Page 13

Ian Hayes sat hunched forward in a plastic chair that seemed too small for his frame, massive hands clasped between his knees. At six-foot-four and easily two hundred and fifty pounds, he dominated the small space of the patrol shack.

Sheila took in the contrast between his size and his demeanor.

Despite his imposing physical presence, his eyes held a vulnerability that made him look younger than his twenty-eight years.

A former college linebacker, according to his hastily-pulled file, now working as a personal trainer at the resort's fitness center.

"Mr. Hayes," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "I'm Sheriff Stone, and this is Officer Forster. We'd like to ask you some questions about Sarah."

Ian nodded, his throat working. "I already told the security guys everything. She went up for a few runs around six pm. She does that sometimes, you know? To clear her head."

"After your argument?" Sheila asked.

His shoulders tensed slightly. "It wasn't really an argument. Just a disagreement."

Tommy pulled out his notebook. The scratch of his pen seemed loud in the small space. Outside, wind rattled the shack's windows, and the flood lights illuminating the slopes cast moving shadows as snow began to fall.

"Tell us about this disagreement," Sheila said.

"It was stupid." Ian's hands clenched and unclenched. "I found her MCAT books stuffed under some magazines. She's been saying she's studying, but..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "I shouldn't have pushed her about it."

"Pushed her how?"

"Just talking. About our future, you know? She's brilliant—could do anything she wants. But lately, she's been talking about staying here, working the lifts permanently." His voice cracked slightly. "Her mom's been on my case about it, wanting me to talk some sense into her."

"So you confronted her about the MCAT books," Sheila said.

Ian's face crumpled. "I said some things I shouldn't have. About her wasting her potential. About not being able to live on minimum wage forever." He looked up, his eyes wet. "But I would never hurt her. Never. You have to believe me."

"What time did she leave?"

"Around six, like I said. She was upset. Said she needed some air, needed to think." He rubbed his face roughly. "I tried calling around seven, but it went straight to voicemail. I figured she was still mad, you know? But then it got later, and she still wasn't answering..."

Sheila glanced at Tommy, who was still taking notes. "And you went looking for her?"

"Yeah, around eight. Her truck was still in the lot, so I knew she must be up on the slopes somewhere.

I checked all her usual spots, called some friends.

Nobody had seen her." His voice shook. "Then I heard about that other person, the one they found frozen this morning, and I just..

." He broke off, dropping his head into his hands.

The wind gusted again, stronger this time. The shack's thin walls creaked. Sheila thought about Sarah out there somewhere in the gathering storm. In this cold, every second counted.

Assuming she was still alive, that was.

"Mr. Hayes," she said carefully. "I need you to be completely honest with me. Was there anything else going on between you and Sarah? Any other tensions?"

Ian's head snapped up. "What are you saying?"

"Just trying to get a clear picture."

"You think I did something to her?" His voice rose as he surged to his feet. "I love her! I was going to propose at Christmas. The ring's hidden in my sock drawer right now! Want me to go get it?"

"That's not necessary, Mr. Hayes," she said, holding her ground. Years of kickboxing had taught her how to face down larger opponents—it wasn't about size, but leverage and control. She kept her stance relaxed but balanced, ready to move if needed.

"I didn't hurt her," Ian said, his voice breaking. He sank back into the chair, his anger draining away. "I couldn't. She's everything to me."

"We understand," Sheila said softly. "And we're going to do everything we can to find her."

She gestured to Tommy, and they stepped outside. The night had grown colder, the wind carrying sharp particles of ice.

"What do you think?" Tommy asked quietly.

Sheila studied the darkened slopes above them. "His emotional response seems genuine. But we can't rule anything out yet. We need to organize search parties immediately, but also keep an eye on him."

Tommy nodded. "I'll make the call, see if Michael can send a few members of his security team to watch Ian."

While Tommy made the call, Sheila stared into the falling snow. It was growing thicker by the hour, little by little. How long, she wondered, could someone survive out here? Even if Sarah had been targeted, that didn't mean she was dead. She might've run off, escaped into the mountains.

Then again, that could be a death sentence just as easily as falling into the killer's hands.

"Alright," Tommy said, rejoining her. "Michael is sending a few people our way."

Sheila nodded. "You sit tight until they arrive. I'm going to start getting those search teams ready."

"Wait a minute," Tommy said as she started away.

She turned back to look at him. "Something the matter?"

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, then let out a self-conscious laugh. "Honestly? The guy's huge. If he did do something to Sarah and decides to bolt..." He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"You're worried you couldn't stop him?"

"I mean, did you see the size of him? He could probably bench press my car."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Sheila felt a smile tug at her lips. There was something endearing about Tommy's candor—many rookies would have tried to fake bravado.

"Alright," she said. "We'll wait for backup together."

Before Tommy could respond, the shack's door creaked open. Ian stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame.

"I could hear you," he said. His voice was quiet but determined. "And I'm not staying here while Sarah's out there freezing to death. I don't care if you think I'm a suspect. You can handcuff me to one of you if you want, but one way or another, I'm joining the search."

* * *

The wind howled across the slopes, driving sheets of snow sideways. Sheila swept her flashlight beam in a steady arc, the light diffused by swirling flakes. Every few minutes she checked her compass, making sure they stayed within their assigned search grid. Getting lost up here could be fatal.

Tommy walked close beside her, his own light beam overlapping with hers. She'd noticed his increasing tension as the storm intensified. For someone who had handled the high-speed snowmobile chase with such confidence, he seemed unsettled by the mountain's dark vastness.

"Stay within ten feet," she reminded him. "It's easy to lose sight of each other in conditions like this."

Search teams were spread across the mountain in a coordinated pattern.

Ian Hayes had been paired with two deputies and was searching the west ridge.

Other teams included ski patrol, resort security, and local search and rescue volunteers.

Everyone maintained radio contact, reporting their positions every fifteen minutes.

"How long can someone survive in this?" Tommy asked, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

"Depends on their clothing, physical condition, and whether they found shelter." Sheila didn't add that if Sarah was injured or unconscious, her chances dropped dramatically. "Sarah's an experienced snowboarder. She knows the mountain."

They pushed on through deepening snow. The floodlights that normally illuminated the slopes created ghostly halos in the storm, more disorienting than helpful. Sheila checked her radio—still working, though the cold was draining its battery faster than usual.

"Sheriff," Tommy said after a while, his voice hesitant. "I wanted to apologize. About bringing up Natalie earlier. It was tactless of me."

"You don't need to apologize."

"No, I do." He ducked under a snow-laden branch. "I was trying to show that I'd done my homework, you know? But bringing up your sister like that... it was insensitive."

Sheila was quiet for a moment, remembering Natalie's laugh, her fierce dedication to justice. "It's okay. Really."

"It's just..." Tommy paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "I admire your family. Your father being sheriff, you and your sister following in his footsteps. Must have been amazing, growing up with that kind of legacy."

Something in his tone made her glance over. She sensed he was about to share something personal.

"My own family isn't quite so impressive," he said with a bitter laugh.

"I told you my father was out of the picture.

What I didn't say was that he was a degenerate gambler who took off when I was twelve.

Last I heard, he was living in Arizona somewhere.

" He kicked at the snow. "Mom worked two jobs just to keep us afloat. "

"Must have been hard for you," Sheila said softly.

He sighed. "Yeah. I got into the whole party scene, did a lot of drinking before I realized I had to man up and look after the family."

Sheila could see the pain in his eyes, and she forced herself to look away.

Did he know about her own struggles with alcoholism?

"Anyway," he continued, "I guess that's why I envy you—having a father like Gabriel Stone, someone who actually gives a damn."

Sheila thought about the hidden panel in her father's office, the secrets he was keeping about her mother's death. "My family isn't as perfect as you seem to think."

"What do you mean?"

The wind died momentarily, creating an odd pocket of stillness. Sheila considered how much to share. After all, Tommy was still essentially a stranger, despite their growing rapport.

Then again, wouldn't it be good to get this off her chest? She hadn't shared it with Finn yet, and she felt a sudden need to get it all out.

Before she could decide, however, a shout cut through the darkness. "Over here! I found something!"

They changed direction, moving quickly toward the voice. Their lights revealed Michael Wright kneeling in the snow, holding something dark in his gloved hands.

A snowboarding glove, half-buried in a drift. Sarah's name was written on the inside tag in permanent marker.

"Spread out!" Sheila ordered into her radio. "We've found evidence. All teams, we need to search my location."

They fanned out, moving in a coordinated search pattern. The storm seemed to intensify as if trying to erase any trace of Sarah's passage. But then another shout pierced the darkness.

Sheila's heart sank as their lights revealed what waited in a small hollow between two drifts. Sarah Winters stood frozen in a perfect snowboarding stance, her body positioned as if caught mid-trick. Ice crystals glittered on her skin, and her eyes stared sightlessly at the dark sky.

Their killer had struck again.