“Normally I’d say let’s just check out yours and Angela’s side since Cookie is accounted for, but we’re still missing Spuds—”

“Kevin. His name is Kevin.”

“Kevin and Angela. Let’s do a quick sweep of your place first, then Cookie’s, just to be sure, then Angela’s.”

Wyatt grunted his acknowledgment.

Like the rest of the buildings at Mule Shoe, Wyatt’s door was unlocked. Wyatt flicked on the lights as they entered. Unlike the rest of the resort, the living room–kitchen combination was far from primitive. A refrigerator hummed and a small red light glowed from the flat-screen television. The room looked lived in, with a jacket thrown over a chair, boots by the door, and a couple of glasses half full of liquid on the kitchen counter. The bed was unmade in the corner. Wyatt took a quick glance into the bathroom and a closet. “Nothing.”

They moved to Cookie’s place. As at Wyatt’s, the same comforts were present—modern kitchen, flat-screen television, and on a nearby desk was a MacBook Pro. A computer printer sat beside it.

“We’re in business,” Bram said. “We can contact—”

“No internet connection.” Wyatt opened a nearby door, peeked in, then shut it and glanced over at Bram. “Sorry.”

“You both have television. How do you get—”

“Television reception? We don’t. I don’t turn mine on. Cookie’s a movie buff. When all the guests have left, she has us all over for movie night.” He opened another door, revealing a wall of DVDs.

A quick glance at the titles proved Cookie’s taste ran to documentaries and regional outdoor shows with a few popular titles tucked in. Bram suddenly felt grubby for snooping. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly.

After switching off the lights, they left Cookie’s side and entered Angie’s apartment. The light switch didn’t work, so Bram turned on his flashlight. The illumination lit up the artist lying in a pool of blood.

His stomach twisted. Not another one. He raced to her side and checked for a pulse.

Wyatt joined him. “How bad?”

“Bad. She’s lost a lot of blood.” Bram glanced around the room. “She can’t stay here. We can’t secure two locations. We have to get her to the lodge—”

Before he could finish, Wyatt scooped up the injured woman and headed to the door. Bram followed. He knew the flashlight he held would be a beacon for the killer, but he didn’t want Wyatt to trip and further injure Angie. His spine prickled, anticipating a bullet between his shoulder blades. Sweat dampened his shirt. The trees seemed closer together, the trail longer, the night darker.

Once they cleared the forest, the pale moon illuminated their path. Wyatt broke into a trot. Bram shut off his flashlight and raced to the lodge door. “Open up, quickly!”