“No,” Amanda says, grabbing my wrist. “I want to stay with you.”
“I have to deal with the police,” I tell her.
“Tell them I’m not here. Tell them I left.”
“They won’t believe that for a second, and we’re not lying to the police. We’ll protect you, but we still have to keep our license.”
She swallows. “I don’t want to talk to them.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “If they ask to see you, we’ll tell them no.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. Unless they come back with a warrant, they’re not getting anywhere near you.”
She hesitates, then nods and lets Andy lead her away.
Outside, I spot our local sheriff Clay Dawson immediately, along with six other cops I don’t recognize. They’re already taking in the compound—guards, fences, everything.
“Gentlemen,” I say, stepping down. “Welcome. What can I do for you?”
A portly, white-haired officer steps forward. “You must be one of the owners.”
“Reid Hutchinson.” I shake his hand. “And you are?”
“Detective O’Neill. Please, call me Patrick.” He flashes his badge and offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, andI’m not buying it. “This is my partner, Detective Jason Casey. We’re from Denver.”
“Welcome. What can we do for you?”
“We’re here about a Mrs. Amanda Barnes. Wife of Mayor Barnes up in Yellowbrook.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “She hasn’t been well.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Lost her father a few years back. Took it hard. Since then—paranoia, running off, making accusations. Family’s been trying to get her help. She’s been on medication, in and out of treatment, but she keeps disappearing. This time, it seems she’s ended up here.”
“Was she under the care of a psychiatrist?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Not formally. She’s seen a few professionals over the years, but nothing stuck, and whenever she stops taking her meds, things tend to spiral. This time she’s cut contact completely. Her husband’s worried sick.” He pauses. “We’d just like to speak with her. Make sure she’s okay. Maybe persuade her to come home, or if not, at least we can report back that she’s safe.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
O’Neill straightens slightly. “I didn’t think we’d need one. This is just a wellness check, Reid.”
“I understand, Detective O’Neill,” I say evenly, “but I have paying guests here. Privacy matters. I can’t let you in without one—especially when a guest has explicitly said she doesn’t want to speak to you.”
He studies me. His expression tightens. “And that’s what she’s saying?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what she’s saying.”
His gaze hardens. “The mayor is a very important man, Reid.”
“No one is above the law, Detective.”
Silence stretches between us until the local sheriff clears his throat. “Oh—here’s Luke.”
I glance over. Luke is coming in from the woods with a group of hikers. Sierra’s with them.
Shit.