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Footsteps creaked across the porch. A key scraped in the lock.

Sheila stared at the folder in her hands, her pulse quickening. Put it back or confront her father? She had seconds to decide.

In the decade since her mother's mysterious murder, Sheila had envisioned countless scenarios about how the truth would finally come out. Late-night confessions. Deathbed revelations. New evidence surfacing after years in the shadows.

But she'd never imagined finding it here, in her father's office, tucked away behind a panel she'd helped him install when she was twelve.

The folder in her hands held fragments of an Internal Affairs investigation she'd known nothing about.

Her father had never even mentioned working for I.A.

, and he'd certainly never hinted at any connection between his career and her mother's death.

But Eddie Mills, the man she'd believed had killed her mother, had woken from his coma with a different story.

He'd told her to ask Gabriel about the Thompson case, about why he'd transferred out of Internal Affairs.

He'd claimed her mother had been killed not in a random act of violence but because she'd started asking questions about corruption in the department.

Now, standing in her childhood home with evidence of her father's secrets literally in her hands, Sheila knew she had no choice but to confront her father.

The question was, how?

Footsteps on the porch below. Then the front door opened. "Hello?" Gabriel's voice carried up the stairs, wary rather than welcoming. He must've seen her car outside.

Coming to a decision, Sheila slipped the folder back into the hidden compartment and eased the panel shut. She didn't want her father to know how much she knew. If he was going to lie to her face, she wanted to catch him in the act.

"Up here," she called, moving to the office doorway.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Gabriel appeared at the top, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

He filled the top of the staircase like a graying bear coming out of hibernation.

His broad shoulders, built from decades of powerlifting, seemed to sag under an invisible weight.

At sixty-five, he still looked strong enough to wrestle a man half his age, but something had changed in him these past few weeks.

The sharp eyes that had spotted every mistake in Sheila's fighting stance back when he was teaching her how to kickbox were now clouded with exhaustion, rimmed by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights.

His silver hair was unkempt, his flannel shirt wrinkled from travel.

Even his familiar scent—a mix of leather, gun oil, and peppermint—was muted, overtaken by the sharp tang of lake water and anxiety sweat.

"Sheila." He set the bag down. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she said. "Mr. Whitaker said you went fishing."

"Lake Powell." Gabriel's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The smallmouth are biting this time of year."

"Funny. You usually mention when you're heading out there."

"It was a last-minute decision." He moved past her into the office, his shoulders tensing slightly as he scanned the room—checking to see if anything had been disturbed, perhaps? "Sometimes a man needs to clear his head."

"Without telling his daughter, even when she's calling him?"

Gabriel sat heavily in his desk chair. "The reception out there is terrible. You know that."

"Dad." Sheila leaned against the doorframe, studying him. "What's really going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I just needed some time alone." He shuffled some papers around as if trying to find some way to keep his hands busy.

Sheila crossed her arms, her stance casual even while she studied him like a hawk. "You've been avoiding me."

"That's ridiculous." But he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Is it? Every time I try to talk to you lately, you have somewhere else to be. Training camp, coaching clinic, fishing trip." She pushed away from the doorframe. "What are you afraid I'll ask you about?"

Gabriel suddenly glanced up. "What were you doing in my office, anyway?"

"Looking for you," Sheila said, but even to her own ears, the answer sounded hollow. Suddenly, she was on the defensive.

"In my private office?" His eyes swept the room, lingering on the desk drawers, the filing cabinet, the wood paneling she'd helped him install. "I heard the alarm chime when you came in. You still remember the code after all these years."

"Mom's birthday. You never changed it."

"No," Gabriel said quietly. "I never did." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Henrietta hid a spare key in that brass deer. She thought I didn't know about it."

Sheila felt her chest tighten. Had he seen her come in? Had he been watching the house, waiting to see what she would do?

"You've been avoiding my calls," she said, going on the offensive again. "What did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to respect my privacy." There was an edge to his voice she'd rarely heard before. "Just like I've always respected yours."

The implied accusation hung in the air between them. They stared at one another, father and daughter, more strangers than family at the moment.

Suddenly, Gabriel sighed and leaned back, his face softening in a smile. "Look, honey, I'm beat. Can we reconnect tomorrow? Grab lunch or something?"

She decided to play one of her cards. "Eddie Mills finally talked."

He stared at her, looking shocked. "What?"

"He woke up, Dad. And he had some interesting things to say."

Gabriel's face went carefully blank. "Eddie Mills is unstable. You can't trust anything he says." The words sounded rehearsed, like he'd prepared for this eventuality.

"Maybe. But you can trust what he knows." Sheila moved closer to the desk. "Like the fact that you used to work for Internal Affairs."

Her father's hands clenched on the armrests of his chair. Just for a moment, but she saw it.

"That was a long time ago," he said carefully. A deflection.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked.

"It wasn't relevant." Another nonanswer.

"Eddie seemed to think it was pretty relevant to Mom's murder."

Gabriel stood abruptly, turning to face the window. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I know. That's exactly the problem." Sheila moved to stand beside him. "Dad, what aren't you telling me?"

Gabriel remained at the window, staring at the maple tree Sheila had once spent her summers climbing. His silence felt heavy, deliberate, like he was weighing each word before speaking.

"I thought," he said finally, "that if I kept my distance, you might let this go."

"Let what go?"

"The past." He pressed his palm against the glass. "Some things are better left buried, Sheila."

"Mom's murder is better left buried?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Sheila studied his reflection in the window. "Mills said Mom was looking into something. Something about the department."

Gabriel's shoulders tensed. "Eddie Mills is a desperate man trying to save himself."

"By telling me about your time in Internal Affairs? About the Thompson case? That's way too specific for him to just be making up details out of desperation." She watched his reflection carefully. "What was Mom investigating, Dad?"

He turned to face her. The morning light caught the silver in his hair, the lines around his eyes. For the first time, Sheila noticed how old he looked. How tired.

Gabriel moved to his desk, sinking into his chair. "Sheila, please. Don't make me do this."

"Do what? Tell me the truth?" She leaned forward, planting her hands on his desk. "Mom's dead, Dad. She was murdered in our home. If you know something about why that happened—"

"I know that the past has teeth," he cut in sharply. "I know that some doors, once opened, can never be closed again." He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. "Is that what you want? To open those doors? To put everyone you care about at risk?"

"At risk from whom?"

Gabriel ran his hand across the smooth wood of his desk. "You remember Carl Thompson?"

"The detective? He used to come to the gym sometimes."

"He disappeared in '98. Right in the middle of a major corruption investigation."

"I remember. They never found him." Sheila watched her father carefully. "What does that have to do with Mom?"

"Everything." Gabriel's voice was barely a whisper. "And nothing." He looked up at her, his expression pained. "Thompson was investigating payments. Large sums of money moving through the department. He thought he'd uncovered something big. Then he vanished."

"And Mom found his files?"

"No." Gabriel shook his head. "She found mine."

The words hung in the air between them. Sheila felt her pulse quicken. " Your files?"

"I was Internal Affairs, Sheila. After Thompson disappeared, his cases came to me. I was supposed to..." He trailed off, staring at something only he could see.

"Supposed to what?"

"Close them. Write them off. Rule them unfounded and move on." His fingers drummed against the desk. "But your mother, she was always too smart for her own good."

"Wait." Sheila swallowed hard. "Are you telling me you were going to protect whoever might've been responsible for Thompson's death?"

Gabriel sighed heavily. "If I'm being honest… I don't know. I hadn't made a decision. As it happened, I didn't have to. Your mother realized something was eating at me, and she started asking questions."

"About Thompson?"

"About everything." Gabriel stood abruptly, moving back to the window. "I left the file on my desk just for a minute—just while I went to the bathroom—and when I came back, she was reading it."

"Reading what?"

"About the money laundering, about Thompson's theories concerning where the money was going, who was profiting. He'd put down names, Sheila—judges, politicians, wealthy businessmen. Powerful people. The kind of people you don't want to cross."

Sheila's heart sank. "And Mom wouldn't let it go, is that it?"

"You know how she was once she got hold of something."

"Like daughter, like mother," Sheila said quietly.

Gabriel's reflection smiled sadly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"Dad, if you know who killed Mom, you need to tell me."

"Eddie Mills pulled the trigger. That's what matters."

"But it sounds like someone ordered him to do it!" Sheila said, growing frustrated. "The same people who pressured you to make this whole thing go away. Who, Dad? Who told you to make it disappear?"

"No." He turned from the window, his expression hardening. "These aren't the kind of people you can arrest, Sheila. They have connections. Power. They've buried worse things than a murdered woman who asked too many questions."

"So I'm just supposed to let them get away with it?"

"You're supposed to stay alive." His voice cracked. "I've already lost your mother to this. I won't lose you too."

"Dad—"

"No." He stepped closer, his eyes intense. "Listen to me. Your mother thought she could handle it too. Thought if she gathered enough evidence, went to the right people... But there are no right people, Sheila. Not with this. There's only blood and closed cases and convenient accidents."

Sheila opened her mouth to argue, but her phone buzzed. Officer Tommy Forster, the new guy. She wanted to ignore it but as sheriff…

"What is it?" she answered, her voice sharp with frustration.

Tommy cleared his throat apologetically. "Sorry to disturb you, boss, but we've got a situation at Mountain Peak Resort. A body's been found on one of the slopes."

Sheila was familiar with the resort. In addition to offering skiing lessons, the resort also offered photography classes. It was a hybrid of sorts, catering to a niche crowd: those who not only enjoyed skiing but liked to document the experience as well.

She glanced at her father, who had turned back to the window. "I'm in the middle of something," she said to Tommy.

"I know, but with Deputy Mercer in the hospital…

" He was referring to Finn Mercer, Sheila's right hand man—a man she also happened to be living with.

Finn had been shot in the side during the previous investigation and was recovering at the hospital, leaving Sheila to run the department without his assistance.

At the reminder of Finn being in the hospital, she felt a pang of worry.

The doctors were confident he would recover without any complications, but what if that changed?

What if he never made a full recovery? In some ways, he was her whole world: her partner both at work and at home. If he was at all compromised…

With an effort, she shoved these thoughts aside. She couldn't allow herself to dwell on such possibilities. Not when it was out of her control, anyway.

She took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to continue this conversation with her dad, she couldn't leave a newbie like Tommy to investigate a body on his own. He needed help.

"Sheriff?" Tommy asked. "Still there?"

"I'll be there in twenty," she said finally.

She ended the call and looked at her father's back. "This isn't over."

"No," Gabriel said quietly. "But maybe it should be."

She wanted to stay, to push harder, to finally uncover the truth that had haunted their family for a decade. But duty called. It always did.

As she headed for the door, Gabriel spoke again. "Sheila." She turned. He was still staring out the window. "Be careful who you trust. Even in your own department."

The words sent a chill down her spine as she left her childhood home, heading toward a new mystery while the old one deepened behind her.