“Who was it?” I asked.
“We didn’t get that far.” Essex looked at Ransom. “Who was staying in this chalet?”
Ransom looked nervous, a rare emotion for my brother. “Ryder Stone.”
“Who?” Essex asked, because if someone was famous for anything outside ESPN or crime action drama, he was lost.
I leaned toward him. “The son of country singer Shooter Stone. They had a reality show called The Family Stones.”
Essex lifted both shoulders.
Baker looked down at me and cocked an eyebrow. “I’m a little surprised you know that, Nyx.”
“Our grandfather loves that show,” Ransom said.
“I heard he was in town with his girlfriend, filming an episode of Romancing the Stars,” Jones said.
We all turned to look at him.
My mouth gaped. “Big fan, are you, Jonesy?”
“Hey, I have teenage girls,” Jones said.
Rivera laughed and crossed his arms. “Whatever you say, man.”
Essex shot us all a look, and the amusement died immediately.
“Stone checked in with Amber Stevens yesterday,” Ransom confirmed.
“Anybody seen them today?” Essex asked.
Ransom tipped his chin toward the blaze. “Heading straight for there.”
“Damn,” Jones said, looking at the fire again.
Two firefighters in full gear dragged a hose past us. “Essex!” a voice boomed.
We all looked back as the captain of the fire department waved him over. Essex winced as he limped in that direction, taking my napkin with him.
“You didn’t see anything?” Jones asked Rivera.
Rivera shook his head. “I was lakeside, checking the back of the unit when, boom! I hightailed it back around front and found Sarge lying against the rock wall.”
I followed the direction Rivera was pointing. The wall that lined the driveway was nowhere close to the front window.
“That’s more than five feet,” Jones said with a grimace. “No wonder he’s limping.”
“At least his first few days on night shift were calm,” I said, walking back to my car. Teek’s scruffy face was smushed against the back window, and his eyes looked like they might bug out of his head.
“Anybody hurt?” Everly asked.
“None of us.” An ambulance screamed into the lot. I leaned toward Teek’s window. “Teek, you good?”
His wild smile indicated he was just fine.
When he finished speaking with the firefighters, Essex joined us and looked in the back seat of my car. “You caught Butch Cassidy, huh?”
“Yeah. About halfway up Reyna Peak.”
“His dad wasn’t with him, was he?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No, you’re safe.” Borg Fleming was still in lockup last I heard, but that reminded me to ask, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“You also said you were fine when Borg knocked a molar out of your jaw.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You know me well.” With a grimace, he leaned to one side. “Might have a couple of broken ribs.”
I cringed. “God, I hope not.”
“I know, broken ribs are the worst. I’ll be fine though. Thanks for worrying.” His tone lightened. “You know whose fault this is?”
“Whose?”
“Rivera’s.”
My brow lifted in question.
“Back at the Mini Market, he said it was a quiet night.”
Our laughter was cut off by the roar of a powerful engine. A silver car with an emblem that boasted “I cost more than your condo” sped through the tidy golf-course grass to bypass the driveway clogged with emergency vehicles.
“Harlan’s here,” my brother announced.
Real-estate tycoon Harlan Drexler had almost single-handedly built the mountain town of Sapphire Lake. As the heir to the biggest lumber-mill fortune in Nevada’s history, Harlan and his late father had converted the family’s 20,000-acre estate between Lake Tahoe and Carson City into a booming economy. It all began with a golf-course resort built around the manmade blue lake that once supplied the silver mines with water and timber.
These days, Sapphire Lake was the seventh-largest city in the state. It now included ski slopes, two outdoor shopping villages, three schools, and the biggest casino between Las Vegas and Reno.
I’d never met Harlan Drexler in person, despite Sapphire Lake having been my home on and off for big chunks of my life. Ransom spoke highly of him, and he had the reputation of being as charitable as he was enterprising.
The sports car parked sideways on the imported sod, and Harlan tripped over his own slippers as he scrambled out of the driver’s seat. He caught himself on the door, staring in horror at the flaming chalet. “My god. Was anyone hurt?”
Essex and I walked to meet him. “Mr. Drexler, I’m Sergeant Tyler Essex. We’re waiting on the official word from the fire department, but I’m afraid this fire was deadly.”
This was news to me.
Harlan ran both hands back through his wild silver hair. “Oh no.”
Ransom began speaking to Harlan in a hushed, soothing tone.
I tugged on Essex’s sleeve an jerked my head to the side. We stepped away from them, toward our guys. “They found a body?” I asked quietly.
He scanned the area to make sure we were out of everyone’s earshot. “Two bodies so far. The fire captain thinks it might be arson to cover up a homicide.”
“Shit, really?” Jones asked.
“Yeah. The first body was charred so badly it was unrecognizable.”
“And the second?” Rivera asked.
“A female. Only partially burned, but—” Essex had to pause for a breath.
“But what?” I asked.
“Her torso was ripped in half.”
I took a small step back.
“Never seen a fire do that,” Jones said, his dark eyes dancing with the dying flames.
Unease stirred inside me. The whole situation felt eerily familiar.
Something caught Essex’s eyes behind us. “Shit.”
I turned to see a news van stopped by some of the hotel’s security guys.
“How the hell do they get here so fast?” Essex asked.
“I’m on it,” Jones said, starting in that direction. Rivera followed him.
Ransom walked over, passing Jones and Rivera. “The vultures are here.”
“We’ll handle it,” I said.
My brother offered his hand to Essex. “Good to see you, Corporal Essex.”
The two men shook hands.
“He’s a sergeant now,” I said.
“Congratulations. You two are on the same shift now?” Ransom looked down at me, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile. “Isn’t that convenient?”
I withered inside.
“As of Monday,” Essex answered. “But we won’t be for long. Your sister has a big promotion coming up.”
“So I hear,” Ransom said.
“It’s not for sure. I’m not even finished interviewing,” I told them.
“But we all know Nyx has it in the bag,” Essex said to Ransom. “There’s even a betting pool. I hear the pot is over five hundred now.”