Page 54 of Silent Smile

"Well, knock it off," Finn replied, a hint of humor in his voice. "Look, I get it. This job, this life—it's a lot. But you don't have to carry it all alone. That's why you have me, why you have Star. We're a team, remember?"

Sheila hesitated. "Are we? What about the transfer?"

Finn opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He stopped in his tracks. Sheila followed his gaze to where a solitary figure stood silhouetted against the horizon, a dark cutout against the star-speckled sky.

They approached with the caution of seasoned predators, using the dunes for cover. When they were within earshot, Sheila called out, her voice carrying across the empty expanse: "Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. Identify yourself."

The figure turned, and recognition hit Sheila like a physical blow. "Ranger Thorsson?"

Einar Thorsson's weathered face creased with relief as he hurried toward them, his ranger's uniform stark against the pale sand. "Sheriff Stone! Deputy Mercer! Thank the stars, you're here. I was about to call this in. It's Dr. Redfeather—I've found her, but she's unresponsive. I fear she's injured."

Sheila's eyes darted past Einar, seeking confirmation of his words. What she saw sent ice through her veins.

Nora Redfeather's head protruded from the sand, the rest of her body entombed beneath the dune. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale in the starlight.

But then her gaze fell to Einar's feet. He was barefoot. If he had left one set of the tracks they'd been following, then who had left the other?

And why did he look so familiar? Back where Carl Donovan had been killed—the man who had discovered the body. Could this be the same man?

Before she could untangle her thoughts, Einar moved. One moment, he was the kindly old ranger she'd first met. The next, he was a coiled spring releasing, his hand darting out to snatch Finn's weapon from its holster. Finn cried out, but he was too late to stop Einar.

Time seemed to stutter, reality struggling to catch up with this sudden shift. Sheila's own weapon was in her hand before she registered drawing it, muscle memory outpacing conscious thought.

"Lower the gun, Einar," she said, aiming at his chest.

Einar's eyes were wild, flicking between Sheila and Finn like a cornered animal's as he pointed Finn's gun back at Sheila. "You're blind," he said, his voice cracking. "All of you. The dunes speak, but you refuse to listen. They demand protection. Sacrifice."

"Einar," Sheila said, forcing calm into her tone, "this isn't protection. This isn't you. Remember who you are, what you've stood for all these years. Put the gun down. Let's talk this through."

She felt Finn tense beside her, coiled and ready to spring. Einar, however, had retreated several paces. There was no way Finn could get to him without getting shot.

"I am who I've always been," Einar replied, a fevered light in his eyes. "A guardian of the dunes. I just understand now what that truly means. The old ways, the ancient rites—they're the only way to save this place."

"The dunes need protection, Einar, but not like this," Sheila said. She took a careful step forward, sand crunching softly under her boot. "Think of all you've done over the years. The visitors you've inspired, the young rangers you've mentored. That's real protection. That's a legacy."

For a heartbeat, doubt flickered across Einar's face. The gun in his hand wavered, just slightly.

"Sheriff." Finn's voice was low. "Dr. Redfeather. She's stirring."

Sheila's gaze darted to Nora. Indeed, her head was moving, eyelids fluttering as consciousness returned.

Einar noticed, too. His expression hardened, madness overtaking doubt. "No," he growled. "The sacrifice must be completed. The dunes demand it."

He pointed the gun at Nora's exposed head.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The desert night exploded with the crack of Sheila's gun. The acrid scent of gunpowder filled her nostrils as she watched Einar stumble backward, his hand clutching his shoulder where a dark stain spread across his ranger uniform. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Then Einar spun around, firing wildly. The shot missed Sheila, and she fired again. Einar fell back—she couldn't tell whether she'd hit him or if he had simply stumbled. Either way, he lay on his side in the sand, unmoving.

A grunt beside Sheila distracted her. She turned to see Finn, his face a mask of surprise, crumple to the sand. Her heart stopped.

"Finn!" The cry tore from her throat as she dropped to her knees beside him. Every nightmare she'd ever had about losing someone she loved crystallized in this moment. Warm blood seeped between her fingers as she pressed them against the wound in his side, her hands shaking. "Stay with me, partner. Please stay with me."

Finn's breath came in ragged gasps. "I'm okay," he managed, though the pallor of his skin and the growing stain beneath her fingers said otherwise. Her chest constricted with fear. She couldn't lose him. Not Finn. Not like this.

"Go... get him," he murmured.

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