Page 14 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)

Sheila emerged from the mine entrance well after midnight, her flashlight beam finally giving way to starlight.

Eight hours of searching the Hollow Road and its tributaries had left her bone-weary, her throat raw from breathing mine dust. Yet they'd found nothing—no trace of the figure in night-vision goggles, no sign of where he might have gone.

Gabriel waited by the command post, two cups of coffee in hand. The floodlights cast harsh shadows across his face, deepening the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. He'd been coordinating search teams all day, his bad knee probably screaming at him, but he'd refused to leave.

"Here," he said, offering her a cup. "It's terrible, but it's hot."

She accepted the coffee and leaned against a folding table covered in maps. Her muscles protested even that small movement.

"They got Marcus's body out about an hour ago," Gabriel said quietly. "Coroner's doing the preliminary examination now, but I think we have a pretty good idea what happened."

Sheila closed her eyes briefly, trying to shut out the memory of seeing Marcus's body sprawled at the bottom of that shaft.

"I'm guessing from the look on your face," her father continued, "that your search didn't go well."

She shook her head. "We followed the Hollow Road as far as we safely could. Checked every branch, every alcove."

"How far did you get?"

"About two miles in. The tunnels start getting unstable after that—too dangerous without proper equipment." She took a long drink of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. "If he was down there, he's long gone."

"Or he never went that way at all." Her father studied one of the maps, tracing a route with his finger. "Eight hours we've had teams searching that section. Meanwhile, he could have circled back, used any of these other exits."

"While we wasted time following a false lead." She ran a hand through her hair, dislodging mine dust. "There are too many possibilities right now." She hesitated as a new worry nagged at her. "Think there's any chance we screwed up with John?"

Her father's bushy eyebrows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

"Could he have been the killer? Maybe he had his kids make up that sighting of the person with the goggles. Maybe John actually had them and ditched them somewhere."

"You think the killer was really in there with his wife and kids, and they just went along with it?" Gabriel shook his head. "I'm not buying it."

They were both silent for a few moments. Sheila took a big swallow of coffee, then pushed off from the table.

"Where are you going?" Gabriel asked.

I should get back in there, try another section—"

"When was the last time you ate?"

The question caught her off guard. "What?"

"Or slept?" He turned to face her fully. "You can't help anyone if you run yourself into the ground."

"We don't have time for—"

"You sound like me," he said softly. "Back when I was your age, working cases. Always pushing, never stopping."

She recognized his tone—the one he used when he was about to share a lesson wrapped in a story. But right now, she didn't want lessons. She wanted to find this killer before anyone else died.

"Dad, I appreciate the concern, but—"

"Let me tell you something." He settled into a folding chair, gesturing for her to join him.

When she remained standing, he continued anyway.

"Back in '85, we had a serial arsonist targeting churches.

I was lead investigator, working myself to exhaustion.

Thought I was being dedicated, doing what needed to be done. "

Despite her resistance to taking a break, she found herself asking, "What happened?"

"My partner, Jim Martinez—you remember him? He saw what I couldn't. That I was making mistakes, missing details. One night, after I'd been awake for thirty-six hours straight..." He smiled at the memory. "He handcuffed me to my own desk."

"He what?"

"Wouldn't release me until I got some sleep. I was furious, of course. Thought he was sabotaging the investigation." Gabriel took a sip of coffee. "But when I woke up six hours later, my mind was clear enough to spot the pattern we'd been missing. Caught the guy that afternoon."

Sheila sank into the chair beside him, her body betraying her with its need for rest. "This is different. Every hour we waste—"

"Sleeping isn't a waste if it helps you see what you've been missing." He studied her face. "You're good at this job, Sheila. Maybe better than I was. But you're not superhuman."

Maybe better than I was —the words echoed in Sheila's head. She'd forgotten how much she lived in the overlapping shadows of her father and sister. Would Natalie have said the same thing? Was she even close to the Sheriff Natalie had been?

She was still pondering this when a familiar voice called out: "Sheila?"

She turned to find Finn approaching, looking concerned as he took in her exhausted state.

Before she could warn him about the dirt covering her clothes, he pulled her into an embrace. Despite her exhaustion, she found herself melting into his arms, letting out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Star's worried about you," he said softly against her hair.

Sheila pulled back to look at him. "Is she okay?"

"She's with Mrs. Jacobs for dinner. Wasn't happy about it—said fourteen is too old for a babysitter. But with everything going on..." He shrugged. "Mrs. Jacobs knows how to handle her moods."

Gabriel quietly excused himself, giving them space. Sheila watched him limp toward the command post, then turned back to Finn.

"Has she mentioned Jake again?" she asked.

Sheila had recently discovered Star was dating a young man who had to be at least eighteen years old.

Sheila had brought Star home, but not before calling in an officer to arrest Jake.

After doing some digging into Jake's past, she knew she'd made the right decision.

Jake had been in and out of court since his earliest teenage years on charges ranging from shoplifting to arson, which only underscored the importance of keeping him away from Star, who might easily see in Jake a fellow outsider who understood her far better than her upstanding guardian ever could.

Smart as Star was, she was still young and impressionable. Which was why it was so very important for Sheila to protect her.

Still, Sheila knew better than to think that arresting Jake would immediately solve the issue.

Even if he got jail time—and he very well might, considering his checkered history—it would do nothing to heal the wounds in Star's heart, created by the abandonment of one parent and the abuse of the other.

Until those wounds were healed, Star would always be vulnerable to those looking to take advantage of her. Sheila hoped to play a role in healing those wounds, but the truth was that she felt woefully inadequate for the task. She supposed only time would tell if this was true.

She looked at Finn, who was pondering her question about Jake.

"No," he said carefully, and there was a flicker of anger in the depths of his eyes. "Not to me, anyway. I think after your talk with her about older men taking advantage of teenage girls, it finally sank in. She's been throwing herself into her photography instead."

"Good." Sheila felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. At least one thing in her life was going right. "I should call her, though, just the same."

"Already told her you would, as soon as you're done here." Finn touched her arm. "She understands, you know. More than you'd think. She keeps saying you're out there making sure no one else gets hurt."

Sheila smiled despite her exhaustion. "When did she get so wise?"

"Around the same time, she started feeling secure enough to trust us."

Sheila nodded, encouraged by this news. "And how are you healing?" she asked, gesturing at his side, where he'd been shot during a previous investigation.

"Better than yesterday." He touched his ribs carefully. "Doc says another week before I can return to full duty. Though watching you run yourself into the ground while I sit at home..." He shook his head. "It's not easy."

"I need you healthy," she said, touching his arm. "And Star needs at least one of us functioning normally right now."

"Speaking of functioning normally..." He gestured to a cooler by his truck. "I brought real food. Actual sandwiches, not those vending machine things you've probably been living on."

"I haven't been living on anything," she admitted. "Haven't really eaten today."

"Your father mentioned that might be the case." At her look, he added, "We talked earlier."

"Since when are you having private conversations with my father?" Her tone was light, but inwardly she felt uneasy at this development, though she couldn't have put her finger on the reason why.

Finn leaned against his truck. "He called me, actually. Wanted to know how you'd been sleeping, what with the developments with Tommy and that kind of thing. Said you sometimes get nightmares after traumatic cases." He studied her face. "Do you?"

She felt her face flush. It wasn't her father's place to speak about her like she was a child.

"He had no right to—"

"He's trying, Sheila." Finn's voice was gentle. "We talked about that too. About how he kept secrets thinking it would protect you, and how badly that backfired." He paused. "He also asked about us living together. Whether I was taking good care of you."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That you take care of yourself just fine, but that I have your back anyway." A small smile played on his lips. "He seemed to approve, though he tried not to show it. Said something about how at least I was honest with you, unlike him."

"You sound like you've changed your mind about it."

Finn took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his nostrils flaring. "It's more complicated than I realized. Him being your father… Yes, he's broken your trust. But if anyone deserves the chance to repair that trust…" He trailed off.