Page 56 of Silent Smile

But Einar wasn't done. He caught her leg, using it to throw her off balance. Sheila hit the ground, the impact knocking thewind out of her. Einar was on her in an instant, his weight pinning her down, his hands reaching again for her throat.

Panic flared in Sheila's chest as Einar's fingers closed around her windpipe. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. She clawed at his hands, trying to break his grip, but he was too strong.

Just as darkness began to close in, Sheila remembered a move from her training. With the last of her strength, she bucked her hips, throwing Einar slightly off balance. It was enough. She turned her head, breaking his grip, and gulped in a precious breath of air.

Before Einar could recover, Sheila brought her knee up hard between his legs. This time, he couldn't dodge. Einar's eyes went wide, a high-pitched wheeze escaping him as he toppled sideways.

Sheila rolled away, coughing and gasping. Spots danced in her vision as she staggered to her feet. Einar was curled on the ground, his face contorted in pain.

Not giving him a chance to recover, Sheila moved in. "stay down," she warned.

Einar pushed himself up to his knees. "This isn't over," he said, spitting blood. "You'll pay for this. You'll—"

As he rose to his feet, Sheila's foot connected with his temple in a precise kick. Einar's eyes rolled back, and he fell limply on his back.

Sheila stood over him, chest heaving, every muscle screaming in protest. As the adrenaline faded, pain made itself known—bruises forming, cuts stinging, her throat aching where Einar's fingers had dug in.

With shaking hands, she retrieved her handcuffs, then rolled Einar over and secured his wrists behind his back. Only then did she allow herself to sink to the ground, exhaustion washing over her in waves.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Sheila's boots squeaked against the polished linoleum floor as she burst through the hospital doors, the smell of disinfectant assaulting her nostrils.

She barely registered the startled looks from nurses and patients as she barreled toward the reception desk. The exhaustion from her fight with Einar seemed to evaporate, replaced by a surge of adrenaline that made her hands shake.

"Finn Mercer," she said, her voice raw and unfamiliar to her own ears. "Gunshot wound. Where is he?"

The receptionist, a young woman with kind eyes and hair pulled back in a tight bun, looked up at Sheila. For a moment, Sheila saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes—perhaps she'd seen the news about the shootout in the dunes. The woman's fingers flew across her keyboard, the soft clacking a counterpoint to the pounding in Sheila's head.

"Mr. Mercer is out of surgery," the receptionist said, her voice gentle. "He's in recovery now, Room 305."

Sheila was already moving before the woman finished speaking. She ignored the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time, her lungs burning with each breath. As she reached the third floor, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She steadied herself against the wall, suddenly aware of the ache in her muscles, the throbbing pain where Einar had struck her head.

Hang in there,she told herself.Don't pass out now.

She shook it off, pushing herself forward. Room 305 loomed ahead, its door slightly ajar. Just as she reached for the handle, a hand caught her arm. Sheila whirled, her cop instincts kicking in, ready to defend herself.

A doctor stood there, his face a mask of professional concern beneath his surgical cap. "I'm sorry, Sheriff," he said, his voicefirm but not unkind. "Mr. Mercer needs rest. We can't allow visitors right now."

Sheila felt a flash of frustration, quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Of course, Finn needed rest. She was being selfish, letting her fear override her common sense. She opened her mouth to apologize, to ask when she could come back, when a weak voice called out from behind the doctor.

"Let her in, Doc. Please."

The doctor hesitated, his eyes darting between Sheila and the partially open door. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Five minutes," he said, stepping aside.

Sheila's heart leapt into her throat as she entered the room. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the air, a reassuring rhythm that told her Finn was alive, that she hadn't lost him. He lay on the bed, his skin pale but his eyes open and alert.

A wave of relief hit her so hard it made her knees weak.

"Hey, partner," Finn said, a ghost of his usual smirk tugging at his lips.

Sheila moved to his bedside, her legs feeling like lead. She reached for his hand, noticing how small and fragile it looked against the hospital blanket. "Hey yourself," she managed, her voice thick with emotion. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"

Finn's fingers tightened around hers. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to cut our desert adventure short."

A laugh bubbled up in Sheila's chest, surprising her. It came out as a half-sob, the sound raw and unfamiliar. "Damn it, Finn, I thought I might lose you. When I saw you go down..." She trailed off, the memory of Finn collapsing in the sand still too fresh, too painful.

"Takes more than a bullet to get rid of me," Finn said, his attempt at humor undermined by the wince that followed.

---