Colt Garner wacked his hand over the clock radio, searching for the button to make Lisa Laredo's voice stop. At first, in his foggy state, he'd thought they were back on stage, doing a duet. But the infernal song had actually awakened him from a deep sleep.

He turned on his side, took one look at the time, and muttered, "Shit." In his slightly inebriated state, he must've set the alarm wrong the night before and was now running late for a meeting with the mayor, who more than likely wanted to fire him.

Warm sunlight streamed through his window, making him shield his eyes with the back of his hand. Another hot August day in Glory Junction, California. Which meant record numbers of people would flood the town over the weekend to raft on the Glory River, waterski on Lake Paiute, and hike the Sierra mountains. In the winter, the tourists came for the snow. The town boasted five ski resorts, and from Main Street you could see chairlifts and gondolas going up and down the mountainsides. St. Moritz of the West is what some people called it, but the town hadn't always been this affluent. When Colt's parents had settled here it had been home to ranchers and ski bums and a haven for back-to-the-land hippies.

But it hadn't taken long for the rest of the world to discover the hamlet, only three and a half hours northeast of San Francisco and seven hours from Los Angeles. Professional athletes came for the world-class skiing, rock climbing, and river rapids. Tech moguls and celebrities for the cachet and property values of a picturesque ski town in the Mother Lode. It even had a private airport so part-timers could fly in for quick stays at their lake houses or ski-in condos.

The growth was great for his family, who owned and operated Garner Adventure, an extreme-sport and tour company. But as chief of the Glory Junction Police Department, not so much. Most days he was understaffed for the barrage of tourists and weekenders. Still, he wouldn't trade the job for anything.

Colt finally found the radio knob and shut the music off. Every time he heard the song it reopened old wounds. Wounds he wanted permanently scabbed over. The phone rang, further reminding him that he needed to get out of bed, pronto. He checked the caller ID and answered.

"I'm running late," he said by way of greeting. "What's up?"

"Good show last night." His usually workaholic brother, TJ, along with the rest of his family, had sat through three sets. It meant a lot to Colt, especially TJ, who had his hands full running Garner Adventure.

"Not bad, considering how rusty I am." It was the first time he'd had a gig in months. Between getting called out on police emergencies and being asked to pick up the slack at his family's company, Colt was lucky if he got a full night's sleep, let alone have the time to play music.

"You didn't sound rusty to me," TJ said. "What are you doing Sunday?"

It was Colt's only day off. "Sleeping."

"We had a last minute guide cancellation and I was wondering if you had a couple of hours to lead a river-rafting tour. Before you say no, it's a bachelorette party. Bikinis."

Colt didn't care if the women were naked, he wanted his day off. "I thought you were hiring more guides."

TJ let out a breath. "We did. We're still having trouble keeping up with the amount of business we're getting."

"Try harder."

"Working on it. So, can you do it? Come on, I went to your show. That's three hours I'll never get back."

Colt swung his feet off the bed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Yeah, all right." He'd fit it in somehow. "I hope you can afford the three hours for my funeral when I die of sleep deprivation. Maybe do a eulogy, if it's not too much trouble for you. I've got a meeting with Pond, so gotta go." Colt hung up before his younger brother could rope him into something else.

In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee and headed for a quick shower. His uniform, the only clean one left in the closet, could've used a good pressing, but he put it on anyway, along with his gun belt and badge. Colt filled a mug with caffeine. If he could've mainlined it, he would've.

His cell vibrated in his pocket, making him jump, and he sloshed the coffee over the rim of his cup and all over his shirt.

"Shit!" Hot.

He grabbed a dish towel and futilely tried to clean himself. Giving up, he stuck his chest over the sink and turned on the sprayer. As he dripped onto the kitchen floor, he checked the missed call. Win, the youngest of his three brothers. He thought about changing his shirt, caught sight of the clock, and grabbed another towel from the drawer to blot himself dry the best he could. A fresh shirt and Win would have to wait. As it was, he was cutting it too close for comfort.

On the way out the door, Colt snagged his keys, put on his aviators, and jogged down his back porch stairs. If he avoided Main Street, he might be able to get to city hall on time.

"Dammit." His neighbor's car blocked his cruiser. Again.

The two of them shared an easement road that forked off onto their respective driveways and garages. Like most of the homes in Glory Junction, his was on a hillside with a driveway so steep it should've been illegal. And because his house was on a small lot, there was no place to turn around. Street parking didn't exist on account of there being no curbs, just an occasional dirt shoulder barely wide enough for a Smart car. So Colt liked to park on the shoulder of the easement for quick access to his vehicle. There wasn't room for two cars, yet she continually parked there anyway.

He crossed over to her ostentatious mini mansion, climbed the front porch, and knocked on the door. Colt knew she was home. Yet it took her so long to answer, he considered going inside, justifying it as a welfare check.

She finally came out in exercise clothes that looked too nice to work out in. The top was some kind of wraparound thing that dipped low, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. He tried really hard not to look, but failed miserably. He chalked it up to being a degenerate and not to the fact that she had a spectacular rack. She was doing some leering of her own, her eyes roving over his chest.

"What happened to your shirt?" she asked.

He glanced down to see what she was talking about. Oh yeah, the coffee.

Colt cocked his head at her Tesla. "I thought we talked about the parking situation ... how a lot of times I need to get out of here in a hurry."

"And I thought I explained to you that I need to be close to the outlet to plug in my car."

"Don't you have one in your garage or near your garage?" The house had a security system that rivaled most banks'. Colt figured the builder hadn't skimped on electrical outlets.

"I told you this already. Clearly you weren't listening. It's the only two-hundred-forty-volt outlet. It was installed on a fifty-amp circuit breaker. They're not like your run-of-the-mill house outlets."

Thanks for the lesson on electrical capacity, he wanted to say, but didn't have time to argue with her. "Delaney, work with me here, okay? I've got to be somewhere."

"What, are they having a special on donuts at Tart Me Up?" He rolled his eyes. "Clever. Because I never heard that one before."

She glanced at her watch and sighed. "Fine. But you do realize that you only have the easement because I allow it. It's my land."

"The easement has been on the books longer than either of us has lived here." Before she...