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L aura knew her presence at Annabeth that evening was reassuring to people. She just wished she was able to reassure herself as she made a point of going from table to table.

For years, she’d watched her mother do this. The real Annabeth had exuded just the right mix of politeness, gratitude and grace to put even the most harried guest at ease. Laura tried to emulate that. She channeled her mother’s energy and hoped people bought the illusion.

Under the surface, her duck feet churned. She prayed the diners missed the sweat she felt beading on her hairline and the devastation she knew lurked behind her eyes. Joshua was doing the same at L Bar while Adam did his best to bolster the staff.

Allison’s death had hit the heart of the resort.

Laura hadn’t found a chance to pull Adam or Joshua aside to ask if Fulton had presented the same questions to them or how they had handled them. Alexis’s warning came back to her as she noticed the table with a Reserved card standing empty near the window. The police weren’t done asking questions if foul play was involved.

Lifting a hand, Laura flagged the nearest server, a young woman named Catrina. “Isn’t this Mr. Knight’s table?”

“The actor?” Catrina nodded. “Yes. He normally comes in around six.”

Laura checked her watch. “He’s running behind. Have someone place a call to his bungalow, please, and see if he’d still like to dine here tonight. If he’s decided against it, there are people waiting who can be seated here.”

“Yes, Ms. Colton,” Catrina said before hurrying off.

“Laura.”

She turned to find Erica Pike. The executive assistant stood eye to eye with Laura at five-nine, and her long brown hair was pulled up in a loose bun. Glancing at the table, she asked, “Is everything okay?”

“I was just wondering why CJ Knight hasn’t shown up for his six o’clock table,” Laura said.

“Oh.” Erica’s spine seemed to stiffen. “He checked out.”

“Checked out?” Laura repeated. “When?”

“Early this morning,” Erica explained. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Laura said. “A lot’s happened.”

Erica nodded, her green eyes rimmed with shadows. “I know. Poor Allison.”

Laura tried to think about the situation at hand. “Mr. Knight had spoken to me about extending his stay in Bungalow One for a week or more. Why the change of heart?”

“He didn’t say,” Erica replied. “Roland asked me to find you. The detective from the Sedona Police Department is back.”

“So soon?” Laura said and missed a breath.

“A security person from the gate escorted him to C Building,” Erica told her. “He’s waiting in the break room.”

The police were back with more questions, just as Alexis had predicted. Laura offered a soothing smile to a passing patron before striding toward the exit, doing her best not to rush.

C Building was built in the same style as L Building and the bungalows, but the interior was spartan. Music piped softly from speakers. A fountain in the center of the atrium burbled and splashed pleasantly. Both had been Allison’s ideas. Extending the same sense of calm ambience to the employees’ building that guests enjoyed everywhere else had brought the Mariposa environment full circle.

Tears stung Laura’s eyes again. Allison had left a large footprint on Mariposa. She’d made it better for everyone.

Laura faced the closed doors of the break room. Halting, she took a minute to breathe and get her emotions under control. She couldn’t seem to still the little duck feet paddling under the surface. To make up for it, she encased ice around her exterior. Donning her professional mask felt as natural, as fluid, as freshening up her lipstick.

She pushed the doors open and stepped in. “Detective Fulton...”

The man who stood from a chair at one of the small bistro-style tables was not Detective Fulton.

She blinked in surprise. He was younger, taller, more muscular. His build distinguished him. He carried himself more like a brawler than a police officer. He had brown hair that grew thick on top and short on the sides, a full beard and mustache. A bomber jacket lay across the table. His black button-down shirt was tucked into buff-colored cargo pants, his belt drawn beneath a trim stomach with a bronze buckle. The pants looked almost military. So did his scuffed boots. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms while he’d waited, revealing a bounty of tattoos.

No , she decided. This definitely didn’t look like a detective. While his attire might have been military-inspired, he didn’t carry himself like a military man. More like a boxer. Shoulders square. Hands balled, ready to strike. His hair and ink made him look like a rock star.

He wasn’t restful on his feet. He shifted from one to the other, twitchy. His direct stare delivered a pang to her gut, a quick one-two. It was dangerous. Deadly.

Not a rock star, she discerned. A criminal.

She took a step back. “Who are you?” she demanded. The building was empty. The bulk of the staff was in the meeting with Adam at L Building. There was a phone on the desk in the atrium. She placed one hand on the parting of the doors. Should she make a run for it?

That direct stare remained in place. It felt like an eternity before one hand unclenched and sank into a pocket. A badge flashed when he pulled it out. “Detective Noah Steele. Sedona PD.”

She wanted to examine the badge. It looked authentic from a distance, but she hadn’t studied Fulton’s all too closely when he’d arrived this morning. She wished she could go back and implant the image on her mind so that she at least had something to compare to.

“What do you want?” she asked, forgetting her professional demeanor. Her feet itched to run.

His expression didn’t change. Neither did it lose its edge. “Are you Laura Colton?”

“There was another man here earlier,” she told him. “Another detective. Mark Fulton. He said he was the lead on the case.”

His gaze narrowed. She swore she’d seen a rattlesnake do that once on the hiking trails. Part of her tensed, waiting for the buzzing sound of the rattle.

“So, what are you doing here?” she challenged. “Are you really even a cop?”

“Lady, you’d do well not to insult me at the moment.”

She dropped back on one heel and crossed her arms. Lady? “Should I call Security and have your identity certified by them?”

“It was Security who dumped me here, away from everybody else,” he retorted. “Take it up with the meatball at the gate if you don’t like it.”

Erica did say that security personnel had escorted the detective to C Building. She frowned, opening her mouth to apologize.

He cut in, “You didn’t answer my question. Are you Laura Colton?”

“I am,” she said and watched, perplexed, as his eyes darkened and his fists clenched again. “It’s been a long day...Detective. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“A long day,” he repeated, low in his throat. He let out a whistling breath. Was that his excuse for a laugh? Mirth didn’t strike his expression. If anything, it tensed. “ You’ve had a long day?”

“Yes,” she said. She had the distinct impression that he was mocking her—that he disdained her. The level of malice coming off him was insupportable. She’d just met him. What could he possibly have against her? “I’m sure you’re aware one of Mariposa’s employees was found this morning...dead.” She swallowed because her voice broke on that unbelievable word. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

He came forward, stepping quickly between the tables. “You’re damn right that’s why I’m here.”

She dismissed the inclination to put her back up against the door. There was a gun in a holster on his hip, she noticed. Her pulse picked up pace. He had no reason to hurt her. None whatsoever. And yet he looked capable of murder. “ Why are you so angry?” she demanded.

“Why is your family so determined to keep Allison Brewer’s death quiet?” he challenged.

She searched his eyes. They were green. Not leafy green, or algae, or even peridot. They were electrodes. Vibrant, steely, stubborn. She saw downed power lines, snapped electrical cables, writhing and sparking—about to blow her world off the grid.

She had to focus on the music, flutes and pipes, something merry and soothing Allison would have loved, to maintain a sense of calm. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Your brother Adam told officers at the scene this morning that Allison’s death should be kept quiet,” he seethed. “You’ll tell me why. Why do you and your brothers want this buried? What happened to her?”

“You’re acting like there’s some sort of cover-up.”

“Is there?”

She would have laughed if he were someone... anyone else. “No. This is a resort. People come here for privacy. To get away from the world.”

“So close.”

“What?”

“Close the resort,” he said. “Let the police come in and investigate properly.”

“There are over eighty people booked at Mariposa through this week alone,” she explained.

“If you really care about Allison—”

She stepped to him, fears squashed as her ire rose. “Allison Brewer was my friend. She was one of my closest friends. And I will not be accused of covering up her death. Who are you to march in here and accuse me of that?”

If she’d expected him to cower, she was sorely disappointed. He closed the marked bit of space between them, lifting his chin. “If you’re so close to her, why has she never mentioned you before?”

He spoke in present tense, just as she had even after witnessing the coroner carrying Allison’s body away under a sheet. His fury...his near lack of control. It was cover for something else.

Adam had done this, she realized. After their mother’s death. He’d been angry, precarious, until he’d learned to put a lid on it. Until he’d developed control and that laser focus that was so vital to him. “You knew her,” she realized. “You knew Allison.”

He blinked, and the tungsten cooled. Going back on his heels, he moved away.

She watched him rove the space between tables and chairs, his head low.

Allison hadn’t had a type, Laura recalled. But Laura couldn’t see her with someone this high-strung. Someone this lethal. She had, however, spoken of her brother often—her foster brother. As thick as thieves , Allison had said regarding the two of them.

Laura’s brow puckered. “Your last name is Steele.”

He turned his head to her, scowling. “So?”

“You don’t share a last name,” Laura pointed out.

He cursed under his breath. Was he mad that she’d made him so quickly?

“Are you really a detective?” she asked, bewildered.

“Of course I’m a detective,” he snapped, pacing again from one end of the room to the other. “Why else would I be here?”

“Other than to accost me and my family?” she ventured. “You act like we’re culpable.”

“Everybody’s culpable,” he muttered.

Her eyes rounded. “So...there was foul play involved in whatever happened last night?”

He stopped roving. His palm scraped across his jaw, the Roman numerals etched across his knuckles flashing. “Nothing else makes sense.”

“Murder at Mariposa doesn’t make sense,” she said. “The people here aren’t prone to violence.”

He dropped his hand in shock. “You actually believe that?”

She didn’t answer. His mockery locked her jaw.

“Here’s a news flash,” he said. “Most people are inherently violent.”

“If you actually believe that,” she countered, “then I’d say you have a very narrow view of humanity. And so would Allison.”

He flinched. “Someone at your resort killed my sister, Ms. Colton,” he said. “I’d advise you to watch your back, because I won’t rest until I have proof.”

The quiet warning coursed through her. She sensed, if this man had his way, Mariposa would be reduced to rubble before he was done.