“I’m not a federal agent, but it didn’t make sense to me that you were sent here to deal with supposed terrorists by yourself. Maybe your dad is on to something. Who’s Daughtry?”
“My boss’s boss. He was my dad’s special agent in charge the last year he was with the Bureau.”
“It doesn’t sound like George really wanted to retire,” Connor said. “So why did he leave?”
She inhaled a shaky breath, nostrils pinched, then flaring. “He was shot. The bullet went in under his arm, just slipped past his ballistics vest. He was in the hospital for two weeks.” The image of him in that bed in intensive care, tubes running out of hisbody, his face mostly obscured by an oxygen mask, still haunted her.
“He looks okay now.”
“He’s a good actor. It’s one of the things that made him a good agent.”
“Did you join the FBI because of him?”
“I guess so. I loved hearing stories about the jobs he’d been on. He always made it seem like such honorable, important work.”
“I think it is.”
“It doesn’t look so shiny and pure from the inside.”
“Nothing does. I was in the army, remember? What we did was important, but the bureaucracy behind it wasn’t always easy to live with.”
At least a dozen people were already gathered around several picnic tables in the open-sided pavilion in the center of the campground. Stacy paused just inside to get her bearings, and her father caught up with them.
“See anybody you know?” George asked.
“I do,” Connor said.
Stacy glanced at him. “Over there, at the table in the center. Isn’t that Jace Dennison?”
The snowboarder was wearing the same pants and jacket he’d had on this afternoon, a gray knit beanie pulled down over his blond hair.
“Let’s go say hello,” Stacy said and started toward him. George and Connor followed.
Jace looked up, then nodded at their approach. “Hey,” he said.
“How are you doing?” Stacy asked. “I’m Stacy, by the way. We didn’t exactly have time to introduce ourselves this afternoon. And you remember Connor.”
Connor offered his hand, and Jace shook it. “Yeah, of course. Thanks again.” His gaze shifted to George.
“I’m George. Stacy’s dad.” George shook hands, too. “Stacy was telling me about this group, and I came out to see if I could help.”
“We don’t get many SkyCrest employees.” Jace frowned at Connor.
Connor slid onto the bench beside Jace. “I’d probably lose my job if my boss knew I was here, but it’s no secret I’m no fan of their expansion plans.”
“Why not?” Jace asked. “Job security and all that.”
“Hah!” Connor leaned toward Jace. “Ski patrol is already shorthanded, and they expect us to patrol new terrain without adding staff. And they’re sure not going to pay us more.” He shook his head. “And I live in this town, too. The last thing we need is more tourists. Corporations like the one that runs SkyCrest are ruining this country.”
Stacy’s eyes widened. Connor did an impressive job of sounding authentically disgruntled. Exactly the sort of man who would appeal to saboteurs looking for inside access to the resort.
“Welcome, folks.” An older man with jowls like a bulldog, a canvas jacket hugging his broad shoulders and barrel chest, joined them. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
“I’m George.” George stuck out his hand. “And this is my daughter, Stacy, and her boyfriend, Connor.”
“Connor works for SkyCrest,” Jace said. “For ski patrol.”
“So I heard.” The older man nodded. “I’m Shane. I organized this group to protest the Blaine Mountain expansion.”
