Page 21

Megan Wright, Mountain Peak Resort's Head of Marketing, had clearly come straight from a meeting. Her blazer was impeccably pressed, her makeup perfect, but her hands shook as she pulled up Mark's Instagram profile on her phone.

"He never misses executive meetings," she said, pacing the small conference room. "And he always, always answers his texts. We had the winter campaign to discuss this morning—new promotional videos, content calendar planning. Mark's our biggest asset right now. He wouldn't just..."

She stopped pacing abruptly and pressed her fingers to her temples. "God, I sound like I'm worried about marketing when he could be..."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Tommy said gently. "Walk us through this morning."

Megan sank into a chair. "Mark goes out early to film.

He likes the morning light, and there are fewer people on the slopes.

He was supposed to meet me at nine to review footage and plan the next series of promotional posts.

" She glanced at her watch—almost noon now.

"When he didn't show, I tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

I checked with patrol, with the lift operators, with everyone. Nobody's seen him since first light."

"Could he have gone off-trail?" Tommy suggested. "Found some new location to film?"

"It's possible, but—" She stopped abruptly, as if struck by a new idea.

"What is it?" Sheila asked.

Megan's fingers flew across her phone screen. "He was livestreaming. He always tells his followers exactly where he'll be filming. It's part of his brand—total transparency, bringing people along for the ride. I don't know why I didn't think to check before."

She held up her phone so they could watch alongside her. The video showed Mark Davidson adjusting the camera angle, his breath fogging in the cold mountain air. Despite the early hour, his energy was infectious as he spoke to his virtual audience.

"Morning, snow fam! Got some sick tricks planned for you today. We're up at Lower Cascade, gonna hit that sweet jump series I showed you yesterday. Perfect lighting, fresh powder, let's go!"

The camera flipped to show the slope ahead as Mark glided into position. Sheila recognized the terrain—intermediate run, popular with freestyle skiers for its natural features. The first few tricks were flawless, Mark's running commentary punctuated by the soft schuss of skis on snow.

Then, halfway through a rotation, something changed. A shadow fell across the screen—too fast, too solid to be a cloud. Mark's voice cut off mid-sentence. The phone tumbled, snow and sky spinning wildly before the screen went white, muffled by powder.

A shout, distant but distinct.

Then nothing.

"My God," Megan whispered, covering her mouth.

"Can you replay that?" Sheila leaned closer. "From just before the shadow."

Megan rewound. This time, Sheila caught it—the distinct silhouette of another person, cast stark against the morning snow. Not a fellow skier's smooth approach, but a sudden presence, an interrupted arc of motion like someone lunging.

The livestream went on a little longer before ending. Dead battery, perhaps. Or perhaps the cold had affected it.

Tommy was already pulling up a trail map on his tablet. "Lower Cascade's a big area. Multiple access points, connection trails, tree runs..."

"And a three-hour head start," Sheila added grimly.

Megan hugged herself, looking small, almost childlike. "You don't think... with everything that's been happening..."

"We're not thinking anything yet," Sheila said firmly. But her mind was already racing through the possibilities, the similarities. Another young influencer targeted.

"We need to get up there," Tommy said. "But where do we even start? That whole section of the mountain..."

"I know someone who might be able to help." Sheila was already heading for the door. "Someone who knows every inch of that terrain."

She just hoped Diana Pierce hadn't left the resort yet.

* * *

The afternoon sunlight had softened the snow, making each step precarious as they climbed. Diana Pierce led the way, her usual confident stride replaced by something more hesitant. She kept looking over her shoulder as if expecting to see someone following them.

"There." She pointed to a cluster of snow-laden pines. "Mark liked to use those trees as a backdrop. Said they framed his jumps perfectly."

"You used to work with him?" Tommy asked, scanning the area.

"Taught him some of his first tricks." Diana's voice was flat. "Back when he was just a rich kid with a GoPro, not an 'influencer.'" She made air quotes with her gloved hands.

"Stay close," Sheila warned as Star started to drift toward the trees. The girl had been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd watched the video, her earlier excitement about investigative work dampened by the reality of what they might find.

They spread out in a practiced search pattern.

The slope was empty—the resort had closed this section "for maintenance" at Sheila's request. She was working on getting them to shut the entire resort down, but there was some pushback for the typical reason—loss of business. It seemed a silly reason, however.

How many people did they think really wanted to ski at a resort where two murders had taken place within the past few days?

As they walked, she turned her attention to Diana. "How well did you know Mark?" she asked. The only sounds were their breathing and the distant hum of a snowmaking machine.

"Well enough." Diana kicked at a drift. "Well enough to know he was changing. Getting reckless. These stunts he's been doing lately..." She shook her head. "It was only a matter of time before—"

"Sheriff!" Tommy's voice cut through the cold air. He stood at the edge of the tree line, pointing at something in the snow.

Sheila's heart clenched as they converged on his position. Had Tommy found Mark's body? But instead, what she saw was a section of churned-up snow. A single ski pole lay half-buried, its strap torn. There was also a deep impression in the snow, as if someone had fallen down.

Mark? Or maybe he'd shoved his attacker down before running away?

"He fought back," Tommy said quietly, photographing the scene.

Star hugged herself, suddenly looking very young. "Is that... blood?"

"Looks that way," Sheila murmured. Then, noticing a smaller impression in the snow, she reached down. Her hand came up, holding a cell phone.

"That's Mark's," Diana said with a hard swallow.

Sheila stood, following the signs of struggle with her eyes as she slipped the phone into an evidence bag.

Two sets of footprints led away from the scene—one stumbling, irregular, the other steady and purposeful.

As if one person—Mark, presumably—had run on ahead in haste, and a second person had come after, taking his time. Unhurried.

Confident.

The tracks disappeared into the dense trees, heading east, away from the marked trails.

"We need backup," Tommy said, already reaching for his radio. "Search and Rescue, dogs—"

"Wait." Diana had gone very still, staring at the footprints. "I know where they're going."

"How could you possibly—"

"Because there's only one thing east of here," Diana said. "The old maintenance shed. The one they closed after the avalanche ten years ago." She turned to Star. "I want you to go back to the base with Diana."

"But—"

"This isn't a discussion." She met the girl's eyes. "Please. Just this once, do what I ask."

Maybe it was her tone, or maybe something in her face, but Star didn't argue. She just nodded, looking small against the vast white of the mountain.

Sheila checked her weapon, then her radio. Somewhere ahead, through the trees, Mark Davidson was either alive or dead.

And someone was about to answer for what they'd done.