CHAPTER EIGHT

The digital clock on the dashboard glowed 3:17 AM, its green numbers a stark contrast to the darkness enveloping Thomas Blake's property. Sheila shifted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position in the confines of their unmarked police vehicle. Her eyes never left the sprawling Tudor-style house across the street, its windows dark and silent.

Finn sat beside her, his breathing steady and rhythmic. He was awake, she knew, but lost in his own thoughts. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words and shared tension.

Sheila's mind wandered, as it often did during these long, quiet hours of surveillance. But her thoughts weren't on Thomas Blake. Instead, they kept circling back to Sophie Tournay's body, sprawled in that dirty alley like a broken doll.

The image was burned into her memory: Sophie's blonde hair matted with blood, her blue eyes staring sightlessly at the night sky. It was a sight that would haunt Sheila for a long time to come. But what troubled her even more was how vividly it had reminded her of another body, another tragic discovery.

Natalie.

She had felt the same way at the sight of Laura Hastings' body, but she'd managed to keep herself focused. Now, however, with space and time for her mind to roam, she felt the tug of the not-so-distant past.

She tried closing her eyes, but it didn't help. If anything, the darkness behind her eyelids only made the memories more vivid. She could see it all again, as clearly as if it were happening right now: walking into Natalie's cabin, calling out her sister's name…

And then finding her on the floor, unmoving, an empty pill bottle on the floor.

Sheila's hands clenched involuntarily, her nails digging into her palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the memories threatening to overwhelm her.

Damn, I could use a drink, she thought.

Just one, to take the edge off. To dull the sharp edges of grief and guilt that still cut into her months after Natalie's death.

You made a promise to Finn, just as he made a promise to you. Neither of you drinks, ever. If you break that promise…

"You want to talk about her?" Finn asked.

Sheila glanced at him, puzzled. "Who?"

"Your sister."

"Is it that obvious?"

"That you're thinking about her? I'm sure you think about her all the time. So do I. She was a good friend."

Sheila gazed at Blake's house, lost in thought. He knows me too well, she thought, and for a moment she wondered if she'd made a mistake falling for him. After all, she couldn't lie to him the way she could lie to others. There was always a cost—to herself, if not to him.

He's good for you, she thought. He's kind to you. And after what happened to Natalie, you need someone in your corner.

"Tell me something positive," Finn said, oblivious to her thoughts. "Your best memory with her."

Sheila was quiet for a long moment, sifting through years of memories. Finally, she spoke. "There was this one time when we were kids. I must have been about eight, which would have made Natalie ten. Our parents had taken us camping up in the mountains."

She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Natalie was always the brave one, you know? Always pushing boundaries. One night, she woke me up after our parents had gone to sleep. Said she wanted to go explore."

"In the middle of the night?" Finn asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

Sheila nodded. "Yeah. I was terrified, but I didn't want her to think I was a baby. So I went along. We snuck out of the tent and into the woods. It was so dark, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. But Natalie...she moved like she knew exactly where she was going."

"Where did she take you?"

"To this little clearing she'd found earlier in the day. When we got there, she told me to look up." Sheila's voice softened with the memory. "And when I did...Finn, I'd never seen so many stars in my life. It was like the whole universe was right there above us."

Finn smiled. "Sounds beautiful."

"It was. We lay there for hours, just staring up at the sky. Natalie knew all the constellations. She pointed them out to me, told me the stories behind them." Sheila's voice caught. "That's the Natalie I try to remember. Not...not how I found her."

Finn squeezed her hand. "The sister who showed you the stars. It's poetic."

Sheila nodded, blinking back tears. She felt suddenly grateful for Finn, but she didn't have the words to express it.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

She leaned closer, running a finger along his jawline…

Just then, a sudden flicker of light caught her attention. Her body tensed, instantly alert.

"Finn," she whispered, nodding toward Blake's house.

A light had come on in what appeared to be the kitchen. Through the gauzy curtains, they could see a figure moving around.

"It's three-thirty in the morning," Finn muttered. "What's he up to?"

They watched in tense silence as more lights came on in the house. The figure, presumably Blake, moved from room to room with purpose.

"He's getting dressed," Sheila said as the bedroom light flicked on. "Looks like he's in a hurry."

One by one, the lights winked off again until the only one remaining was on the ground floor, close to the front door. Then it went off, and the door opened. Thomas Blake emerged, dressed in a dark suit despite the early hour. He carried a briefcase and what looked like a small duffel bag.

"That doesn't look like someone heading out for an early meeting," Finn said, his voice low.

Blake hurried to his car, a sleek black sedan parked in the driveway. He threw his bags in the back seat and climbed in.

"He's running," Sheila said, her heart rate picking up. "Start the car, Finn. We can't lose him."

Finn turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life with a low rumble. They watched as Blake's car backed out of the driveway and started down the street.

"Lights off," Sheila said as Finn eased their vehicle onto the road. "We don't want to spook him."

They followed at a distance, keeping Blake's taillights in view but staying far enough back to avoid detection. The streets were empty at this hour, making it a delicate balance between not losing their target and not being too obvious.

Blake's car wound through the residential areas of Coldwater, eventually hitting the main road out of town.

"Where do you think he's headed?" Finn asked, his eyes never leaving the road.

Sheila shook her head. "I don't know, but wherever it is, he's in a hurry to get there."

Suddenly, Blake's car swerved sharply, cutting across two lanes of traffic.

"Damn it," Finn said, gripping the wheel tighter. "He's made us."

Sheila flicked on the siren and lights. "No point in hiding now. Stay with him!"

Blake's sedan accelerated, weaving dangerously between the few cars on the road. Finn matched his speed, the chase now in full swing.

"He's heading for the mountain road," Sheila said, her stomach tightening. The winding route was treacherous, even in broad daylight.

As they hit the first curve, Blake's car fishtailed, nearly clipping the guardrail. Finn's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his face a mask of concentration as he navigated the hairpin turns.

"Sheila to dispatch," she barked into the radio. "We're in pursuit of a suspect on Mountain View Road. Suspect is Thomas Blake, driving a black sedan, license plate—"

Her words were cut off as Blake's car suddenly spun out, hitting the guardrail with a sickening crunch of metal. The sedan flipped, rolling once before coming to rest on its roof, smoke billowing from the engine.

Finn slammed on the brakes, bringing their vehicle to a screeching halt. They both leapt out, weapons drawn, approaching the wreckage cautiously.

"Blake!" Sheila called out. "Thomas Blake, can you hear me?"

There was no response. As they got closer, Sheila could see Blake hanging upside down, held in place by his seatbelt. He wasn't moving.

"Cover me," she told Finn, holstering her weapon and kneeling by the driver's side window. She reached in to check for a pulse.

"He's alive," she said. "Unconscious, but alive."

As Finn called for an ambulance, Sheila worked to extract Blake from the wreckage. Just as she managed to unbuckle his seatbelt and ease him onto the ground, his eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, Blake looked confused. Then his gaze focused on Sheila. "Please," he whispered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Don't tell Leanna. Whatever happens…don't tell Leanna."

Sheila, confused, watched as Blake's eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness again. Her gaze drifted to the sedan, where Finn was pulling out Blake's duffel bag. Finn set it on the ground and unzipped it.

"Sheila," he murmured in a strange voice.

"What?" she asked. "What is it?"

He turned it toward her, showing her the contents.

It was full of cash.