Page 24 of Silent Prey

"Listen to me," he muttered urgently into her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you have to be quiet, understand?" It was a lie, but a useful one. If she screamed now, her friends might very well hear.

She stared at him, her dark eyes wide and full of terror. But slowly, she gave a small nod. Satisfied, Christopher removed his hand from her mouth.

"Now," he said calmly, maintaining his hold on her waist as he met her gaze. "We need to move silently and swiftly. Can you do that?"

“What do you want from me?” she whispered on a shaky exhale.

Your life, Christopher thought. But instead he said, “Your silence, for now."

He saw her gulp, her throat bobbing with the effort. Her eyes were still wide and terrified, but he could see the fire beginning to burn in them. She was not completely defeated; she was calculating her chances. He would have to be careful with her.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Christopher kept a tight hold on her as they navigated the dense undergrowth, their shoes crunching silently on the fallen leaves and twigs. The voices of Di's friends grew fainter until they disappeared entirely, swallowed by distance and the hushing rustle of the forest around them. With the fading of their voices, Di seemed to grow more compliant, the tension in her body easing. Whether it was out of resignation or a carefully planned strategy, Christopher wasn't sure. Only time will tell.

Christopher led her to an open stretch of beach along the Great Salt Lake. He peered around to make sure they were alone. Satisfied, he turned to Di.

“Alright,” he said as he shrugged off his backpack. “I just have one question for you.” He began unlacing his trail boots.

Di watched him, troubled and confused. “What’s that?”

“How fast can you run?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Christopher Townsend," Sheila murmured, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table. "What are the chances he was in the process of stalking Kaylee Jensen when that ranger came across him?"

The Frontier, a rooftop restaurant in downtown Salt Lake City, was packed with people laughing, eating, and enjoying the evening as the sun went down. It felt surreal to be sitting here among them, knowing the killer might be stalking his next victim on Antelope Island that very moment.

"Well, if he was," Finn said, "he's done a better job of hiding his intentions since then. Nobody's seen or heard from him since. Could've just been some weirdo passing through."

Sheila looked away from the vibrant cityscape spread out below them and glanced at him. His sandy hair was tousled from the wind, his face tanned. He looked rugged, like he’d just stepped off the set of a spaghetti western.

"He had a fake identity," she said. "People don't just walk around with fake IDs in their pocket."

Finn shrugged and looked away. "Whatever the case, we don't have much to work with if we want to find him, not without him screwing up."

“We could bring in a sketch artist to work with the ranger who saw him."

"It's worth a shot," Finn said as a waitress with a tray of frothy beers passed by them. Finn stared after her, but Sheila was pretty sure he wasn’t looking at the waitress. Finn had been open with her about his drinking problem and how it had ruined his career as a fighter pilot, and since then they’d agreed to look out for one another and keep each other from relapsing, to use a term Finn had picked up from his time in AA.

"Now,” Finn went on after a few seconds, “how about we give the case a rest for tonight and fill our stomachs? You must be starving after all that questioning today. Maybe we can even talk about something other than murder—wouldn’t that be a crazy idea."

Sheila felt a stirring of unease. Since Natalie’s death, Sheila had thrown herself into her work, avoiding her feelings as much as possible. She suspected that having a ‘normal conversation,’ one that specifically avoided work, might force her to confront some of the emotions she’d been suppressing.

The waiter, a tall man with a pompadour, arrived just in time to spare her from answering. “Need a few more minutes with the menu?” he asked.

“No,” Sheila said immediately. “I’ll have the steak and fries."

"And for the gentleman?" the waiter asked, turning to Finn.

"The same," Finn agreed. "Make it medium-rare."

"Very well," the waiter said, scribbling down their orders on his pad.

As the waiter walked away, Sheila looked down at her hands folded on her lap. She could feel Finn's gaze on her. She inhaled deeply and braced herself for whatever personal conversation Finn was about to initiate.

"We don't have to talk about work...but we don't have to avoid it, either," Finn said gently, breaking the silence. "I know it's hard...after Natalie."

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