Page 59 of Silent Past

Rough hands patted them down, removing Sheila's backup piece from her ankle holster, Finn's from his belt. Their phones followed, tossed carelessly into a corner.

"Your father's stubborn," the Irishman continued. "Hasn't told us what we need to know yet. Maybe you'll be more cooperative."

Sheila's mind raced, cataloging details even as rage burned in her chest. Three men in the room. At least one more somewhere in the house, probably watching the perimeter. All armed with rifles—professional gear, not hunting weapons. These weren't local thugs. They were experienced, dangerous.

The Irishman moved closer, rifle trained on Sheila's chest. "Your father's been quite stubborn about Detective Thompson's old files." His accent made the words sound almost musical, a deadly lullaby.

Sheila knew he was talking about the detective who had been investigating departmental corruption before his mysterious disappearance. Internal Affairs had then handed the case to her father. The rest was history.

"We know your mother found them," the Irishman continued. "And now you've been asking the same questions she did."

"The payments," Sheila said. "Money moving through the department. That's what Thompson was investigating before he disappeared."

"Smart girl." He gestured toward one of the chairs with his rifle. "Sit."

"Those files implicated someone powerful," she continued, remaining standing. "Someone who could make a detective disappear without consequences. Someone who could order a hit on my mother and have it covered up for a decade."

The Irishman's eyes crinkled behind his mask—a smile without humor. "And yet here you are, still digging. Just like Detective Thompson. Just like your mother." He moved even closer. "Your father understood, after your mother died. Knew when to let sleeping dogs lie. But you... you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"The money," Sheila pressed. "Where was it coming from? What's Meridian Holdings?"

"Sit down, Sheriff Stone." The rifle nudged her chest. "We have some things to discuss about the importance of family. About what happens to people who don't know when to stop asking questions."

"Was it drug money?" She ignored the rifle. "Or something bigger? Must have been significant to justify killing a detective."

"Last warning." The accent thickened with threat. "Sit. Or we start with your deputy here."

One of the other men pressed his rifle against Finn's temple. She had no choice. She sat.

"Good." The Irishman pulled another chair close, sitting across from her while keeping the rifle trained at her chest. "Now then. Who else knows what you've been investigating?"

"Nobody."

"See, I don't believe that. Your father's been asking questions about Carlton Vance. Making calls. Who's he been talking to?"

Sheila's pulse quickened. They knew about Vance. About her father's attempts to track him down.

"I told you. Nobody else knows."

"What about Meridian Holdings?" The name hung in the air like smoke. "Who else have you told about it?"

She kept her face carefully blank, though her mind raced. They were worried—worried enough to grab her father, to set this trap. Which meant she and Gabriel had been getting close to something important.

"Last chance, Sheriff." The Irishman nodded to one of his men, who produced a set of pliers. "Who else knows?"

Finn tensed beside her as the man approached him with the pliers. His eyes met hers, steady despite what was coming.

"Wait." Sheila's voice cracked. "Just... wait."

"I'm not a patient man, Sheriff Stone." The Irishman leaned forward. "And my employers are even less patient. So let's try again. Who else knows about Vance? About Meridian Holdings?"

The man with the pliers grabbed Finn's hand, forcing his fingers straight.

"Nobody knows!" The words burst from her. "I swear. We've been careful, kept everything between us."

"You're lying." The Irishman's voice carried absolute certainty. "Your father's been making calls, reaching out to old contacts. Names keep coming up—people who shouldn't be mentioned. We need to know who he's talked to."

The pliers touched Finn's index finger.

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