Page 38 of Silent Past

"Her research assistant, Emma. Said she'd call the police if she didn't hear from Rachel by midnight."

"Text me Emma's number. And Mr. Harper? You did the right thing calling."

She ended the call and turned to Finn, who was shaking his head. "He's a slippery one, this guy we're after."

"Mitchell, Kane, and now Rachel Harper." Sheila checked her weapon. "All academics studying how traditions persist in isolated communities. All drawn to cave systems by someone who'd studied their research."

"The question is," Finn said, "where is he planning to kill her? What's out on that service road?"

***

"The service road isn't on any of our maps," Finn said, studying his phone as they sped down Highway 40. The headlights cut through darkness thick with pine shadows. "But Rachel's location sharing last pinged here." He pointed to a spot on the screen. "Just past mile marker 23."

Sheila pressed the accelerator harder. They'd called for backup, but the nearest units were at least thirty minutes out. Every minute that passed was another minute Rachel could be...

Her jaw tightened. No. Not this time.

The mile markers flashed by: 21... 22…

"There," Finn said suddenly. "Gravel turnoff."

Sheila slowed just enough to make the turn safely. The truck's suspension protested as they bounced down the rough forest service road. Their headlights caught glimpses of dense underbrush and limestone outcroppings.

"Stop," Finn called out. "Tracks."

Fresh tire marks cut through gravel still damp from yesterday's rain. They led around a bend where the road widened into a small turnaround area. Two vehicles sat empty: Rachel's sedan and a green Subaru.

Sheila killed the engine but left the headlights on. They approached Rachel's vehicle carefully, weapons drawn.

Finn peered through the windows with his flashlight. "Nothing obvious inside. Looks clean."

Sheila radioed in the plate number to dispatch. She was just finishing up when she heard Finn say her name.

"Sheila." His voice was tight. He stood near a metal sign half-hidden by brush, shining his flashlight on faded text: "CAUTION—CAVE SYSTEM AHEAD. NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY."

"How far?" Sheila asked, ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest.

"Quarter mile, maybe less." He studied the ground. "Two sets of footprints, heading that way."

Sheila radioed their location to dispatch, then checked her gear. Backup was still too far out, but Rachel might still be alive. The killer had a ritual to complete—the ceremonial robes, the precise positioning. Those things took time.

Unless he'd already…

A branch snapped in the darkness beyond their lights. Both of them froze, listening. The night seemed to hold its breath.

"We go in quiet," Sheila said softly. "He might still be down there with her."

They followed the footprints, moving as silently as possible along a narrow trail. Their lights caught glimpses of worked stone—old trail markers, steps carved into rock. Someone had improved this path, long ago.

The cave entrance was smaller than that of the ice caves, but the air flowing from it carried the same mineral chill. Sheila paused at the threshold, listening. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. And something else—a sound like fabric rustling?

They descended carefully, testing each step. The passage twisted, then opened into a larger chamber. Limestone formations glittered in their light beams. The air grew colder.

"There," Finn whispered, pointing.

A tunnel branched off to their right, sloping downward. Fresh scuff marks scored the dusty floor.

They followed the marks deeper into the earth. The cold intensified, and their breath began to fog. Another chamber opened before them, this one smaller, more intimate. Like a chapel carved by water and time.

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