Page 55 of Silent Smile

At first, Sheila didn't understand, her mind refusing to process anything beyond the terrifying reality of Finn's blood on her hands. Then she turned to see that Einar had pushed himself to his feet and was hurrying away into the darkness, melting into the night. An object lay a short distance away in the darkness—Finn's gun, she suspected.

At least Einar's not armed,she thought, though the thought felt distant, secondary to her fear for Finn.

"Sheila," Finn said, his hand gripping her wrist with surprising strength. "Don't let him get away."

She nodded, squeezing his hand before rising, though every instinct screamed at her not to leave him. Then her gaze fell on Nora Redfeather, the geologist's head still protruding from the sand, eyes wide with terror.

Were Finn healthy, Sheila would've raced off after Einar and left Finn to dig Nora out. But Finn wasn't healthy. If Sheila left them now, Finn might pass out—and Nora would be helpless to do anything.

Sheila dropped to her knees, fingers clawing at the sand around Nora's body. The grains seemed to fight her, sliding back into place as fast as she could move them. But gradually, Nora's arms and torso emerged.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Nora said, her voice breaking.

"Go," Finn said to Sheila, his voice weaker now. "I'll call for backup. You go get that bastard."

Sheila met his eyes, seeing in them the strength and determination that had made them such effective partners. With a final nod, she turned and set off into the night, following the crimson trail Einar had left behind.

It wasn't long before the smooth dunes gave way to more treacherous terrain. Jagged rocks jutted from the sand like the teeth of some prehistoric beast. Deep shadows pooled between boulders, each one a potential hiding place. Sheila's eyes darted constantly, from the blood trail to her surroundings and back again. Every instinct screamed that this was perfect ambush country.

As she moved, her mind raced. The image of Finn, lying pale and bleeding in the sand, replayed in her mind's eye. How badwas his wound? She had basic field medicine training, but a gunshot... that was beyond her skills. Would help arrive in time? And Nora—she'd left her half-buried in the sand, traumatized and now responsible for keeping Finn alive.

Had she made a terrible mistake in leaving them?

Sheila gritted her teeth, forcing the doubts aside. Einar was out there, armed and delusional. He'd already killed twice. She couldn't risk him hurting anyone else.

The blood trail led her to a narrow passage between two towering rock formations. Moonlight barely penetrated here, leaving much of the path in deep shadow. Sheila paused at the entrance, every nerve on edge. It was too perfect, too obvious a trap. But she couldn't risk losing Einar's trail.

Taking a deep breath of the cool desert air, she entered the passage. Her gun was a comforting weight in her hand, her finger resting lightly beside the trigger. The blood trail continued, stark against the pale sand.

Sheila followed it cautiously, her eyes darting from the trail to the shadows around her. The passage twisted and turned, the rock walls closing in. The trail led to a small clearing, then abruptly stopped.

Frowning, Sheila crouched to examine the sand. The blood drops ended as if Einar had simply vanished. She stood slowly, turning in a circle, her gun at the ready.

A soft scraping sound above made her look up. Too late, she realized her mistake.

Einar dropped from a ledge above, landing behind her. Before she could turn, something hard struck the back of her head. Her vision exploded with stars, her gun falling from suddenly numb fingers.

As she stumbled, fighting to stay conscious, Einar's voice came from behind her, filled with grim satisfaction.

"The desert teaches patience, Sheriff. And how to use the land to your advantage."

Sheila tried to turn, to face her attacker, her vision swimming. Einar's footsteps crunched in the sand behind her, closing in.

Sheila wasn't as stunned as he probably assumed, however.

As Einar reached for her, Sheila exploded into action. She pivoted on her knee, her elbow shooting out and connecting with Einar's solar plexus. The blow caught him by surprise, forcing the air from his lungs in a whoosh.

Sheila staggered to her feet, her head still ringing from the earlier blow. She shook it off, assuming a fighting stance. Years of kickboxing training took over, her body moving on instinct.

Einar recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed his opponent. He lunged forward, throwing a wild haymaker. Sheila ducked under it and threw a punch at his ribs. Einar grunted but didn't slow down, his hands reaching for her throat.

Sheila threw a quick jab to Einar's face. Blood sprayed from his nose, but he seemed to barely notice. He grabbed for her, his fingers catching her shirt.

Using his momentum against him, Sheila dropped and rolled, sending Einar tumbling over her. He hit the ground hard but was back on his feet in an instant.

They circled each other, both breathing heavily. Sheila's vision had cleared, but exhaustion pulled at her limbs. Einar, despite his age, seemed tireless, driven by his manic energy.

He feinted left, then came in with a right hook. Sheila saw it coming, blocking with her forearm and countering with a roundhouse kick. Her foot connected with Einar's side, eliciting a grunt of pain.

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