Page 51 of Silent Smile

The other set of prints was barefoot.

She followed the tracks with her eyes, watching as they wound their way between the dunes. They moved with purpose, not the meandering path of someone lost or confused.

Were these Dr. Redfeather's prints? And if so, who did the barefoot prints belong to? The killer?

Or did this trail have nothing to do with the investigation?

One thing was certain: these prints were fresh. The wind that had separated her from her group should have erased any older tracks. Whoever had made these footprints couldn't be far ahead.

Sheila glanced back the way she had come, then at the tracks leading off into the dunes. She knew protocol dictated that she should return to her group, report her findings. It was the safe choice, the responsible choice. But something told her that time was of the essence. If she lost these tracks now, she might never find them again.

She raised her radio to her lips. "This is Sheriff Stone. I've got a trail here I'm going to investigate. Over."

A few moments later, Finn's voice came through. "Want a second set of eyes? Over."

Sheila felt a surge of gratitude. "Only if you can spare them. Over."

"On my way. Over."

Sheila swallowed hard and nodded, heartened. And then she moved deeper into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Dr. Nora Redfeather stumbled forward, her legs aching from the relentless march deeper into the dunes. Behind her, she could feel the presence of her captor, the cold steel of his knife a constant threat against her back.

The moonlight cast long shadows across the rippling sand, creating a landscape that seemed both familiar and alien to Nora. These dunes, which she had studied for years, now felt like a hostile maze, each identical ridge offering no hope of escape or rescue.

"Keep moving," the man growled, his voice low and menacing.

As they ventured further into the heart of the dunes, Nora tried to gauge how far they'd come. A mile? Two? In the moonlit landscape, distance was deceptive. She knew that even if she could somehow overpower her captor, finding her way back would be nearly impossible. This might be a death sentence already.

Suddenly, the pressure of the knife increased. "Stop here," the man commanded.

Nora halted, her heart pounding in her chest. She turned slowly, hoping to reason with her captor. "Please," she began, her voice trembling, "whatever you think I've done—"

"Silence," he hissed. In the pale moonlight, Nora could see him more clearly now. The sight caused her breath to catch in her throat.

"Ranger Thorsson?" she gasped, disbelief coloring her voice. "Einar? But... why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?"

Einar "Sage" Thorsson, the beloved veteran ranger of Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, stood before her. His weatheredface, usually creased with laugh lines, was now a mask of grim determination. The kindly old man who had guided countless visitors through the dunes now looked at her with cold, unfeeling eyes.

His expression twisted into something bitter. "You wouldn’t understand. None of you do. You’re all blind to what’s right in front of you."

She swallowed hard. His words dripped with scorn, shutting down any hope of reasoning with him. But she couldn’t give up—not yet. "Einar, please," she tried again. "I’ve worked with you for years. You know me. You know I only want to protect the dunes, just like you do."

His laugh was sharp and humorless. "Protect them? You? You’re as bad as the rest of them. Every study you publish, every grant you win—it brings more people. More interference. You think you’re helping, but you’re part of the problem."

Nora’s heart pounded as the knife glinted in the moonlight. He was delusional, but she needed him to keep talking. Maybe, just maybe, if he became distracted enough, she could make her escape.

He stepped back and tossed something at her feet—a shovel. "Start digging," he said. "And throw the sand far. If the hole collapses, you’ll have to start over."

Her hands shook as she picked up the shovel. The cool handle felt foreign in her grip, its weight heavy with dread. She cast a glance at Einar, gauging his movements. He was pacing now, his gaze fixed on the distant dunes. His focus wasn’t entirely on her.

Not yet.

As she began to dig, she scanned the area. The sand was uneven, soft enough that running would be treacherous, but if she could create enough distance, she might make it to the ridge. If she could just distract him enough…

"Einar," she said, her voice cracking. "You’ve dedicated your life to protecting this place, inspired so many people. Now you're throwing that all away?"

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