Maximum Exposure by Allison Brennan

informed the rangers on Saturday that he was missing, we could have found him.”
    “Yes.”
    He let out a long, slow sigh. “I don’t know.”
    “We found him in a different area than you originally looked.”
    “Correct.”
    Max nodded.
    “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Ms. Revere, but you’re thinking.”
    “Max. My friends call me Max.” He was right; she was thinking. “What if they deliberately misled search and rescue?”
    “Playing devil’s advocate, why? There’s no physical trauma. No signs of abuse, no bruising, minor scrapes consistent with the environment.”
    “If something else happened—maybe drug related, maybe something Scott knew—something that, if he were found alive, he could tell that would get the others in trouble.”
    “That’s a mighty big leap, unsupported by any evidence.”
    “There’s plenty of evidence,” she said bitterly. “It’s a matter of how we look at it. Is Detective Horn going to talk to them?”
    “Not until after the autopsy report comes back.”
    “They’ll have plenty of time to synchronize their stories.”
    “I think it would be best if you stayed in the background. Amelia is a good cop. If there’s something there, she’ll find it.”
    “She told me on the phone that there was no evidence of foul play then, and if there’s no physical evidence now, there’s not going to be an investigation. It’s not like I’m impeding an official police inquiry. I can get Tom Keller to confess. He’s the weak link.”
    “Confess to what?”
    She stared Chuck in the eye. “The truth.”
    *   *   *
    Max rarely found herself drunk, but she was tipsy when she walked back to her hotel room. She hoped the alcohol would help her sleep, but suspected it would more likely contribute to vivid and disturbing dreams. She drank water while checking her e-mail. Her editor—she filed it away to respond to later. Ben, again nagging her about the television show. She e-mailed him back.
    If you keep nagging me, I will block your e-mails and never return a phone call. I’ll let you know when I make my decision.
    There were several other messages she ignored or deleted, and then she saw the note from her computer genius in New York, Grant Malone.
    I analyzed the image you forwarded. It was uploaded at 8:39 a.m. local time on October 31. The image was uploaded via Wi-Fi, the code was also embedded in the image. I’ve attached the GPS location and verification of the Wi-Fi code.
    She clicked on the attachment. The photo had been uploaded from a hotel off the interstate that was nowhere near the campground. In fact, they were thirty-seven miles away, in a warm hotel room while Scott Sheldon died a slow and painful death, cold and alone.

Chapter Eight
    When Max woke Thursday morning, she planned to go directly to the college campus and confront Tom Keller with the evidence, compel him to tell her the truth. But she needed more evidence than a photo she’d downloaded from the Internet. It convinced her, and it might convince Tom to talk, but Arthur Cowan was a wily bastard, and Max needed something irrefutable. Something else to sway Tom Keller that telling the truth was his only choice.
    She doubted anyone at the hotel would remember three college boys after six months, but she might be able to convince one of the staff members to look up information for her. It was worth a shot.
    And if they wouldn’t do it out of the kindness of their hearts, Max had enough cash to convince them. It had worked in the past.
    The hotel was twenty-five minutes north of Colorado Springs, outside the city limits and off the interstate—the same road they used before turning up the mountain to get to the campground. On the drive, Max called the campus bookstore to talk to Jess, but learned she didn’t work Thursdays. Max couldn’t convince the person who answered to give her Jess’s cell phone number or her dorm room, and while Max couldn’t blame them for protecting Jess’s