stay. They were kind enough to offer up one of their guest cabins.”
“Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you in town?” she asked.
“There aren’t any rooms in town,” Brodie said. “They’re all full of people stranded here by the road closure. I imagine that will change now that the avalanches have been cleared and it’s safe to travel again, but in the meantime, your folks were gracious enough to let me stay.” He fell silent, but she could feel his eyes on her, heating her neck and sending prickles of awareness along her arms. “Does it bother you, having me here?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
She led Witchy out of the barn, along a fenced passage to a covered arena. Brodie moved forward to open the gate for her. “Are you going to ride her?” he asked.
Emily shook her head. “She’s still recovering from an injury. But I need to walk her around the arena for a few laps.”
“I’ll walk with you.” He didn’t bother asking permission—men like Brodie didn’t ask. He wasn’t cruel or demanding or even particularly arrogant. He just accepted what people—women—had always given him—attention, time, sex. All he had to do was smile and flash those sea-blue eyes and most women would give him anything he wanted.
She had been like that, too, so she understood the magnetism of the man. But she wasn’t that adoring girl anymore, and she knew to be wary. “Of course you can come to the bonfire,” she said. “It’s really no big deal.”
She began leading the mare around the arena, watching the horse for any sign of pain or weakness, but very aware of the man beside her. “Tell me about Alex Woodruff,” he said.
The question startled her, so much that she stumbled. She caught herself and continued on as if nothing had happened. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”
“I’ve been reviewing all the case notes. He was here, at the scavenger hunt the day Fiona Winslow was killed.”
“Yes. He and his friend Tim were here. I invited them.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I knew the road closure had stranded them here and I felt sorry for them, stuck in a small town where they didn’t know many people. I figured the party would be something fun for them to do, and a way to meet some local people near their age.” She cut her gaze over to him. “Why are you asking me about Alex?”
He did that annoying thing Travis sometimes did, answering a question with a question. “You knew Alex and Tim from the university?”
“I didn’t really know them.” She stopped and bent to run her hand down Witchy’s leg, feeling for any warmth or swelling or sign of inflammation. “They both signed up as volunteers for research we were doing. Lots of students do. Most of the studies only pay five to ten dollars, but the work isn’t hard and cash is cash to a broke student.”
“What kind of research?” Brodie asked.
She straightened and looked him in the eye. She loved her work and could talk about it with almost anyone. If she talked long enough, maybe he’d get bored and leave. “I’m studying behavioral economics. It’s sort of a melding of traditional psychology and economics. We look at how people make the buying decisions they make and why. Almost every choice has a price attached to it, and it can be interesting what motivates people to act one way versus another.”
“How did Alex and Tim hear about your experiments?”
“We have flyers all over campus, and on social media.” She shrugged. “They were both psychology majors, so I think the research appealed to them. I ran into Alex in a coffee shop on campus two days later and he had a lot of intelligent questions about what we were doing.”
“Maybe he had studied so he’d have questions prepared so he could keep you talking,” Brodie said. “Maybe he was flirting with you.”
“Oh, please.” She didn’t hide her scorn for this idea. “He was not flirting. If anything, he was showing off.”
One eyebrow rose a scant quarter inch—enough to make him look even cockier than usual. “Showing off is some men’s idea of flirting.”
“You would know about that, wouldn’t you?”
His wicked grin sent a current of heat through her. “When you’re good, it’s not showing off,” he said.
She wished she was the kind of woman who had a snappy comeback for a line like that, but it was taking all her concentration to avoid letting him see he was getting to her. So instead of continuing to flirt, she started forward with the horse once more and changed the subject. “Are you going to be able to help Travis catch the Ice Cold Killer?” she asked.
Brodie’s expression sobered. Yes, nothing like a serial murderer to dampen the libido. “I’m going to do my best,” he said. “We know who we’re looking for now—we just have to find him.”
She managed not to stumble this time, but she did turn to look at him. “You know who the killer is?”
He frowned. “Travis didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t seen Travis in several days. He’s either working or spending time with Lacy. He told me on the phone that one of the men he thought was involved is dead, but that there was another one he was after.”
Brodie said nothing.
She stopped and faced him. “Tell me who it is,” she said. “You know I won’t go talking to the press.”
“The man who died was Tim Dawson,” Brodie said.
All the breath went out of her as this news registered. “Then the other man is Alex Woodruff.” She grabbed his arm. “That’s why you were asking me about him. But he and Tim left town when the road opened briefly a couple of weeks ago. Travis said so.”
“They moved out of the cabin where they were staying, but now Travis believes they stayed in the area. If you have any idea where Alex might be hiding, or what he’s likely to do next, you need to tell me.” She released her hold on him and stepped back, the mare’s warm bulk reassuring. If her suddenly weak legs gave out, she’d have the animal to grab on to. “I hardly know him,” she said. “But a serial killer? Why would a smart, good-looking guy from a well-off family want to murder a bunch of women he doesn’t even know?” And how could she have spent time with Alex and Tim and not seen that kind of evil in them?
“You’re more likely to have an answer for that than I do,” Brodie said. “You’re conducting a lot of research on human behavior and motivation. Didn’t you do one study on what motivates people to break rules or to cheat?”
“What did you do—run a background check on me? That’s creepy.”
“All I did was look at your public Facebook page,” he said. “And there’s nothing creepy about it. I knew I was coming here and I wanted to see how you were doing—as a friend. I guess you never did the same for me.”
She couldn’t keep color from flooding her cheeks. She had, in fact, perused Brodie’s Facebook page more than once, as well as Googling his name for tidbits of information. Not because she still felt anything for him, simply because she was curious. “All right,” she said. “As long as you’re not being a creep.”
“Such technical language from a psychologist.”
“Behavioral economics is different,” she said. “There’s psychology involved, of course, but nothing that would give me insight into the mind of a serial killer.”
“I think you’re wrong,” he said. “I think you probably can tell us things we don’t know about Alex Woodruff. You’ve always been smart about people.”
I wasn’t smart about you. She bit her lip to hold back the words. “I’m sure the CBI has profilers who specialize in this kind of thing,” she said.
“Yes, but they don’t know Alex, and they don’t know Eagle Mountain. You do.”
She searched his face, trying to read his expression. He was focused on her in that intense way he had—a way that made her feel like she was the only person in the world he wanted to be with right this second. “What do you want from me?” she asked.
“I want you to think about Alex, and about this area, and see if you can come up with any ideas that might help us.”
She shook her head. “I think you’re grasping at straws. You need to consult a professional.”
“We will. You’re just another avenue for us to explore. You never know in a case like this what might be the key to a solution.”
“Does Travis know you’re asking me to help?”
“No, but I can’t see why he’d object. I’m not asking you to do anything dangerous.”
She nodded. “All right. I don’t think it will do any good, but I’ll think about it and see what I can come up with.”
He clapped her on the shoulder. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
How had he known he could count on her? But she couldn’t ask the question. He was already striding out of the arena, his boots making neat prints in the raked dirt.
Brodie had to know she would do anything to help her brother. If Travis had asked her for help with the case, she wouldn’t have hesitated. That she was less willing to cooperate with Brodie probably said more about her feelings for him than she cared to admit.
Never mind. She would try to come up with some ideas about Alex and—with her help or not—Travis and Brodie would catch him and put him in jail for a long time.
Then she could go back to her normal life, with no serial killers—and no former lovers—to unsettle her.


“YOUR SISTER HAS agreed to serve as a consultant on the case.”
Travis was so even-keeled and unemotional that Brodie considered it a personal challenge to attempt to get a reaction from him. He’d scored a hit with this announcement.
Travis looked up from the file he’d been studying, eyes sparking with annoyance. “What could Emily possibly contribute to the case?” he asked.
Brodie moved out of the doorway where he’d been standing and dropped into one of the two chairs in front of Travis’s desk. The small office was spartan in appearance, with only a laptop and an inch-high stack of papers on Travis’s desk, and a few family photographs and citations on the walls. Brodie’s own desk at CBI headquarters in Denver was crammed with so many books, files and photographs his coworkers had hinted that it might be a fire hazard. But hey, the clutter worked for him. “Emily knows Alex Woodruff and she’s studied psychology,” he said. “She can give us insights into his character and what he’s likely to do next.”
“She’s an economics major—not a profiler.”
“We’ll still consult the CBI profiler,” Brodie said. “But I think Emily will come to this with fresh eyes. Besides, she knows this county almost as well as you do. She might be able to give us some new ideas about places to look for him.”
Travis shook his head. “He’s probably left the county by now. The highway is open, and he has to know we’re on his trail. A smart man would be halfway to Mexico by now.”
“You and I both know criminals rarely behave the way most people would. Alex may be smart, but he’s arrogant, too. He’s been taunting you, leaving those business cards, killing a woman on your family ranch, going after one of your deputies. He still thinks he can beat you.”
“Maybe.” Travis fixed Brodie with a stare that had probably caused more than one felon to shake in his shoes. “This isn’t some scheme you’ve come up with in order for you to spend more time with Emily, is it?” he asked. “Because I’m not going to stand by and let that happen again.”
“Let what happen?” Brodie had a strong sense of déjà vu. He recalled another conversation with Travis that had begun like this, five years ago, when his friend—only a deputy then—had accused him of trying to seduce Emily.
“Emily really hurt when the two of you broke things off,” Travis said. “It took a long time for her to get over you. I don’t want her to have to go through that again.”
Brodie bristled. “She’s the one who ended it, not me.”
“You must have had something to do with it.”
Brodie ground his teeth together. He did not want to argue about this with Travis. “I didn’t come here to get back together with your sister,” he said. “I came to help with this case. I asked Emily to consult because I think she’s another resource we can draw on.”
Travis uncrossed his arms, and the tension around his mouth eased. “Fair enough. I won’t rule out anything that might help us catch Alex Woodruff. Speaking of that, have you had any luck tracking down Lynn Wallace’s car?”
“Not yet. She drove a white Volvo.” Brodie opened his phone and read the license plate number from his notes. “Nothing flashy. Fairly common. Easy to hide.”
“Right. I’ll put my deputies on the lookout.” He turned to a map pinned to the wall of his office. Pins showed the locations where each of the Ice Cold Killer’s seven victims had been found. “Alex and Tim working together concentrated the murders in three areas,” he said. “Christy O’Brien and Anita Allbritton were killed within Eagle Mountain town limits. Kelly Farrow and Michaela Underwood were both murdered in the area around Dixon Pass and the national forest service land near there. Fiona Winslow, Lauren Grenado and Lynn Wallace were all killed within a couple of miles of the Walking W ranch.” Travis indicated a third grouping of pins on the map.
“Does that tell us anything about where Alex might be hiding now?” Brodie asked.
Travis pointed to a red pin on County Road Five. “We know Tim and Alex were staying at Tim’s aunt’s cabin, here, when the first three murders took place. They spent some time in a vacation home here.” He indicated another pin. “And they may have been at this summer cabin in the national forest, here, for the other murders. Now—who knows?”
A tapping on the door frame interrupted them. Both men turned to see office manager Adelaide Kinkaid, a sixtysomething woman who wore what looked like red monkeys dangling from her earlobes, and a flowing red-and-purple tunic over black slacks. “We just got word that a fresh slide on Dixon Pass sent one vehicle over the edge and buried two others,” she said. “Fortunately, they were able to dig everyone out pretty quickly, but the road is closed until they can clear up the mess.”
Brodie groaned. “How many delivery trucks do you suppose got caught on the wrong side of this one?” he asked.
“Probably about as many as were able to leave town when the road opened,” Adelaide said. “Everyone is just trading places.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Brodie said. “You do seem to know everything.” He leaned toward her. “Are those monkey earrings?”
“Yes.” She tapped one earring with a red-painted fingernail. “Do you like them?”
“Only you could pull off a look like that, Adelaide,” Brodie said, grinning.
She swatted his shoulder. “You’re the kind of man I always warned my daughters about.”
“What kind is that?”
“Too smart and good-looking for your own good. The kind of man who’s oblivious to the broken hearts he leaves behind.”
“Adelaide, Brodie is here as a fellow law enforcement officer,” Travis said. “He deserves our respect.”
“I’m sure he’s a sterling officer,” Adelaide said. “And a fine man all around. Just not marriage material—which is probably okay with him.” She grinned, then turned to Travis. “And speaking of marriages, don’t you have a tux fitting to see to?”
Color rose in the sheriff’s cheeks. “I don’t need you to keep track of my schedule, Addie,” he said. “Right now I have a case to work on.”
“You always have a case to work on,” Adelaide said. “You only have one wedding.” She whirled and stalked away.
Brodie settled back in his chair once more. “Do you have a tux fitting?” he asked.
“I canceled it.”
“Unless you’re going to get married in your uniform, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Travis scowled at Brodie. “They have my measurements. They don’t need me.” His phone rang and he answered it. “Hello?”
He listened for a moment, then said, “I’ve got Brodie in the office. I’m going to put you on speaker.” He punched the keypad. “All right. Say that again.”
“I’ve got what looks like another victim of the Ice Cold Killer,” Deputy Dwight Prentice said. “Taped up, throat cut, left in her car near the top of Dixon Pass. Only, she’s still alive. The ambulance is on its way.”
Travis was already standing. “So are we,” he said.

Chapter Four (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
The woman—a once-pretty brunette, her skin bleached of color and her hair matted with blood—stared up at them, glassy-eyed, her lips moving, but no sound coming out. “You’re safe now,” Brodie said, leaning over her. “We’re going to take care of you.” He stepped back as the EMTs moved in to transfer the woman to a waiting gurney.
“We’ve already called for a helicopter,” the older of the two paramedics said. “I think this is more than the clinic in Eagle Mountain can handle. They’ve agreed to meet us at the ball fields, where it’s open enough for them to land.”
Brodie’s gaze shifted to the woman again. She had closed her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps. He wanted to grab her hand and encourage her to hang on, but he needed to move out of the way and let the paramedics do their job.
Travis, who had been talking to Dwight and highway patrolman Ryder Stewart, motioned for Brodie to join them. “Her name is Denise Switcher,” Ryder said. “We found her driver’s license in the purse on the passenger floorboard, and the registration on the car matches. Her address is in Fort Collins.”
“Did she say anything about what happened?” Brodie asked.
“I don’t think she can talk,” Dwight said. “One of the EMTs said the vocal chords may be damaged.”
Brodie winced. “How is it she’s still alive?”
“I don’t know,” Travis said. “But I hope she stays that way.” He nodded to Dwight. “You must have come along right after it happened. Did you see anything or anyone who might have been Alex?”
“No.” Dwight hooked his thumbs over his utility belt and stared toward the EMTs bent over the woman. “A trucker who was pulled over taking off his tire chains flagged me down and said he spotted a car on the side of the road near the top of the pass. He didn’t see anyone in it, but thought maybe I’d want to check.” Dwight pulled a notebook from inside his leather coat. “Gary Ellicott. He was delivering groceries to Eagle Mountain and somehow missed that the road had been closed again. When he got to the barricades, he had to back down a ways before he could turn around. He thinks about fifteen minutes had passed between the time he spotted the car and when he talked to me.”
“I don’t think she was lying there very long,” Brodie said. “A wound like that bleeds fast.” If much more time had passed, she would have bled to death.
“The road closed seventy-five minutes ago,” Ryder said. “There was a lot of traffic up here and it took maybe half an hour to clear out. If the killer was cutting her throat then, someone would have seen.”
“So this most likely happened between thirty and forty-five minutes ago,” Brodie said.
“But he would have had to have stopped the car before the road closed,” Travis said. “The car is on the southbound side of the road, headed toward town. That seems to indicate she was arriving, not leaving.”
“We’ll need to find out if she was staying in town,” Brodie said. “Maybe she has family in Eagle Mountain, was leaving and, like the truck driver, had to turn around because of the barricade.”
“If this is Alex’s work and not a copycat, that means he didn’t leave town,” Travis said.
The paramedics shut the door of the ambulance and hurried to the cab. Siren wailing, they pulled away, headed back toward town. “Let’s take a look,” Travis said, and led the way to the car, a gray Nissan sedan with Colorado plates. It was parked up against a six-foot berm of plowed snow, so close it was impossible to open the passenger side door. The snow around the vehicle had been churned by the footsteps of the paramedics and cops, to the point that no one shoe impression was discernable. “I took photographs of the scene before I approached,” Dwight said. “But I can tell you there weren’t any footprints. If I had to guess, I’d say the killer used a rake or shovel to literally cover his tracks.”
Brodie continued to study the roadside. “I don’t see any other tire impressions,” he said.
“He could have parked on the pavement,” Ryder said.
“Or he could have been on foot,” Travis said.
“It’s four miles from town up a half-dozen switchbacks,” Ryder said. “That’s a long way to walk. Someone would have noticed.”
“Not if he stayed behind the snow.” Travis kicked steps into the snowbank and scrambled to the top and looked down. “There’s a kind of path stomped out over here.”
Brodie climbed up beside him and stared down at the narrow trail. “It might be an animal trail.”
“It might be. Or it could be how Alex made his way up to this point without being seen. Then he stepped out in the road and flagged down Denise and pretended to be a stranded motorist.”
“How did he know the driver was a woman by herself?” Brodie asked.
“He could have studied approaching traffic with binoculars.”
The two men descended once more to the others beside the car. “Why would any woman stop for him, knowing there’s a killer on the loose?” Dwight asked.
“She was from Fort Collins,” Travis said. “I don’t know how much press these murders have been getting over there. It wouldn’t be front-page news or the top story on a newscast.”
“He’s right,” Brodie said. “I’ve seen a few articles in the Denver papers, but not much. It would be easy to miss.”
“Alex is a good-looking young man,” Travis said. “Clean-cut, well dressed. If he presented himself as a stranded motorist, stuck in the cold far from town, most people would be sympathetic.”
“Maybe he dressed as a woman, the way Tim did when they were working together,” Dwight said. “People would be even more likely to stop for a woman.”
“Alex and Tim were both amateur actors, right?” Brodie asked, trying to recall information from the reports he had read.
“Yeah,” Ryder said. “And we know that, at least a few times, Tim dressed as a woman who was trying to escape an abusive boyfriend or husband. He flagged down another woman and asked for help, then Alex moved in to attack. One woman was able to escape and described the scenario for us.”
Travis pulled on a pair of gloves, then opened the driver’s-side door. He leaned in and came out with a woman’s purse—black leather with a gold clasp. He pulled out the wallet and scanned the ID, then flipped through the credit cards until he came to a slim white card with an embossed photograph of a smiling brunette—Denise Switcher. “Looks like she worked at Colorado State University,” he said.
The hair rose on the back of Brodie’s neck. “Emily’s school,” he said. He didn’t like another connection to Emily in this case.
“Alex’s school.” Travis slid the card back into the wallet. “I wonder if he chose her because he recognized her.”
“That might have made her more likely to stop to help him out,” Dwight said.
Travis returned the wallet to the purse and rifled through the rest of the contents. Expression grim, he pulled out a white business card, the words ICE COLD in black ink printed on one side.
The card taunted them—a reminder that, yes, they knew who attacked Denise Switcher, but they weren’t any closer to catching him than they had ever been.
They were still silently contemplating the card when Travis’s phone rang. He listened for a moment, then ended the call. “That was one of the paramedics,” he said. “Denise Switcher coded before Flight for Life arrived. She’s dead.”
Brodie silently cursed the waste of a young woman’s life, as well as their best chance to learn more about Alex’s methods and motives. He turned to walk back toward the sheriff’s department vehicle, but drew up short as a red Jeep skidded to a stop inches in front of him. The driver’s door flew open and Emily stumbled out. “Is it true? Did the killer really get Denise?” she demanded, looking wildly around.
Brodie hurried to her. She wore only leggings and a thin sweater and tennis shoes, and was already shivering in the biting cold. He shrugged out of his jacket. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
She waved off his attempts to put his jacket around her. “You have to tell me. That ambulance I passed—was it Denise? Does that mean she’s still alive?”
Travis joined them. “Emily, you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“I was in the Cake Walk Café, waiting. Then Tammy Patterson came in and said she heard from a source at the sheriff’s department that the Ice Cold Killer had attacked another woman. I had the most awful feeling it was Denise.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on Travis, her expression pleading.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “It was Denise Switcher,” he said. “But how did you know?”
“Tammy said the woman was from Fort Collins. I was hoping that was just a coincidence, but…” She buried her face against Travis’s shoulder.
“Emily?” Brodie approached, his voice gentle. “What was Denise doing in Eagle Mountain?”
She raised her head and wiped away tears. “I’m sorry. I thought I said. She was coming to see me.”


BRODIE WORE WHAT Emily thought of as his cop face—grim determination and what felt like censure, as if he suspected her of withholding important information. She refused to give in to the temptation to cower against Travis, so she straightened and wiped the tears from her eyes.
Brodie, still scowling, thrust his jacket at her once more. “Put this on. You’re freezing.”
She would have liked nothing better than to refuse the offer, but the truth was, she was so cold she couldn’t stop shaking. She’d been so upset she had left her own coat behind at the café. She mutely accepted his jacket and slipped into it, his warmth enveloping her, along with the scent of him, clean and masculine.
“Why was Denise coming to see you?” Travis asked.
“The lead on the research project I’m involved in had some files he wanted me to review,” she said. “Denise volunteered to deliver them to me.”
“She drove six hours to deliver files?” Brodie asked. “Why didn’t they transmit them electronically? Or ask you to make the trip?”
“These are paper surveys students filled out,” she said. “And the professor had already agreed I should stay here in Eagle Mountain until after the wedding.” She hugged the coat more tightly around her. “Honestly, I don’t think he would have bothered, except Denise wanted to come. She said it was a great excuse to get out of the office and spend at least one night in the mountains.”
“The two of you were friends?” Travis asked.
She nodded, and bit the inside of her cheek to stave off the fresh wave of tears that threatened with that one change of verb tense—were. “She’s the administrative assistant in the economics department and she and I really hit it off. I’d told her so much about Eagle Mountain and the ranch that she was anxious to see it.” She swallowed hard. If Denise had stayed in Fort Collins, she’d be alive now.
“When did you talk to her last?” Travis asked.
“She called me when she stopped for gas in Gunnison, and we agreed to meet at the Cake Walk for lunch.”
“What time was that?” Brodie asked.
“About ten thirty.”
“Did Alex Woodruff know her?” Brodie asked.
Had Denise known her killer? Emily shuddered at the thought, then forced herself to focus on the question. “Maybe,” she said. “Students can register online to participate in various research studies, but they can also come into the office and fill out the paperwork there. If Alex did that, he would have met Denise. And a couple of times she’s helped check people in for studies.”
“So there’s a good chance he did know her,” Brodie said.
“Yes.” She glanced toward the gray Nissan. “What happened to her? I mean, I know she was killed, but why up here?”
“It’s possible Alex posed as a stranded motorist in need of a ride,” Travis said. “If your friend recognized him from school, do you think she would have stopped?”
Emily nodded. “Yes. Denise was always pitching in to help with fund-raisers or any extra work that needed to be done. She would have stopped to help someone, especially someone she knew.” Again, she struggled for composure. “I’m sure she has family in Denver. Someone will have to tell them.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Travis said.
She wanted to hug her brother. He had had to break the awful news to too many parents and spouses and siblings since the killings had begun. “Why is Alex doing this?” she asked.
“We’re hoping you can give us some insight into that,” Brodie said. “You might talk to some of the professors who knew him. We could call them, but they might be more inclined to open up to you. You’re one of them.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“You’re an academic,” he said. “You speak their language. I’m just a dumb cop.”
Under other circumstances, she might have laughed. Brodie was anything but dumb. But there was nothing funny about what had happened here today. “I’ll see what I can find out,” she said. “But I’m not promising I can help you.”
“We’d appreciate it if you’d try.” Travis patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friend, but I think you’d better go home now. There’s nothing you can do here.”
She nodded, and slipped off the jacket and held it out to Brodie. “You keep it,” he said. “I can get it tonight.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m getting back in my warm car, so I don’t need it.” And she didn’t want to give him an excuse for looking her up again later.
He took the jacket, then turned toward her Jeep, frowning. “You drove up here by yourself?” he said.
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be out driving by yourself,” he said. “Alex Woodruff targets women who are in their cars alone.”
“I’m not going to stop if he tries to flag me down,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”
“He knows that,” Brodie said. “He would use some subterfuge. He’s done it before.”
“Brodie’s right,” Travis said. “From now on, when you have to come to town, take someone else with you. And don’t pull over for anyone—no matter what.”
She stared at them, fear tightening her throat and making it hard to breathe. Of course she knew there was a killer preying on women. But it was hard to believe she was really in danger. That was probably what those other women had thought, too. She nodded. “All right,” she said. “I won’t go out alone, and I’ll be careful.”
Brodie followed her to the Jeep and waited while she climbed in. “I know you think Travis and I are overreacting,” he said. “But until this man is caught, you’re not going to be truly safe.”
“I know.” She didn’t like knowing it, but there was no use denying facts. For whatever reason, Alex Woodruff was targeting women who were alone—women in her age group. “I do take this very seriously,” she said. Having a brother who was sheriff and another brother who was a deputy didn’t make her immune from the danger.

Chapter Five (#ub3f277e0-5cc8-542e-906f-5c3a77de35ab)
Emily couldn’t shake a sense of guilt over Denise’s death. She could have refused her friend’s offer to bring the student surveys to her. She could have at least warned Denise to be careful, and made sure she knew about the serial killer who had been targeting women in the area. But she couldn’t change the past, and guilt wouldn’t bring Denise back to her. All Emily could do was to try to help Travis and his officers find Alex and stop him before he killed again.

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