Colton's Mistaken Identity
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Geri Krotow
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16.1K
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18
Chapter 1
The mountains began to glow with the sunrise, and the sky’s violet streaks yielded to a deeper summer blue as Phoebe Colton ran along the resort’s jogging path. The Chateau stood two miles behind her, on the other side of the copse of aspen birch trees ubiquitous to Colorado.
Phoebe loved her work at The Chateau but also needed her morning run to escape the constant whirlwind that was Roaring Springs, Colorado, during its annual film festival. Her dawn workouts soothed her soul. Roaring Springs and these mountains were as much a part of her as her red hair and dimples—features she shared with her identical twin, Skye.
Why did you take off now, sister?
At the reminder that she had no freaking idea where Skye was assaulted her, her breath broke from the easy rhythm she’d enjoyed the past hour. She slowed to a walk and forced herself to calm down.
It didn’t make sense to be concerned, not to someone who didn’t know Skye. Skye’s jerk of a boyfriend had up and married another woman with zero warning to her, leaving Phoebe’s sibling devastated. In a move so typical of her more impulsive twin, Skye had taken off with no word of where she was going.
While Phoebe totally understood Skye’s need to be alone, she didn’t understand why her sister had left so close to the beginning of the Roaring Springs Film Festival. The weeklong event kicked off tonight with the first red carpet event—The Chateau’s welcome gala, held in The Chateau’s grand ballroom, the showpiece of the Colton empire. The following days would be a blur of activity until the end of the week, when their grand ballroom would again be the venue for the star-studded award ceremony that officially closed the Roaring Springs film fest.
Skye was needed for each and every event this week, as she was the public face of the Colton empire’s resort. Phoebe had to admit that Skye had created quite the social media stir, with hundreds of thousands of followers across several platforms, and she’d recently garnered a few top-earning videos featuring sponsored content. Not bad for her twenty-five-year-old sister, or for their hotel business. Even their father, Russ, normally more detached from the twins, had expressed keen enthusiasm at the power of “millennial marketing.” Their mother, Mara, was more about making sure the girls—and all of her five biological children—appreciated what they’d been brought up with and did their parts to give back to the Colton efforts. Her two older cousins that Mara and Russ had raised, Fox and Sloane, were also part of the family.
Phoebe leaned against a tree and gave herself a minute to go over what was bothering her, underneath her jangling nerves about her sister being off-site. A sinister cloud of fear had lingered over Roaring Springs ever since the discovery of several murdered bodies at the base of the town’s mountain. The saddest part was that one of the Avalanche Killer’s victims had turned out to be their cousin, Sabrina.
Phoebe and Skye had regrouped and decided they needed to be the energy behind keeping things positive for the film festival. Skye had been so excited about making this festival work no matter the odds, especially after she learned that the online Hollywood entertainment magazine In Film Today was in place at The Chateau and broadcasting Skye’s two red carpet events live.
Their father had certainly been pleased. Anything that spelled more money for the resort empire he’d built from the ground up thrilled the chronic workaholic.
“Give your father a break.” Her mother’s admonishment taunted Phoebe as she tried to not stress about her sister. It was only natural she’d blame her father for not worrying about Skye’s emotional state, instead of the always-present Mara. Whereas Russ tended to be emotionally unavailable, Mara made up for it in spades. Not in the motherly attention they’d enjoyed as kids but in her focus on keeping The Chateau the premier private resort spa in North America.
As the two youngest of five biological Colton siblings, Phoebe and Skye had been born years after their three older brothers and almost a decade after the two cousins her parents had raised as their own. Phoebe and her sister had learned to cling to one another through the thick tension that often existed between Russ and Mara, and through what often felt like strained ties with their immediate family.
Phoebe knew she could always count on Skye, one hundred and ten percent. Which was why she had to fight from allowing her concern over Skye to blossom into all-out panic. Skye was more outgoing, more engaging than Phoebe, and Phoebe liked it that way. It kept the social pressure off her. But it made a logical explanation of Skye’s disappearance challenging, if not downright scary.
She rubbed her sternum through her thin running shirt. Whenever Skye hurt, she hurt. And right now her entire body was humming with worry over her sister. It wasn’t the first time her “twin radar” had issued warning alerts about Skye. There was the time Skye had fallen out of a tree when they were six and Phoebe had convinced her mother that Skye’s sore leg was indeed broken. And when they were seventeen, Phoebe had somehow known that Skye’s homecoming date was going sour on their basement sofa and she had burst in upon her sister and that louse of a football quarterback who wasn’t taking no for an answer. Despite herself, Phoebe let an evil smile flicker across her lips for a second. It had been such a sister moment to face down their high school idol–turned–potential rapist by kicking him in the privates, tying him up with zip ties from their father’s work bench and then reporting him to the police. By coming forward and with Skye’s brave testimony, they’d helped half a dozen other young women the athlete had threatened find justice.
But they weren’t in high school anymore, and they had phones, the ability to text. Skye always texted her at least three times a day, if not more often. And she hadn’t heard a thing since that last message when Skye told her she needed space to work things out. Phoebe didn’t blame her sister, as she’d been almost as upset as Skye when they’d found out that Skye’s serious boyfriend, a successful music producer, had gone and married the rock star whose album he’d produced. They’d married in Las Vegas and had sold exclusive rights to a celebrity magazine, which meant the photographic proof of the infidelity was unavoidable. Skye’s broken heart was the topic of many gossip rags and social media posts.
Phoebe tried to distract herself from her worry by staring at the gurgling brook, where deer and birds hung out to get a sip to ease July’s heat. It led to the area exclusive to the resort that housed the refurbished thermal springs spa and sauna from the 1920s. Her muscles craved a soak in the mineral baths—she’d not visited her favorite respite in far too long.
She’d lost the ability to focus on anything but her own grief the past several weeks. Ever since Sabrina had been found, brutally murdered. It was one thing to host the premiere of a violent movie that portrayed a serial killer and his victims; it was devastating for it to become real life as unspeakable violence struck her own town, her family.
The sound of broken twigs, followed by a sudden silence, sent a jolt of fear spiraling through her. Phoebe stood straighter and took stock of her surroundings, swinging her gaze over the running water, the wet stones, the woods beyond. Since she’d found out a murderer was on the loose, she hadn’t felt safe. It galled her, losing the security this land had always given her. The mountain was a constant source of reliability in her life. Now its serenity was tainted by an evil serial killer.
Nothing seemed out of order as she scanned the running path, the birch and pine trees that made up the woods, the flowing brook. When a buck’s hooves sounded on the forest floor, she caught sight of the animal as it sprinted not more than ten feet in front of her, fleeing an unseen predator.
Phoebe let out a shaky sigh.
It’s just nature, nothing more.
She suspected the culprit for the deer’s run was a fox or even a stray dog, nothing that threatened her. Midsummer wasn’t hunting season, nor was it a time to worry about grizzly bears, which were busy enjoying the plentiful berries and smaller wildlife. They’d had occasional grizzly sightings over the years, but nothing too close. The bears liked to wander the mountains that surrounded their valley but rarely ventured anywhere near the Roaring Springs population.
When she’d first heard of the Avalanche Killer’s activity, Phoebe had wanted to believe it was a grizzly attack. It might explain the gruesome nature of the killings, and it allowed her to deny that such a brutal murderer lived among them in their close-knit town. The killer was most likely someone they all knew, which made it so much more personal to Phoebe and her family. It also increased her constant stress, as the fear of being the killer’s next victim was relentless.
Phoebe put herself under enough pressure—the last thing she needed this week was more from a lethal predator. While Skye grasped the concept of joie de vivre, Phoebe was the more sensible and grounded of the two. She rarely admitted it to Skye, but Phoebe liked the role she played in their twinship. Sure, sometimes she took herself too seriously, and wished like heck that her sister would do the same, but Phoebe never saw herself being able to behave so lightheartedly as Skye. That was why Phoebe had earned her college degree in finance in under three years, while Skye still had some courses to complete for her bachelor’s.
She shuddered in the warming air, and it wasn’t from her perspiration’s cooling effect. She’d text Skye as soon as she got back. Once again, her twin radar was going off like fireworks. Phoebe had purposefully left her phone in her room, wanting the freedom from the constant intrusion of texts and emails about the Roaring Springs Film Festival. But now she wished she’d kept it with her.
Since the film festival was upon them, it was by far the busiest time of year for The Chateau. That said a lot, considering Roaring Springs was nestled in the heart of ski country. A film event second only to Sundance and maybe the Toronto Film Festival, the Roaring Springs Film Festival was also an important source of income for The Chateau. The resort her mother had started from the ground up years ago had turned into a literal gold mine. Until this year.
Normally they’d be sold out for almost a year in advance. But reservations had dropped since the discovery of bodies on the property, on its most striking feature, the mountain that overshadowed the beautiful valley where The Chateau was nestled.
Her parents had informed her last night that the national news outlets were about to carry the story of the Avalanche Killer, and it was stressing her out. Having the criminal reports shared word-of-mouth locally had cut into their bookings, and they’d dropped off more when the local television station reported them. The chance that their film festival earnings would tank was high.
Phoebe offered a last glance at the brook, the surrounding peace of the forest, and sent up a little prayer that there would be a text from Skye when she returned to her room. Her sister most likely wanted to talk to Phoebe about her boyfriend’s unforgivable betrayal. Phoebe had never been a fan of Brock, the overly flashy record producer. Skye’s relationship with him had been constant trauma-drama and now it was clear why—Brock had been lying to Skye about loving her.
As painful as life was for Skye, and as hard as the drop in reservations and thus cash flow was for The Chateau, the film festival would go on. Phoebe’s days would be filled with taking care of the guests who showed up. And fortunately, the movie companies were still showing off their best and most promising works, regardless of the Avalanche Killer. That meant that the actors and actresses would appear, and along with them, their fans. Maybe the rooms weren’t all filled yet, but Phoebe sent up an affirmation that they would be, soon.
She squared her shoulders and began to run back to The Chateau. To her work, her family, her life.
Prescott Reynolds saw the lithe woman with striking, flame-red hair as she ran up to the edge of the brook. Her ponytail reached between her shoulder blades, which meant her unbound hair would be at her waist. An image of scarlet waves flowing over her creamy naked shoulders struck him, and he mentally batted it aside. This wasn’t a time to entertain his libido, not with a probable crazed fan on his tail. He mentally caught himself up short. He assumed this was a fan, he was so used to his struggle to get solitude. Maybe the redhead was just another nature lover.
“Don’t ever let your guard down.” His security detail’s implicit instructions reminded him that he’d not alerted them that he was coming out here this morning, alone.
The redhead’s footsteps had alerted him that he wasn’t alone on his hike, setting off his anger.
He was upstream of the attractive redhead, on the other side of the creek, by at least twenty yards. It was twenty yards too close, though. She stood stock-still, as if she’d seen a ghost, but he didn’t trust her, didn’t trust any other human being who “happened” to show up when he was trying to live a normal, private life.
He’d come out for an early-morning hike to escape the cacophony of the Roaring Springs Film Festival. From the first ping of his phone at dawn until he excused himself from the last social event of the evening, he was never alone. Usually he rolled with PR junkets like the professional he’d become, but in the midst of healing his sore heart, he despised the promotional part of his job.
What he really resented, though, was his privacy being invaded, especially by an innocent-looking woman. He’d been burned enough times to know better. There were no coincidences when you were one of Hollywood’s highest-paid actors.
He stood behind the nearest tree and decided to wait for the redhead to make her move. Maybe he’d play naive for a bit before he told her in no uncertain terms that not only was he not interested, but his security detail would be happy to provide her name and contact information to the local sheriff.
It’s your nerves.
True, he’d been on edge since thinking his ex might be stalking him, but it wasn’t as if his concern wasn’t justified. A young woman was literally yards from him, and he’d heard her nearby footsteps as she approached, running, then slowed to a walk more in rhythm with his stride.
Maybe you’re being paranoid.
Anger swelled at the constant need for vigilance. He’d known PR and media attention was all a part of pursuing his life’s passion, but there were days he had to ask himself if it was all worth it.
Take a breather.
Prescott wasn’t unmoved by the beauty around him, and as he waited for this possible latest superfan to try her hand at charming him, he distracted himself with a family of woodpeckers. As he watched, two large black-and-white birds with red crowns pecked voraciously at various tree trunks, then flew to a hidden nest in a nearby tree. He heard the peeps of the woodpecker chicks, and if he hadn’t been intent on confronting the interloper, he would have taken the time to try to snap some photos with his phone.
After twenty minutes, the woman finally moved from where she’d stood practically motionless, as if meditating. He wasn’t fooled and braced himself for the confrontation. He was tired of running from life and from his haters. This overzealous fan had picked the wrong day to mess with him.
Before he had a chance to look into the woman’s eyes, she turned and ran. Not toward him, but in the opposite direction. As if she’d never seen him. As if he, Prescott Reynolds, weren’t her obsession. As if she’d just been someone out for a morning workout and had taken a break by the running water. Hadn’t he done the same?
The chuckle started deep in his gut, so rare since his abominable breakup with Ariella Forsythe last year. At first he wondered if he was losing it. But as he laughed at himself, admitted to himself that he wasn’t the center of everyone’s universe, he felt the tightness in his chest ease up. Hadn’t his mother always told him he took himself too seriously?
The unexpected relief that rushed through him was as cool and calming as the mountain stream. It’d been too long since he’d simply relaxed, stopped thinking about disastrous breakups or crazed fans. It was time he let go and enjoyed being plain old Prescott, the Iowa farm boy who was lucky to have had a big Hollywood break.
He ran his fingers over the smooth white aspen bark. Maybe this film festival wouldn’t be so bad. There was the problem of the Avalanche Killer making national headlines, but he faced more danger walking down a busy street in LA. At least in Roaring Springs he had his security detail with him, and the opportunity to draw on the beauty of the stunning valley surrounded by such powerful mountains. He needed all the peace and tranquility he could get.
Ariella adjusted the climbing belt and dug her spikes into the tree trunk. Thank goodness for the free-climbing and rappelling classes she’d taken at REI; they’d enabled her to keep tabs on Prescott no matter where he went.
He’d almost caught her, thanks to the stupid bitch who’d been running on the same trail he hiked. Another woman hoping to get into Prescott’s bed and have him declare how much he needed her, she was certain.
Her cheeks pulled tight as her lip curled. Prescott had been so gullible. He’d truly believed that she’d loved him. And she supposed that she had, as much as she could feel for anyone. When he’d told her he loved her, though, she knew he meant it. Unlike her, Prescott was able to give a damn about other people.
All she cared about was winning what she wanted. And what Ariella really coveted was Prescott’s pull and influence in the entertainment industry. His salaries had gone up by the millions for each film, along with his clout. Exactly what a girl like her needed to get her career going in the right direction.
Poor Prescott had been so righteously angry when she’d admitted she’d been screwing Donald Channing, another actor on their film set over a year ago. He’d left in a huff and then stopped taking her calls and texts. Said he was done with her.
But she wasn’t done with him, and Ariella was certain that once she presented Prescott with her plan, he’d agree to again partner with her. That had been her one mistake—she hadn’t let him in on her career plans right from the start.
He wasn’t going to come easily, though. It’d be impossible to get him to meet with her and have a calm adult discussion. Ariella knew it would be risky, but she was determined to win Prescott back, even if it meant officially kidnapping him to get him in the same room as her.
And getting rid of women like the redhead who were in her way.
