Page 20 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)
Diana Martinez swept her headlamp across another exposed vein of copper ore, its green-blue surface glinting in the beam.
Her digital camera clicked as she documented the formation.
She'd lost cell service hours ago, and her watch told her she was well past her planned exit time, but she couldn't leave. Not when she was so close.
"Come on," she muttered, examining the rock face more closely. "Show me what you're hiding."
"Gun or not, you shouldn't be going in there at all," Carol had said that morning. "Just wait until they catch this guy."
But Diana couldn't wait. The EPA wanted her report by the end of the month, and she needed conclusive evidence.
Evidence that the mining company had lied about the copper deposits.
Evidence that might explain why they'd really closed these mines, and why they'd fought so hard to keep them from being properly sealed.
She checked her backup light and spare batteries. Everything is still good. She had enough supplies to last another twelve hours if needed, though she didn't plan to stay nearly that long. Just another hour, maybe two. Just long enough to document what she'd found.
A sound reverberated through the tunnels—probably just settling rock, but Diana's hand moved to her pistol anyway. She'd been foolish to come alone, she knew that. But who would've been crazy enough to come with her? Certainly not Carol.
The beam of her headlamp caught another unusual formation. Diana frowned, moving closer. The rock face here showed signs of tool marks—recent ones, not from the original mining operations. Someone had been actively working this vein, and recently.
"That's why you're so nervous about these mines being sealed," she whispered, thinking of the mining company's representatives. "You're still extracting ore. Illegally. Off the books."
Diana photographed the tool marks from multiple angles, making sure to include scale markers in each shot. The EPA would need solid evidence if they were going to confront the mining company.
She checked her watch again. Carol would be worried sick by now. Diana had meant to text her when she first discovered the signs of recent mining, but by then she'd already lost signal. She should head back, she knew that. But she was too close to stopping now.
Just a little further. Just a little more evidence.
Her light caught something else—a splash of color against the gray rock. Moving closer, she saw it was a cross, painted in what looked like red paint.
No, not paint.
Blood.
Diana's heart rate spiked. Her hand moved to her Glock, drawing it smoothly as she swept her light across the tunnel. Nothing moved in the darkness. The cross gleamed wetly in her beam, fresh enough that it hadn't fully dried.
She should leave. Now. Call this whole thing off, get back to the entrance, report what she'd found to the sheriff.
But if she left now, the evidence might disappear. The mining company had decades of experience covering their tracks. How many other geologists had come close to discovering their secret operation, only to have the evidence vanish before they could document it?
"Think it through," she whispered to herself, a habit from years of working alone.
The killer likely used the main entrance, the one where they'd found Tyler Matthews' truck.
She'd come in through a different access point, one that only a handful of geologists and mining engineers knew about.
Even if he was down here, the odds of him finding her were—
A rock clattered somewhere in the darkness.
Diana killed her headlamp instantly, letting the absolute darkness of the mine envelop her. She pressed against the tunnel wall, controlling her breathing the way she'd learned in her self-defense classes. Listen. Focus.
Nothing but the soft drip of water somewhere deeper in the tunnel system.
She waited five minutes in the darkness, her hand steady on her pistol. When no other sounds came, she reluctantly switched her light back on, keeping it pointed at the ground to preserve her night vision.
The blood-drawn cross seemed to mock her caution. How long ago had it been made? Minutes? Hours? There was no way to tell in the constant temperature and humidity of the mine.
Diana took out her camera again, documenting the cross and its location. Then she set down her pack and pulled out her field notebook, making quick notes:
Signs of recent mining activity in north branch
Copper vein extends beyond documented surveys
Evidence of illegal extraction
Fresh blood marking (cross symbol)—possible connection to recent murders?
She photographed these notes as backup, then tucked everything away in her waterproof pack. Time to go. She had enough evidence now—of both the illegal mining and whatever twisted game the killer was playing down here.
But just as she was about to put the pack back on, something hard struck her in the side of the head, sending her headlamp flying. The light spun as it hit the ground, creating a strobing effect of shadows before going dark with a sickening crack.
Despite the pain, she recovered quickly from the blow.
The Glock was already in her hand, and she fired three times toward where the attack had come from.
The muzzle flash lit the tunnel in stark bursts, burning afterimages in her vision.
In that fragmentary illumination, she caught a glimpse of a figure ducking away.
The sound of her shots echoed through the tunnels, a cascading thunder that seemed to go on forever. Then silence, broken only by the rapid drumming of her heart and the soft scuff of retreating footsteps.
She'd driven him off. But for how long?
Diana pressed herself against the cold stone wall, straining to hear over her own breathing. The darkness was absolute now, the kind of perfect black that existed only deep underground.
Keeping the gun in her right hand, she used her left to reach for the backup light in her pack. Her hand encountered empty air.
Puzzled, she crouched down and felt around the area where she was sure she'd left the pack. Nothing. It was gone.
Taken.
She swallowed hard. She was now in complete darkness far beneath the earth, with little hope of navigating back to the surface.
And somewhere in that darkness, a killer was waiting. Someone who knew these tunnels by heart, who had already murdered at least two people.
And who no doubt intended to make her the third.