The stand-alone tub was deep, and the shower larger. She liked space in her shower and lots of jets coming at her from all sides, since she was often sore from the work she did or from climbing, skiing, backpacking, or any of the other outdoor activities she chose to do. Even dancing with her friends sometimes went on all night. Her shower was perfect for her.
She’d designed the renovations of the main house for two people, although she didn’t believe she would ever have a significant other in her life. She was too closed off. She didn’t share her past with anyone, not even her closest friends. She didn’t really date. The minute anyone started to get too close, she backed off.
The hot water poured over her as she washed her thick blonde hair. Her hair was the one thing she was a little vain about. She didn’t wear it down often, but it was almost silver in color, thanks to her Finnish grandparents on her mother’s side. She had inherited that light, light hair color from them, along with her crystal-blue eyes. The thickness of her hair and her darker lashes were a gift from her father’s side of the family. He was originally from Argentina. Her mother had met him in college in San Diego where they had both attended. Her father was from a wealthy Argentinean family. Between her two parents, she had been lucky to get amazing genetics.
The hot water helped to dispel the last of the nightmare and the bile in her stomach. Unfortunately, her uneasiness persisted. She just wasn’t certain what to do. She had only had those dreams twice before and both times had ended up being worse than her nightmares. Sighing, she squeezed as much water out of her hair as possible before winding a towel around the mass, and then she dried her body off slowly with a warm towel.
Dressing in her favorite pair of jeans and a comfortable tee, she pulled on a sweater and her boots before braiding her hair. She didn’t dry it if she could help it, and since she actually had a day off and she rarely wore make-up or dressed up, she was ready to go in minutes.
“Bailey, I can’t believe you’re still sleeping. Get up, you lazy animal.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to look stern as she regarded the large Airedale still curled up in his dog bed right beside her bed.
Bailey’s eyes opened and he looked at her and then around the room, noting the darkness, as if to say she was out of her mind for getting up so early. Heaving a sigh, the dog got to his feet and followed her through the spacious house to the front door. On the porch, she hesitated at the door. She had stopped locking her door or setting the alarm some time ago, but lately, that crawling feeling down her spine was back. The churning in her stomach started all over again. Bailey waited patiently for her to make up her mind.
Stella knew it was ridiculous to stand in front of her door like a loon. She made decisions all the time. It was just that giving in to her fears was like going backward, and she’d promised herself she would never do that. She stood there indecisively, staring at the thick carved door for another full minute before making up her mind.
Locking the door, she set the alarm, furious with herself for giving in to the nightmares and unrelenting terror that consumed her when she was asleep. Fear crept up on her unawares, and slowly but surely took over until she was caught up in things best left alone. If she was going to actually acknowledge that a murder was going to take place in her beloved Sierras, no one was going to help with investigations this time. The killer would make it look like an accident. She didn’t have dreams unless the murderer was a serial killer, which meant he would kill again. Accidents happened all the time in the Sierras.
There would be no gossip, no whispers or rumors. Before, she’d hated that, the way everywhere she went murder had been the topic of conversation. Now if she wanted to stop a killer, she would have to ask the right questions herself. Several of her friends were involved with search and rescue. She knew the medical examiner. Maybe she could figure out a reason to ask questions that would make sense and, at the same time, raise suspicion that the death wasn’t an accident.
Stella deliberately avoided the marina and walked in the dark to reach the family pier. This dock was not one that the original owners drove their boat to—they used the marina’s piers for that. It was private, a dock for enjoying the sunrises and sunsets, just as she was doing now. The dock had been positioned perfectly to catch the beauty of the mountains mirrored in the lake as the sun rose or set. She never got tired of the view.
She was so familiar with the layout of the grounds that she barely needed her small penlight as she maneuvered the narrow path that took her away from the main buildings, the small grocery store, the bait shop, the collection of cabins, the play areas designated for children and the game areas for adults.
The trail took her behind the campsites and RV sites to an even narrower path that led through a pile of boulders and into a heavy forested area. Once through the trees, she was back to the shoreline. It seemed a ridiculous place to put a pier, but she liked the peace when she needed it most—like now. Tourists didn’t know the way to the pier and that meant precious solitude when she had a few hours—or a day—to herself.
Fall had arrived, and with it the glorious colors as only the Eastern Sierras could cloak herself with. She loved every season in the Sierras, but fall was definitely a favorite. The cooler weather after the summer heat was always welcome. There was still fishing, and tourists were still coming, but things were slowing down so she could take a breath. Climbing was still a possibility and she loved climbing.
Then there was just the sheer beauty of the blazing reds, all the various shades from crimson to a flat almost purplered, on the leaves of many of the trees. The oranges were the same, all the varying shades. She hadn’t known there were so many shades, subtle to brilliant orange, golds and yellows, the colors vying for attention even among the varying greens, until she came to the Eastern Sierras.
The mountains rose above the lake, containing forests of trees pressed together so tightly they seemed impenetrable from a distance. The mountains stretched for miles, with canyons and rivers, amazing forests and beautiful scarred rock found nowhere else. This was the place of legends, and she had come to love it and the ever-changing landscape.
Stella sat on the end of the thick planks making up the pier and stared out over the water of the icy lake. Fed by the high mountain rivers and snowpack, Sunrise Lake was a huge bowl of deep sapphire-colored water. A light breeze ruffled the surface, but for the most part, the water gleamed like glass. Sometimes the incomparable beauty of this place stole her breath. It didn’t seem to matter what time of year it was; the lake and surrounding mountains always had such elegance and majesty to them.
Bailey curled up beside her, close, the way he always did when she sat on the end of the pier. He went right back to sleep, never knowing how long she planned to sit, waiting for the sun to come up. She wished Bailey could talk, so she could at least have someone to sound important things out with—like murder—but when she’d tried, the dog gave her a look like she’d lost her mind and shoved his face in her lap, inviting her to scratch his ears. Taking advantage. That was her beloved Bailey.
There was no warning. A hand touched her shoulder and she nearly threw herself forward off the dock into the lake. Bailey didn’t even look up or make a sound. The hand caught her in a firm grip before she could tumble off the pier. She turned her head to glare up at the man towering over her. Sam Rossi was one of those men who could walk in absolute silence. Sometimes, like now, he freaked her out. He was too rough to call gorgeous, with his chiseled masculine features, all angles and planes. His jaw was always covered in a dark shadow that was never a beard yet never shaved. He rarely smiled, if ever, and when he did, that smile never quite reached his arctic-cold eyes.