Page 3 of Silent Grave (Sheila Stone #12)

Sheila's body was a coiled spring as she studied the old motel, which squatted against the desert landscape like a forgotten relic of better times.

Its neon sign buzzed weakly in the growing light, half the letters burnt out.

The vacancy sign flickered, though from the empty parking lot, vacancy wasn't an issue.

"You sure about this?" Gabriel asked as Sheila pulled into the corner of the lot from which they could watch both the office and the row of rooms.

"The clerk at the last gas station remembered him. Said he was asking about motels." Sheila killed the engine but left the key in the ignition. "This is the only one for twenty miles that takes cash and doesn't ask questions."

They sat in silence, watching. Paint peeled from the motel's wooden siding. A forgotten newspaper tumbled across the lot, caught in the desert wind. The sun was climbing higher, burning away the last traces of night, but the morning remained cold.

Sheila's phone buzzed. Another text from Finn: Star's asking questions. Getting harder to keep her distracted.

She started to type a response, then stopped. What could she say? That she was staking out a fleeing suspect who might know why her mother was murdered? That she was trying to untangle a web of corruption that might involve people they'd trusted for years?

"He's here," Gabriel said softly.

Sheila looked up. A door had opened at the far end of the motel.

Tommy Forster stepped out, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

He looked terrible—unshaven, clothes wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes.

He didn't spot their vehicle as he hurried toward a battered pickup truck, perhaps as little as thirty feet from where Sheila and her father were parked.

"That's not the vehicle he was driving at the truck stop," Gabriel said.

"Must have switched cars." Sheila reached for her door handle. "Ready?"

But before either of them could get out, another vehicle turned into the lot—a black SUV with tinted windows. Tommy saw the approaching vehicle and froze, keys halfway to his truck's door.

"Federal agents," Gabriel muttered. "Damn it."

The SUV parked close to the truck. Sheila watched as Tommy backed away from his truck, looking like a cornered animal. She clenched her hands on the steering wheel, unsure what to do. If the agents got their hands on him first…

The SUV's doors opened. Two men in dark suits emerged, their movements precise, coordinated. Professional. They hadn't drawn weapons yet, but their hands stayed close to their jackets.

Tommy looked toward the desert beyond the motel, clearly calculating his chances of running.

"He's going to bolt," Sheila said. "And if he does, they might shoot him." She reached for her door handle, but her father grabbed her arm.

"Not yet," he said.

"We have to do something!"

He gave her a sharp look, the same kind she'd seen many times before over the years.

It meant, Trust me. She clenched her jaw in frustration.

They were gambling with a man's life, and besides that, how could she trust him after what he'd kept from her about her mother's death?

Did he think she'd just forget about that now that they were working together?

"Federal agents!" one of the men called out. "Thomas Forster, we need you to come with us."

Tommy's eyes darted between the agents, his truck, and the open desert. His hands trembled as he lowered his duffle bag to the ground.

"Show me your credentials," Tommy called back, his voice surprisingly steady.

The men exchanged glances. The taller one reached for his jacket, but Sheila noticed his partner's hand slip inside his coat toward what she suspected wasn't a badge.

"Now, Mr. Forster," the shorter agent said. His tone was pleasant, reasonable. Professional. But something in it raised the hair on Sheila's neck.

That's when Tommy spotted their car. He must have missed it before, camouflaged as it was by the gray, nondescript wall behind it.

The change in his expression was subtle—just a flicker of his eyes, a slight shift in his stance. But Sheila knew he'd seen them. He knew they were there. She reached for her door handle again.

"Not yet," her father murmured.

The taller agent took a step forward. "Mr. Forster, we have some questions about your recent activities in Coldwater, Utah. This will go much easier if you cooperate."

Tommy licked his lips. "You're not really federal agents, are you?"

The shorter one smiled. "We can discuss this somewhere more private. Unless you'd prefer we handle things here?"

Gabriel shoved his door open and stepped out. "I think here works just fine," he said. Following his lead, Sheila got out on the opposite side.

Both agents turned, hands disappearing into their jackets. Gabriel's own jacket was open, showing his shoulder holster.

What's the play, Dad? Sheila thought. Please don't get us all killed.

"This is a federal matter," the taller agent said smoothly. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Funny," Gabriel replied, his voice cold. "I don't recall seeing any credentials yet." He walked forward slowly, positioning himself where he could see both agents and Tommy. "I'm Gabriel Stone, former Internal Affairs. Maybe you've heard of me?"

The shorter agent's smile faltered for just a moment. "Mr. Stone. Your reputation precedes you."

"Does it?" Gabriel's own smile was razor-sharp. "And which reputation would that be?"

Sheila moved to flank the agents from the other side. Tommy remained frozen in the middle, watching the scene unfold. The morning sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, and somewhere in the distance, a crow called out.

"This is outside your jurisdiction," the taller agent said. His hand hadn't left his jacket.

"Like my father said," Sheila said, keeping her voice steady, professional, "show us your credentials."

"Or what?" the shorter agent asked softly.

"Or I start making calls," Gabriel replied. "To people who would be very interested to hear about two fake federal agents trying to make a witness disappear."

A bead of sweat rolled down the shorter agent's temple, despite the morning chill. "Witness?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Gabriel took another step forward. His voice dropped lower. "You really think I don't know who sent you?"

The taller agent's face tightened. "Mr. Stone, you're interfering with—"

"A federal investigation?" Sheila cut in. "Then let's call the local field office. I'm sure they'd love to verify your credentials."

She pulled out her phone. The shorter agent's hand moved, but Gabriel's voice stopped him cold.

"That hand comes out of that jacket," Gabriel said quietly, "you better be holding a badge."

The parking lot fell silent. The vacancy sign buzzed. The wind stirred loose sand across the asphalt.

"Think carefully," Gabriel continued. His tone was almost gentle. "About the people who sent you. About whether they'll protect you when this goes bad. Because it will go bad if you try to take this man."

The shorter agent's smile had vanished completely now. "You don't want to do this, Stone."

"No?" Gabriel's eyes were hard. "Ten years ago, I walked away. Let them bury what I'd found. Let them murder my wife. Let them threaten my children." He took another step forward. "You really think I'm walking away again?"

Tommy was moving now, edging away from his truck, closer to Sheila's position. The agents didn't seem to notice—they were too focused on Gabriel.

"Last chance," the taller agent said. "Walk away. Forget you saw any of this."

"I'll make you the same offer," Gabriel said.

Seconds passed. Nobody moved. Then, without warning, Tommy ran.

He sprinted past Sheila's position, heading for the gap between the motel buildings. The agents spun, reaching for their weapons, but Gabriel was faster. His gun cleared his holster first, forcing them to freeze.

"Sheila!" Gabriel called. "Go!"

She was already running after Tommy. Behind her, she heard Gabriel's steady voice: "Hands where I can see them, gentlemen. Nice and slow."

Tommy was fast, but Sheila had spent years training. She gained on him as they rounded the corner of the motel, past dumpsters and dead bushes. The desert stretched out ahead of them, empty and vast.

"Tommy!" she called. "Stop! They won't give up until they've killed you, so unless you want to spend the rest of your life on the run, I'm your best shot at living."

He glanced back, his face pale with fear and exhaustion. His foot caught on a piece of broken concrete, and he stumbled, going down hard on one knee. Sheila reached him before he could get up.

"You don't understand," he gasped as she grabbed his arm. "You have no idea what they'll do—"

"Then tell me," she said. "Tell me everything."

The sound of engines roaring to life came from the parking lot. Car doors slammed.

"They're leaving," Sheila said. "My father must have convinced them it wasn't worth it. Not here, not now." She tightened her grip on Tommy's arm. "But they'll be back. And next time..."

Tommy slumped, the fight going out of him. "I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered. "I tried to warn them that killing you would only make things worse. But they wouldn't listen."

" Who wouldn't listen, Tommy?"

He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. "The same people who killed your mother. The same people who've owned half the department for decades." He swallowed hard. "The same people who are going to kill me the second they get the chance."