Silver Creek, Nevada
Three years later
Jack Prescott looked around the suite he lived in at The
Inn at Silver Creek and faced a basic fact in his life. He
had everything. He had enough money to do anything he
wanted. He had a handful of close, really good friends,
and he had this resort he'd built from the ground up. His
accountant had once told him that if he spent money every
waking hour for the rest of his life, he'd die rich. Then
they'd both laughed. He wasn't laughing now. His wealth
didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
He raked a hand through his dark brown hair, flecked with
gray, and exhaled on a rough sigh. When had everything
stopped mattering? God, he wished he knew.At thirty-eight,
he should have had the world by the tail. Instead, he felt
as if the world had him. He crossed the shadowed suite,
poured a drink then sank into one of two leather couches
and stared at the fire in the stone hearth.
He took a long swallow of whiskey, let the fire burn
through him, then he eased low in the supple pillows and
stretched his booted feet out in front of him. He was
here, and he didn't want to be here. Yet he wasn't sure
where he did want to be. All he knew was, he wanted to
wake up in the morning and be excited about another day.
He couldn't remember when that had last happened, but he
remembered when he'd realized he'd lost the ability to be
excited.
He'd managed to get a hold of a chunk of land he'd wanted
to incorporate into the grounds of The Inn for years. It
had the best skiing imaginable, and it butted up against
the north end of The Inn's property. It had been a self-
imposed test for him: get the land and everything would be
right; get the land and nothing would be right.
So he'd gone after the land, focused on it — and then he'd
gotten it. The land had fallen into his lap with an ease
that had been startling.
And that was when he knew. At that moment nothing had been
right. Nothing mattered.
That was when he'd made the final decision to leave Silver
Creek. He'd secure things here at The Inn, maybe sell off
some of his holdings, including the new acquisition, which
didn't mean a thing to him now, and he'd walk out the
door. He'd go, and keep going until that one morning when
he'd awaken and he'd be excited about the new day. That
was when he'd know he'd found what he was looking for.
He finished off his drink, then stood and headed into his
bedroom. He stepped out of his boots, stripped off his
chambray shirt and jeans, and fell onto the cool linen on
his huge, four-poster bed. He stretched out on his back
and stared into the deep shadows that surrounded him. In a
week, two weeks tops, he'd go.
As he settled that, a huge weight seemed to lift off him
and he rolled onto his side. It was his life, and he'd
make it what he wanted it to be. Whatever that turned out
to be. He'd do it, and he'd do it alone, the way he'd
pretty much done everything in his life.
IT WAS LATE December, just a couple of days to the new
year, and Jillian was working. She'd worked most holidays
in the past few years, usually thankful for the
distraction of work. Christmas this year had been empty
for her, alone in her apartment, then spending an hour at
the care facility with Johnny. But over the New Year's
holiday, she'd work and make the money she needed. But for
some reason, as she drove into the small skiing town of
Silver Creek, she felt vaguely depressed at what her life
had become.
Self-pity wasn't something she ever indulged in and she
wouldn't start now. She was on her way to one of the most
exclusive resorts in the country, so that wasn't all bad.
She'd be paid to stay there for a week, and all she had to
do was take notice of what made The Inn at Silver Creek so
desirable and exclusive. "A piece of cake," she muttered,
and paid attention to her driving.
The snow that had been falling ever since she'd started
her climb into the Sierra Nevada Mountains had finally
stopped. Plows were busy clearing the main street in the
town, and traffic backed up behind the lumbering
machinery. She didn't mind. It gave her a few extra
moments to take in her surroundings.
The valley slashed through the mountains, rugged peaks
that disappeared into dark clouds on the west and east
sides. Whoever had laid out the town had taken the path of
least resistance, which had resulted in a route that gave
visitors a view of the scenery that was awe-inspiring.
Silver Creek was a nice little town. It had a perfect
location in the mountain range that ridged between
California and Nevada. It was the right size, not overly
large, not too small, and easily accessible from Las Vegas
or from northern California. A nice little package.
The main street wandered north and south in the natural
cut, with side streets fanning out and up into the
foothills. Skiers were everywhere, taking their time
crossing the streets, going from one specialty shop to
another, housed in the two-and three-story brick buildings
that lined the way. Many held cups of hot coffee or
chocolate in their hands, the steam from which mingled in
the frigid air with their exhaled breaths. Cars filled
every space set aside for parking, and the lights from the
businesses flashed with every imaginable color.
Although she was driving the luxury SUV she had rented in
Las Vegas at a pace that would rival a snail's, she felt
the back tires lose traction for a moment when she braked.
Almost immediately, the car was stable again, and she
realized she was at the end of a long line of cars waiting
to get into the parking lot for the public lifts. An
attendant bundled in heavy clothes came walking down the
line, stopping at each car, saying something, then moving
on.
He reached her car, and as she slid down the window, he
said quickly, "Only got B parking, in the satellite lot.
Twenty dollars for the day, and two by the hour."
"I just want to get past," she said, her breathing
clouding into the frigid air.
He motioned her to the right. "Go around the car in front
of you, and there's enough room for you to keep going."
"Thanks," she said. She put up the window and did as he
said. In less than a minute, she was past the long line
and heading out of the main town. The last of the
businesses fell away, and a scattering of houses could be
seen well back from the road.
As she headed out of town on a narrow two-lane highway,
climbing higher into the mountains, the phone in the
console rang. Only one person had this number, so it
wasn't a stretch for her to answer it with "Hi, Ray."
"Hello there," her boss, Ray Shelley, said cheerfully.
Jill had a vivid mental image of the stocky man back in
San Francisco, sitting in his ridiculously huge leather
chair in his overdone office, running a hand over his
almost bald head and frowning intently. An ever-present
cigar would be haloing smoke over him, despite the no-
smoking signs everywhere. "I'm on my way out the door for
a party," he said, "but I wanted to check and make sure
you're all in place."
"I just passed through Silver Creek and I'm heading to The
Inn," she murmured.
"Great. I'm also calling to let you know that Prescott is
going to be at The Inn for a week after New Year's, but
not much longer."
Jack Prescott, the man who literally built The Inn at
Silver Creek from the ground up, was going to be there
when she got to The Inn. That could be a good
thing. "Well, your spies have been busy little beavers,
haven't they?" she murmured as she eyed the great mounds
of snow that plows had deposited on both sides of the
highway.
"You're the only spy I have anywhere near The Inn at the
moment."
She frowned at the term "spy," but she realized that her
job really didn't have an easy title. She observed
businesses, analyzed their operations and wrote reports
for her client, whoever that was at the time. Sure, she
did it anonymously, blending in any way she could to get
the information she needed to get, but spy wasn't a word
she liked to use. She got her assignments through Ray and
his Platinum Group's development division, and if anyone
asked, she'd say she was an evaluator. They didn't know
what that meant, but so far, no one had asked her to
elaborate.
"Then how do you know Prescott's going to be there when I
arrive? The last I heard no one knew if he'd be there at
all."
"He called Dennis Wright, our head attorney, and said he'd
heard through his channels that we might be brokering a
deal for one of his holdings. He wanted to verify it."
"And what was he told?"
"Wright told him the truth."
She involuntarily slowed the car at this admission and got
a sharp retort from the horn of a car behind her. She sped
up and said, "Everything?"
"No, of course not. Just what he needed to know." She
exhaled. "Okay, tell me what he was told. I don't want to
get tripped up while I'm there, especially if he's in the
vicinity and there's any chance of my meeting him."
Ray said that the attorney had verified that they
were "considering" being a broker for some land in that
area. As she listened, the impatient car behind her cut
out into the oncoming lane to pass her. It was a fire-
engine-red Porsche and it roared alongside her, so close
she felt the SUV almost shudder; then the driver gunned
the engine and cut back into the lane right in front of
her.
The Porsche went even faster now, disappearing around a
curve ahead, and she fully expected to hear screeching
brakes and a crash. She didn't, but at least the car was
gone, and she slowed again. "And he didn't ask any more
questions?" she finally said when Ray paused.
"I don't know, but I'm sure Wright used the old 'I'm not
at liberty to say." I suspect Prescott has people digging
into it right now. He'll find out that Platinum is
considering a number of properties in the area. His is
just one of them."
That wasn't what she'd been told. Their client wanted
Prescott's property, period. "So he's selling for sure?"
"I don't know. He recently acquired the land our client
wants, but his people sent out the word that he was
considering turning over some of his assets, that land
included — if things go right and if he likes what's
brought to him." Ray released a hiss of air over the line.
"He seems in a hurry to leave Silver Creek and I figure he
wants to streamline his holdings. It's just not easy
dealing with a man who is so personally involved in every
business decision, even when he's letting go of some
holdings."
People who owned most of any town seldom let go of it. A
large chunk of Silver Creek belonged to Prescott. He'd be
a fool to throw away his holdings, and from what Jill knew
of the man, he wasn't a fool. She spotted a high fence all
but covered with the snow off to the left. It ran north as
far as she could see. "Then this is all on speculation
until he decides?"
"And until our client decides if they can do what they
think they can with that land," Ray said.