Page 4 of Silent Smile

For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then the figure threw back its head and let out a sound that froze the blood in Amanda's veins. It started as a low growl, building to a hair-raising howl that echoed across the dunes.

The realization hit Amanda like a physical blow: this was not Jake.

Terror clawed at her throat as the figure began to move, sliding down the dune with inhuman grace. Sand hissed beneath its feet, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Amanda's mind reeled, unable to process what she was seeing. Who was this person? What did they want?

She didn't wait to find out.

Amanda ran.

Her feet pounded against the sand as she scrambled up the nearest dune. Each step was a struggle, the loose grains shifting treacherously beneath her. Her lungs burned, and the strap ofher camera cut into her neck as it bounced against her chest. The weight of her backpack seemed to double, dragging her down.

At the crest of the dune, Amanda risked a glance over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn't. The figure was gaining on her, eating up the distance with long, purposeful strides. In the deepening twilight, she couldn't make out any features, just a dark shape pursuing her with relentless determination.

She pushed on, half-running, half-sliding down the other side of the dune. Sand filled her shoes and scraped against her skin, but she barely noticed. All that mattered was putting distance between herself and her pursuer.

But which way should she go? Every direction looked the same, an endless sea of sand under a sky now painted in deep purples and blues. The familiar landmarks she'd noted on her way in were lost in the gathering darkness. Was she running further into the restricted area or back toward safety? She had no way to know.

Amanda's foot caught on something—a buried root or rock—and she stumbled, nearly falling. As she fought to regain her balance, she heard it again: that chilling, animalistic growl, closer now. Too close.

Panic overrode all other thoughts. Amanda ran blindly, no longer trying to navigate, just desperate to escape. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.

She crested another dune, hope flaring as she spotted a dark mass in the distance. Trees! The edge of the dunes, it had to be. If she could just reach them, maybe she could lose her pursuer in the undergrowth.

Amanda pushed herself harder, ignoring the burning in her legs and lungs. The trees seemed to crawl closer with agonizingslowness. Behind her, she could hear the soft but steady sound of footsteps in the sand, never faltering, never tiring.

She was so focused on her goal that she didn't notice the ground dropping away sharply. One moment she was running, the next she was falling, tumbling down a steep incline. Sand filled her mouth and eyes as she rolled, unable to stop herself.

When she finally came to a halt at the bottom, Amanda lay still for a moment, dazed and disoriented. Every part of her body ached. She spat out sand and blinked grit from her eyes, trying to clear her vision.

That's when she saw the bare feet standing inches from her face.

Amanda's gaze traveled upward, taking in the naked, athletic body, the glowing eyes. A scream built in her throat, only to die as something hard connected with the side of her head.

Pain exploded behind her eyes, and the world tilted sickeningly. As consciousness slipped away, her last coherent thought was of Jake, waiting for her at the hotel.

And the promise she'd never be able to keep.

CHAPTER TWO

We're really doing it,Sheila thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.We're really doing it.

A month had passed since that fateful day at St. Luke's Hospital, and Sheila Stone's world had transformed almost beyond recognition. As she stood on the porch of her new home, a steaming mug of coffee in hand, she watched the moving truck rumble up the long, tree-lined driveway.

The house was a far cry from her small apartment in town. Nestled on five acres just outside Coldwater, it was a sprawling ranch-style home with a wrap-around porch and large windows that promised plenty of natural light. The real estate agent had called it a "fixer-upper with potential." Sheila called it a challenge.

"Hey, Sheriff!" Finn called from the truck, a grin on his face. "You gonna help, or are you just gonna supervise?"

Sheila rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "I'm strategizing," she shot back, setting down her mug and descending the porch steps.

As she approached the truck, her new badge glinted in the morning sun. Sheriff of Coldwater County. The title still felt surreal, even after a full week on the job. The election had been a whirlwind, with Hank Dawson's enthusiastic endorsement carrying significant weight. But Sheila knew the real work was just beginning.

"Earth to Sheila," Finn said, waving a hand in front of her face. "Where'd you go just now?"

She shook her head, refocusing. "Just thinking about everything that's happened. It's a lot to process."

Finn's expression softened. He no doubt understood that she wasn't just talking about the move or her new job. Eddie Millsstill lay in a coma at St. Luke's, stable but unresponsive. The doctors were cautiously optimistic, but Sheila couldn't shake the fear that she might never get the answers she sought.

"One day at a time, remember?" Finn said softly, echoing his words from the hospital.

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