Geri Krotow - Colton's Mistaken Identity

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.