Still, as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he had no real plan beyond getting answers. Why had she disappeared eight years ago? How was she connected to the gold? Why was someone she’d known dead? And most importantly, why did she seem terrified at the mere sight of him?
He climbed the stairs, moved to number 301, and hesitated only briefly before ringing the doorbell. When there was no immediate response, he followed with three sharp knocks. “Amanda!” he called out. Then, remembering her slip-up on the trail, he corrected himself. “Sadie? I know you’re in there.”
Silence greeted him.
Nash ran a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. Why was she hiding from him? What secrets could be worth this level of evasion?
He knocked again, harder this time. “Look, I just want to talk. What did you mean about someone being killed? Are you in danger? Because if you are, I can help.”
More silence.
Nash leaned his forehead against the doorframe, trying to decide whether to leave or stand his ground. His family’s experience with the gold hunt had taught him that persistence usually paid off, even when leads seemed to dead-end.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ll camp out here all night if I have to.”
He heard noises, like locks were being undone on the door, then her door opened just enough to reveal a slice of her face. “What do you want?” she demanded.
Nash opened his mouth, but his prepared arguments evaporated as he took her in. The girl from his high school memories had matured into a strikingly beautiful woman. Her blonde hair was pulled back but coming loose, framing intense green eyes he remembered all too well. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the sun, a smattering of freckles visible across the bridge of her nose. Even glaring at him with suspicion, she was breathtaking.
“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice softer than intended. “Just to talk.”
She hesitated, then reluctantly opened the door wider. “Fine. But I don’t have answers for you.”
Nash stepped inside, immediately noting the extensive security measures—a deadbolt, a reinforced bar, and what looked like a self-installed camera system. This wasn’t normal caution; this was the setup of someone who expected trouble.
He turned, intending to comment on the security, when his gaze landed on the far wall of her living room. The words died in his throat. “What is this?”
An elaborate research display covered nearly the entire wall. Maps of the Salt Lake Valley with carefully marked locations. Historical photographs of Porter Rockwell and other early Utah figures. Newspaper clippings about hidden gold caches. Timelines. Charts. Connections marked with red string. And most surprisingly, an article about the Cross Creek Ranch fire with a family photo that included him and his brothers.
“This is …” he began, unable to find the right words.
“My work,” she finished for him. “My research project.”
Nash turned back to her, genuinely impressed despite his suspicions. “This is incredible. You’ve connected points I haven’t even considered.” He pointed to a map where she’d marked potential cache locations. “How did you find these?”
She hobbled to the couch and sat down, elevating her injured ankle on the coffee table with an ice pack wrapped around it. “I told you, I’m working on my master’s in history at the University of Utah. This is my thesis project.”
Nash continued studying the wall, his fingers tracing a line between two locations she’d marked. There was the broken arrow symbol again, alongside what appeared to be an old hand-drawn map of the mountains east of Salt Lake City. The level of detail was astonishing.
“Porter Rockwell’s connection to the broken arrow symbol … this is exactly what my family has been trying to figure out.” He turned back to her. “You have to tell me what you know.”
She shook her head firmly. “No, I don’t. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“You said a man is dead, Amanda—Sadie—whatever your name really is. And somehow it’s connected to this.” He gesturedto the wall. “The same research my family is involved in. Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?”
For a moment, something flashed in her eyes—a vulnerability that made him think she might actually open up. But just as quickly, her expression hardened again. “No, I don’t.”
Nash decided to change tactics. “Nice place,” he said, looking around more deliberately. “Very … secure.”
“I value my privacy,” she replied tightly.
Nash nodded, his gaze settling back on her. “I believe you. The question is … why?”
She didn’t answer, just stared back at him with those green eyes that had haunted him for years.
Nash sighed and took a seat in the armchair across from her. “Look, I didn’t come here to interrogate you. But you have to understand how this looks from my perspective. Eight years ago, my prom date disappears without a word. Then I run into her on a mountain trail while researching gold. She’s using a different name, clearly has security issues, and mentions someone being murdered.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m a lawyer, Amanda. I deal in facts and evidence, and everything about this situation screams that you’re in trouble.”
“My name is Sadie,” she said quietly. “Sadie Blair. Amanda Levitt doesn’t exist anymore.”
