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"Hunter Smith," Tommy read from his tablet. "Twenty-eight years old. Worked at the resort for fourteen months. No criminal record." He scrolled further. "Started in housekeeping, transferred to food service three months ago. Currently tends bar at the Timberline Lounge."

Sheila studied the employee photo on the screen: dark hair swept carefully to one side, a smile that looked a little too practiced. "What time does his shift start?"

"Not until four. But according to his supervisor, he usually comes in early to prep the bar."

They stood in the resort's security office, which Michael had reluctantly provided as a temporary base of operations.

Morning light slanted through the blinds and cast striped shadows across the case files spread over the desk.

The memory cards from Hunter's locker sat in an evidence bag, still unexamined.

They'd need a warrant for those, and this time, she intended to do everything by the book.

"Star." Sheila turned to where her ward slouched in the corner chair, headphones around her neck. "I need you to stay right here while we question this guy."

Star's expression darkened. "What am I supposed to do? Stare at the wall?"

"Homework. Reading. Whatever you want. Just stay in this office."

"This is literally torture."

"No, it's supervision." Sheila grabbed her jacket. "And since you're so concerned about probable cause, you'll be happy to know we're doing this one completely by the book."

Tommy cleared his throat. "Speaking of by the book... Morton's lawyer is ready for us to meet with him."

"Let him stew a little longer. If Hunter's our guy, talking with Morton's lawyer becomes a moot point." She checked her watch. "How well do you know the Timberline's layout?"

"Main entrance from the lobby, service entrance through the kitchen, emergency exit behind the bar." Tommy sketched it in the air with his fingers. "Bar itself is L-shaped, faces the windows. Great view of the mountain."

"And terrible view of the exits," Sheila added. "Perfect for someone who likes to watch without being watched."

She turned back to Star, who had already put her headphones back on and was pointedly ignoring them. "I mean it. Stay put."

Star rolled her eyes and turned up her music.

The Timberline Lounge occupied the resort's southwest corner, all floor-to-ceiling windows and rustic wooden beams. This early, the space felt cavernous, empty tables stretching into shadow despite the sunlight pouring in. Behind the bar, a lean figure in a black button-down was slicing limes.

"Hunter Smith?" Sheila approached the bar, Tommy half a step behind her. "Sheriff Stone. We need to ask you a few questions."

The knife paused mid-slice. Hunter looked up, his practiced smile sliding into place. "Of course. What can I help you with?"

"Your locker was found containing some interesting equipment. High-end camera gear, multiple memory cards."

The smile didn't waver, but he slowly set down the knife. "You went through my locker? Without a warrant?"

"We had probable cause to believe evidence of a crime might be present," Sheila said evenly. "Would you like to explain the equipment?"

"I would like to explain that I'll be filing a complaint about this violation of my privacy." Hunter's voice remained pleasant, almost amused. "And since you've already violated my Fourth Amendment rights, I assume you've viewed the contents of my memory cards?"

"Not yet," Tommy said. "But we will, once we have a warrant."

Hunter's laugh was soft and practiced, like everything else about him. "Photography is my hobby. I'm saving up to start my own business. Wedding photography, family portraits, that sort of thing. Nothing illegal about ambition, is there?"

"Mind if we see some samples of your work?" Sheila kept her tone conversational, but she noticed how Hunter's fingers had crept back toward the knife.

"Fine, but I'll need to grab my portfolio from the back. It's much more impressive than trying to describe my style." He gestured toward a door behind the bar. "Mind waiting here? I'll just be a moment."

Sheila nodded, watching him disappear through the door. The moment it swung shut, she was moving. "Back door," she said to Tommy, but he was already heading for the service entrance.

They burst through their respective doors into the back hallway.

Empty.

"Which way?" Tommy called out.

Sheila scanned the corridor, heart pounding. A door clicked shut somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing off the service hallway's concrete walls.

"Split up," she ordered. "He's heading for the parking lot."

But as she ran down the hallway, checking doors and listening for footsteps, a nagging voice in her head wondered if they'd read him wrong. If maybe they were charging down the wrong path while Hunter circled back another way. If—

"Sheila!"

Star's voice, coming from behind her.

Sheila spun around to find her ward standing in a doorway, clearly not in the office where she'd been ordered to stay. "What are you doing here?" Sheila demanded.

But Star was already talking, words tumbling out in an excited rush. "The linen closet. Two doors back. I saw him slip in there when you both ran past."

Sheila wasted no time lecturing Star. She was already moving back down the hallway, unholstering her weapon. She could hear Tommy's footsteps returning from the other direction.

The door looked like any other in the service corridor—industrial gray metal with a push bar. But now that she was paying attention, Sheila could hear the shallow breathing from inside.

"Hunter," she called out. "I'd much rather do this the easy way."

Silence.

Then the sound of something heavy being dragged against the door.

"He's barricading himself in," Tommy said, weapon trained on the door.

Sheila stepped closer. "Hunter, listen carefully.

Right now, all we want to do is talk about what's on those memory cards.

But if you make this difficult, if you force us to break down this door, everything gets worse.

Think about it. Really think. Is whatever's on those cards so bad that it's worth adding resisting arrest to the charges? "

More silence. Then a voice, different from the smooth, practiced tone at the bar: "You can't prove anything. You didn't have a warrant for my locker. None of it's admissible."

"You really want to bet your future on that?" Sheila kept her voice steady. "You're a smart guy, Hunter. You know how this plays out."

The dragging sound came again, this time moving away from the door.

"That's it," Sheila said. "Smart choice."

The door opened slowly. Hunter stood with his hands raised, his carefully styled hair now disheveled, his black shirt wrinkled. The practiced smile was gone, replaced by something harder, colder.

"You have the right to remain silent," Sheila began as Tommy moved in with handcuffs.

"You don't understand," Hunter said, and now there was an edge of desperation in his voice. "The pictures... they're not what you think. I can explain everything!"