Page 49 of Silent Home

"Come on in," he said, gesturing toward the house."Martha!Put some coffee on.We've got company."

The farmhouse kitchen was warm and bright, with copper pots hanging from the ceiling and the smell of fresh-baked bread lingering in the air.Martha turned out to be a small woman with steel-gray hair and quick, efficient movements.She took one look at Sheila and disappeared into another room, returning with a heavy sweater.

"You're half frozen," she said, handing it over."Sit down before you fall down.Coffee's almost ready."

Sheila sank into a kitchen chair and pulled on the sweater.She could have wept with gratitude.

"I need to use your phone," she said."My truck was stolen—I have to put out an APB."

The farmer—who had introduced himself as Earl Peterson—handed her a landline phone."Cell reception's spotty out here.But the landline's reliable.And if you need a ride, I'm more than happy to help out."

Sheila dialed dispatch, her fingers still clumsy with cold.When Neville answered, she quickly explained the situation—leaving out the man in the backseat, describing it simply as a carjacking.It wasn't just about protecting her family and Finn—though those threats weighed heavily.No, her gut told her that if she reported the man in her backseat, evidence would disappear.Reports would be altered.Witnesses would change their stories.

Better to keep this close, tell only Finn, and watch carefully to see what moved in the shadows.

She gave the truck's description and plate number, then added: "And get word to Deputy Mercer.Tell him I'm safe but stranded."

"You want us to send someone for you?"Neville asked.

Sheila glanced at Earl, who was already shaking his head."No need," she said."Mr.Peterson has offered to drive me back to town."

Martha set a mug of coffee in front of her, along with a plate of fresh bread and butter."Eat something first," she insisted."You look done in."

Sheila took a few bites of the still-warm bread, knowing she should take time to eat but too anxious to stay still.

"I really need to get back," she said, standing."But thank you for the coffee and bread."

Earl nodded, already reaching for his truck keys."Martha, I'm taking the sheriff back to town."

The drive back was quiet, just the sound of Earl's old pickup rattling over country roads.The heater worked only intermittently, coughing out warm air in fits and starts.Sheila watched the empty fields roll past, thinking about the man's Irish accent and his expensive cologne.

Who was he?And why hadn't he killed her?Simply to avoid the trouble that would come from the murder of a sheriff?

That's why Tommy abandoned me in that research station,she thought.To make it look like an accident.

Earl dropped her at the sheriff's department, refusing her offer to pay for gas.As she watched his taillights disappear around the corner, a cold certainty settled over her: Tonight hadn't been about stealing her truck or even really about threatening her.

It had been about sending a message.

And as she climbed the steps to the department's front door, she realized something else—something that made her blood run cold.The man had known which car was hers.Had gotten in without leaving marks.Had known her schedule well enough to catch her alone.

Which meant he had help.

Someone in her own department was working with him.

And now, whether they knew it or not, they had Tommy's laptop—and whatever secrets it contained.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The moment Sheila walked through the doors, Deputy Neville looked up from dispatch, relief crossing her face."Sheriff!Are you alright?"

"Fine," Sheila said, trying to project calm authority despite her borrowed sweater and windblown hair."Any word on my truck?"

"Nothing yet.We've got patrols looking, notified surrounding counties."Neville stood, looking a bit unsure of herself."What exactly happened?Your call wasn't very detailed."

"Standard carjacking," Sheila said, moving toward her office."Guy got the drop on me.It happens."

"To other people, maybe," Neville said."Not to you."

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