Page 3 of Silent Neighbor

CHAPTER ONE

The night air whipped through Sheila Stone's open car window as she raced along Highway 50, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The road stretched before her, an endless ribbon of asphalt illuminated by her headlights and the pale glow of the waxing moon.

Eddie Mills. The name echoed in her mind, a mantra of vengeance and justice long delayed. Ten years ago, her mother had been mysteriously murdered—no explanation, no suspects, no leads.

Then, just recently, she—with her father's help—had managed to locate a vehicle seen driving away from their home the night of the murder. Eddie Mills had been driving that vehicle.

It didn't mean he'd killed Sheila's mother. But it sure as hell made him look guilty as sin.

And this time, she wasn't going to let him get away.

Now her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, checking for any sign of the other police vehicles she knew were out there, somewhere in the darkness behind her. She pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator, urging her car faster.

The radio crackled to life. "Sheila, do you copy? This is Finn."

She snatched up the radio. "I copy, Finn. Any sign of him?"

Finn's voice came back, tinged with frustration. "Negative. Highway Patrol lost visual about ten minutes ago. He could be anywhere by now."

Sheila bit back a curse. "He can't have just vanished. Keep searching. I'm heading east toward the state line."

"Roger that. Be careful, Sheila. Mills is dangerous."

She didn't bother to respond. Of course, Mills was dangerous. He had killed her mother, of which Sheila felt certain. He'd been the one driving the vehicle that had left the house that night.

The question was, why had he done it?

As she drove, memories of her mother flooded back. Henrietta Stone, with her gentle smile and quiet strength. The way she'd brush Sheila's hair before bed, humming softly. The pride in her eyes when Sheila won her first kickboxing match.

And then, the crushing silence that fell over their home after her death, the unspoken grief that had driven wedges between the surviving members of the Stone family.

Sheila's grip on the steering wheel tightened. She wouldn't let Mills slip away. Not now, not when she was so close.

The radio crackled again. This time, it was another officer's voice. "All units, be advised. We've received a report of an abandoned vehicle matching Mills' description. Location is outside Coldwater Lumberyard, off Route 7."

Sheila's heart leapt. "This is Deputy Stone. I'm en route to the lumberyard. Tell all units to hold position until I arrive."

"Copy that, Deputy Stone."

Sheila made a sharp turn, tires squealing as she changed course. The lumberyard wasn't far, maybe ten minutes if she pushed it. She flipped on her sirens, the wailing cutting through the quiet night.

As she approached the lumberyard, Sheila killed the sirens and slowed down. The hulking silhouette of the lumber mill loomed against the starry sky, a maze of conveyor belts and stacks of timber casting long shadows in the moonlight. She pulled up next to an old sedan parked haphazardly near the entrance.

Mills' vehicle.

Sheila got out, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her holstered weapon. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut wood and machine oil. In the distance, she could hear the soft lapping of the Great Salt Lake against the shore.

Another car pulled up, and Finn stepped out, his expression grim. "Any sign of him?"

Sheila shook her head. "Just got here. The car's still warm, though. He can't be far."

Finn nodded, drawing his weapon. "We should wait for backup."

But Sheila was already moving toward the entrance of the lumberyard. "There's no time. He could slip away again."

With a resigned sigh, Finn followed her. They moved cautiously into the yard, their footsteps crunching on sawdust and wood chips. Stacks of lumber created a labyrinth of narrow pathways, and the shadows seemed to shift and dance in the dim light.

Sheila's senses were on high alert, every nerve tingling with anticipation. She could hear her own breathing, shallow and quick, and the faint rustle of Finn moving behind her. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement.

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