CHAPTER ONE

"Eddie Mills," Sheila whispered, her heart pounding.

"I wondered when you'd find me," he said, his tired eyes suddenly alert.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, eyes locked in the hallway of the nursing home. The bouquet of flowers in Eddie's hand trembled slightly, betraying his nervousness.

In that moment, the weight of Sheila's long quest crashed over her. For years, she'd been haunted by her mother's unsolved murder, a case that had driven her to join the sheriff's department. She'd eventually found footage of the car that had fled the property the night of her mother's murder, and she'd tracked the car to its owner, a criminal named Rayland Bax. But Bax hadn't been in the car that night. According to him, a friend of his had been borrowing the vehicle.

Eddie Mills, a local troublemaker with a history of drug abuse.

After months of dead ends, she'd tracked down Eddie's godmother, Estella Wright, hoping for a lead on his whereabouts.

She'd never expected to literally bump into him here at the nursing home, though.

The chance encounter felt like fate, a moment Sheila had both dreaded and longed for. This man might hold the key to unlocking the mystery that had defined her life and career. The air between them crackled with tension, loaded with unspoken accusations and the promise of long-awaited answers.

"You know who I am?" she asked.

"I do." He swallowed, his throat bobbing. The silence stretched taut, ready to snap.

"Why don't we just head down to the station and talk about—"

Before she could finish, Eddie was in motion, hurling the bouquet of flowers at Sheila's face before bolting down the hallway.

Sheila batted away the flowers, petals scattering across the worn linoleum. "Stop! Police!" she shouted, breaking into a run.

Eddie crashed through a set of double doors, knocking over a cart of medical supplies. Sheila leaped over the scattered debris, her boots skidding as she rounded the corner.

Ahead, a group of elderly patients shuffled along, walkers scraping against the floor. Eddie weaved between them, nearly toppling an old man. Sheila slowed, carefully maneuvering through the group.

"Excuse me, sorry," she muttered, trying not to lose sight of her quarry.

As she broke free of the cluster, a nurse pushing a wheelchair appeared from a side room. Sheila swerved, her shoulder clipping the doorframe. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pushed on.

Eddie glanced back, his eyes wild. He reached a stack of boxes and sent them tumbling. But Sheila didn't slow. She vaulted over the falling cardboard, landing hard but maintaining her momentum.

She wasn't going to let this bastard get away. Not now, not after all the years of waiting and wondering.

Ahead, a door marked "Parking Garage" loomed. Eddie slammed into it, disappearing from view. Sheila burst through seconds later, the cool air of the garage a shock after the stuffy hallways.

She skidded to a stop, scanning the dimly lit space. Concrete pillars cast long shadows, and the acrid smell of exhaust hung in the air.

Eddie was nowhere in sight.

"Damn it," Sheila muttered, straining to hear any sound of movement. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her heart thundering in her ears. She was so close to answers about her mother's death. She couldn't lose him now.

A sudden screech of tires echoed through the garage. Sheila spun toward the sound just as headlights blazed to life, blinding her. A car engine roared, and the vehicle lurched forward, bearing down on her.

Sheila's training kicked in. She dove to the side, feeling the rush of air as the car missed her by inches. She hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact.

In an instant, she was back on her feet, her weapon drawn. But the car was already speeding away, tires squealing as it took a corner. Sheila knew she didn't have a clear shot.

Instead, she focused on the retreating vehicle, burning the license plate into her memory. JRK 4729.

I got you, you bastard, she thought.

***

Sheila slumped into the chair across from Finn's desk, exhaustion finally catching up with her. The adrenaline from her encounter with Eddie had worn off, leaving her drained.

"So, you actually saw him?" Finn asked, leaning forward, his hazel eyes intense.

Sheila nodded, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "Face to face. But he bolted before I could question him. I chased him through the nursing home, but he got away in the parking garage."

"Well, good thing you got the plates," Finn murmured.

Sheila nodded. "I've checked his usual hangouts, talked to his known associates. Nothing. I'm hoping he makes a mistake with the vehicle."

Finn ran a hand through his sandy hair. "We'll find him, Sheila. The whole department's on alert now. It's just a matter of time."

A moment of silence fell between them. Sheila could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. During their last case, Finn had told her he loved her. The confession had caught her off guard, and they hadn't really addressed it since. The memory of that moment flashed in her mind, bringing with it a mix of confusion and warmth.

They were dating, yes…but exactly how serious was this relationship? How far into the future was Finn looking?

"How's Star doing?" Finn asked, breaking the silence.

Sheila sighed, grateful for the change of subject but also reminded of another responsibility weighing on her. "She's...adjusting. It's not easy for a fourteen-year-old to suddenly have a new home, especially after what she's been through with her father."

"You're doing a good thing, taking her in," Finn said softly, his eyes reflecting admiration and something else Sheila couldn't quite define.

"I hope so," Sheila said, doubt creeping into her voice. "I just wish I knew if I was doing it right. She's just so difficult to get to know, like there's always an invisible wall between us."

Finn leaned back in his chair, suppressing a smile. "Reminds me of someone I know."

Sheila rolled her eyes at him. "I'm serious."

"So am I. And that's why you're probably the best person to help her through everything she's going through."

They both fell silent, pondering this.

Finn cleared his throat, his demeanor growing more official. "There's something else we need to discuss," he said. "The department's starting to look for a permanent replacement for Natalie. Hank doesn't want the job long-term."

Sheila felt a pang in her chest at the mention of her sister's name. Natalie had been the golden child: straight-A student, Olympic gold medalist in kickboxing, and finally, the youngest sheriff Coldwater County had ever seen.

Until the shooting that left her in a wheelchair, and the depression that ultimately led to her taking her own life.

The memory of Natalie's struggle and eventual suicide still haunted Sheila. Sheila had tried to understand what her sister was going through, but Natalie had never confided her struggles in her younger sister, never let Sheila know just how bleak her worldview had grown.

Not until Sheila found her lifeless on the floor of her cabin.

"They're big shoes to fill," Sheila murmured.

"You know, a lot of people think you'd be perfect for the job," Finn said, watching her reaction closely.

Sheila shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I'm not Natalie, Finn. I never have been. She was the achiever, the one everyone looked up to. I'm just...me."

"No, you're not Natalie," Finn agreed. "You're Sheila. And that's more than good enough. Look at how you've handled the Star situation, or how you've pursued your mother's investigation. Natalie would be proud of you."

Their eyes met, and suddenly the air felt charged. As she met her partner's eyes, Sheila thought about Finn's confession to her during their last investigation: 'I love you.' What had he meant by those words? Had he merely spoken in the heat of the moment…or had he been feeling it for a while before he said it?

Finn relented, throwing up his hands and leaning back. "I'm not telling you what to do. If you don't want the job, that's fine. Just thought I'd mention it."

Sheila opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. The weight of Natalie's legacy, her own ambitions, and her complicated feelings for Finn all swirled in her mind. Before she could formulate a response, the shrill ring of Finn's desk phone cut through the tension.

Finn snatched up the receiver. "Mercer," he answered. His expression shifted from annoyance to concern as he listened. "Slow down, dispatch. What's the situation?"

Sheila leaned forward, her own troubles momentarily forgotten as she watched Finn's face grow increasingly grave.

"We're on our way," Finn said, hanging up the phone. He stood quickly, grabbing his jacket. "We've got a situation at St. Michael's Church."

"What kind of situation?" Sheila asked, already on her feet.

"Possible homicide," Finn replied grimly. "Woman was found beaten to death in the confessional."