Page 22

Sheila and Tommy went on for a while in silence, their breath pluming before them. The path led steadily upward. From what Sheila could tell, it appeared that one person had raced ahead, stumbling through the snow, while the second had followed a slower, more methodical pace.

The predator and the prey.

"You think he chased Mark right away or gave him a head start?" Tommy asked. His brow was furrowed, his hand hovering close to the holster of his weapon.

Sheila shook her head. "Not sure. He must've been very confident they wouldn't run into anyone else. Most people, if they tried something like this, would panic at the thought of the other person getting away, but our killer is as cool as a cucumber."

"Assuming he left the second set of tracks," Tommy said. "Maybe Mark got the upper hand and drove his attacker off."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't count on it."

The old maintenance shed squatted in a small clearing, its metal roof sagging under decades of snow. Paint peeled from the walls in long strips, revealing rust-stained steel beneath.

Sheila and Tommy exchanged a glance. Drawing their weapons, they approached the shed. On the count of three, Sheila opened the door, and Tommy rushed inside. Sheila followed a moment later, sweeping her flashlight through the darkness.

No sign of Mark—or his attacker.

"Clear," Tommy said, holstering his weapon. He sounded disappointed. "Think Mark came in here, maybe looking for shelter?"

"Or a weapon." Sheila studied the room. Old ski repair equipment lined one wall—screwdrivers, wrenches, a rusty vice grip.

A broken snowmobile seat was propped in one corner.

Metal shelves held abandoned supplies: coils of frayed rope, empty gas cans, a box of expired road flares.

Something had been knocked off the highest shelf recently—there was a clear spot in the dust and scattered debris below.

Tommy picked up a length of pipe from the floor. "This was under that shelf. Could've been used as a weapon." He examined the end carefully. "No blood."

Sheila swept her light across the remaining tools. It was impossible to tell if anything was missing—the shed was too disorganized, too long abandoned.

"The question is," she said, "did he take anything with him? And did it do him any good?"

"Only one way to find out," Tommy said, stepping back outside.

Sheila followed him, and together, they scanned the ground.

Two sets of tracks led away from the shed's entrance, heading uphill through the trees.

The first set showed a longer stride—someone running.

The second set followed at that same measured pace.

"He's heading up," Tommy said, frowning. "Away from the resort, away from help."

"Panic makes you do strange things." Sheila studied the tracks. "He's lost his phone, probably disoriented. Maybe looking for higher ground to get his bearings?"

They followed the trail, weapons drawn. The slope grew steeper, the snow deeper between the trees. Mark's footprints showed signs of exhaustion—places where he'd stumbled, fallen, pushed himself back up. But he'd kept going.

"Look at this pattern," Tommy said, pointing to a stretch where Mark's tracks zig-zagged between the trees. "He's trying to break line of sight. Military tactic."

"Makes sense. Mark grew up around here—probably went hunting with his dad. Basic survival skills." Sheila paused, catching her breath in the thin air. "But where was he trying to get to? There's nothing up here except..."

She trailed off as they emerged from the trees onto a stretch of exposed rock. The wind hit them full force, and ahead, the tracks disappeared into a maze of bare stone and patches of ice.

"Except the old fire tower," Tommy said. "But that's been closed for years. No way he'd make it that far in this condition."

Sheila knelt to examine the last visible footprint. The snow around it was disturbed, as if there had been a struggle. Or maybe just another fall. Without more tracks to follow, it was impossible to know which.

She stood and scanned the bare rock ahead, searching for any sign of which way Mark and his pursuer had gone. The wind had picked up, carrying the sharp bite of approaching weather. Dark clouds gathered over the western peaks.

"We should head back," Tommy said, but she shook her head.

"He's up here somewhere. Maybe hurt." She took a few steps onto the rocky ground, testing different angles, looking for the faintest trace of passage. "If we just keep searching..."

"Sheila." Tommy's voice was firmer than she'd heard it before. "Look at those clouds. Storm's coming in fast. If we get caught up here in whiteout conditions, we won't be any help to Mark or anyone else."

She wanted to argue, to push forward anyway. But she'd seen too many rescue attempts turn into recovery operations because people ignored warning signs. The mountain didn't care about human determination.

"We come back with a full search team," Tommy continued. "Dogs, proper equipment. Do this right."

She looked once more at the expanse ahead, imagining Mark somewhere up there, possibly injured, possibly... She forced the thought away.

"You're right," she said finally. "But I hate leaving him up here."

"I know." Tommy checked his GPS. "Let's mark this spot. When we come back, we'll know exactly where to start."

She nodded, pushing aside her frustration. Sometimes being a good cop meant knowing when to step back. Even when every instinct screamed to keep going.

The wind gusted harder as they started their descent, carrying the first stinging flakes of snow. The descent was harder than the climb had been—each step had to be placed carefully on the slick surface.

"Here." Tommy offered his arm as Sheila's boot slipped on a hidden patch of ice. The contact was brief, professional, but she found herself grateful for more than just the physical support.

"Thanks." She hesitated. "I think I underestimated you, Tommy."

"Just doing my job."

"No," she said. "You're not. This is a lot for anyone—let alone a rookie—to step into. We're not exactly trying to get a cat out of a tree here."

Tommy's laugh was soft. "What can I say? I like diving into the deep end. Especially when it gives me the chance to work with someone of your caliber."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds their boots in the snow and the distant hum of the resort. Sheila found herself thinking about Tommy's words. Was he just talking about her experience and professionalism, or was he hinting at something more?

Something… personal?

She checked her phone, hoping that maybe her father had reached out. Nothing. She sighed, disappointed.

"Everything okay?" Tommy asked.

She hesitated, then decided to share a little. "My father. We had an... intense conversation yesterday. About an old case." She kicked at a chunk of ice. "He's been avoiding me for weeks, won't have an open conversation."

"Sounds frustrating."

"That's one word for it." She studied the snow ahead, choosing her next words carefully. "He keeps things buried. Important things. And now that I'm digging..." She shook her head. "Let's just say he's not happy about it."

"Do you think he'll change his mind?" Tommy asked. "I mean, he's your dad, right? How long can he keep a secret, especially if you know there's a secret?"

"I don't know," Sheila murmured. "He can be pretty stubborn, especially if he thinks it's for my own good."

"That sounds like some gaslighting, if you ask me—hiding things, and then telling the other person it's for their own good?"

Sheila glanced at him, surprised by his boldness. "It's… complicated," she said. Instinctively, she wanted to defend her dad, but in this case… how could she?

"You said it was an old case," Tommy said, his tone casual. "What makes it so important to you?"

"It's… personal."

"But sometimes talking helps," he pressed. "And if it's affecting you this much... I mean, what kind of case was it? When did it happen?"

Something in his eagerness made her uneasy. Why was he being so pushy? Tommy had been nothing but professional until now, so what had changed?

"We should focus on finding Mark," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "The weather's only getting worse."

"With all due respect—"

"It wasn't a suggestion," Sheila said, her tone sharp.

Tommy nodded sheepishly. "Of course. Whatever you say."

Sheila quickened her pace, pulling ahead of Tommy as they descended. The wind picked up, carrying the first stinging flakes of snow, but the chill she felt had nothing to do with the weather.

The resort materialized through the thickening snow, a dark shape against the white. Sheila's mind kept circling back to Tommy's questions. Why had he pushed so hard? And why did his interest in that old case make her so uneasy?

You're being paranoid, she told herself. He's just trying to help.

But her instincts, honed by years of investigation, whispered otherwise. There had been something calculated in his curiosity, something that didn't fit with the earnest rookie she thought she knew.

"Sheila!" Star waved from the base area, Diana Pierce standing beside her. They'd been joined by several patrol officers and what looked like resort security. And…

Sheila's stomach tightened. Finn stood slightly apart from the group, his arm still in a sling, face drawn with pain or exhaustion or both. Even from this distance, she could see the tension in his posture as he watched her and Tommy descend together.

"Cavalry's here," Tommy observed.

"Yeah." Sheila pulled her professional mask back into place, suddenly very aware of how much she'd shared with him on the mountain.

Too much, maybe.