Marcus kept his hand on his holster, his body shielding the doorway.

Detective Pierce stepped out onto the porch, his badge already in his left hand.

The man who got out of the black SUV was not Vanessa.

It was Harold Vance, her high-priced corporate fixer and lead attorney.

He wore a cashmere overcoat that looked entirely out of place in the Aspen blizzard.

Behind him, two men in dark suits stepped out of the vehicle, carrying leather briefcases.

“Stay inside with the girls, Elena,” Benjamin said, his voice flat and dead.

I didn’t listen to him.

I walked right out onto the porch behind him, the freezing wind stinging my face.

“Vance,” I called out, my voice cutting through the howl of the wind. “You are trespassing on a crime scene.”

I pointed toward the smoking ruins of the garage just fifty yards away.

Vance didn’t even look at the blackened timber.

He climbed the porch steps, his leather shoes slipping slightly on the fresh ice.

“I am here as an officer of the court, Elena,” Vance said, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of warmth.