Page 42 of Silent Trail

"Really?" Daniels raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "And what's your cousin's name?"

"Uh, Lisa," Reagan replied, the name slipping out before he could think about whether or not it sounded plausible. "Lisa Thompson."

Inside, Reagan berated himself for his lack of foresight. He should have prepared for this eventuality, but his single-minded focus on Deirdre had left him vulnerable. The weight of uncertainty bore down on him, twisting his stomach into knots as he tried to gauge whether or not Daniels believed his story.

"You do realize," Daniels asked, "male students aren't allowed in these dorms after dark, right?"

Reagan hesitated, unsure what to say. Just as the suspicion in Officer Daniels' eyes seemed to deepen, the crackle of his radio interrupted their tense conversation. "We need immediate assistance with a pursuit near Elm Street," the dispatcher's voice urgently requested.

"Copy that, I'm on my way," Daniels replied, his attention momentarily diverted from Reagan. He shot Reagan one last warning glance before putting the car in drive and speeding off. As the taillights faded into the distance, the siren wailing into the night, Reagan felt a wave of relief wash over him.

With Daniels gone, Reagan retreated into the shadows, his heart pounding in his ears. He had narrowly avoided being caught, but now he was more determined than ever to continue his plan. He found a secluded spot behind a large tree, its gnarled branches casting eerie silhouettes on the ground, and settled in to wait for Deirdre and her friends to fall asleep.

The air around him was heavy with anticipation, charged with an unsettling energy that prickled at his skin. The darkness seemed to close in around him, muffling the distant laughter of the college students and amplifying the rustle of leaves in the breeze. His breaths came shallow and quick, each exhale leaving a cloud of vapor in the cool night air.

As he crouched there, hidden in the gloom, Reagan couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to Deirdre, picturing her face contorted with fear when she realized what was happening. A sick thrill coursed through him at the thought, and he clenched his fists with anticipation.

"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, trying to tamp down the growing excitement that threatened to consume him. He needed to stay focused, to remain patient until the perfect moment to strike presented itself.

As he waited, he found his mind wandering back to Sandra and the messages she'd left him. He pulled out his phone and stared at the glowing screen, reading what she'd said.

Your posts intrigued me. It's refreshing to find someone who understands the importance of justice. And I can't help but admire your dedication to justice. I'd love to hear more about how you did it.

Reagan basked in the praise, feeling a newfound connection to this mysterious woman who seemed to understand his motives. A grin stretched across his face as he scrolled through her texts, savoring each word.

But curiosity gnawed at him, a hunger that refused to be sated. Who was this Sandra? What was her story? And most importantly, could he trust her?

Determined to find out, Reagan put his tech-savvy skills to work. In the isolated silence of the night, his fingers danced across the screen, tracing the digital breadcrumbs back to their source.

It was a fairly simple procedure. Since she had registered as a user on his blog, he had access to her IP address and email address. By combining these two, he was able to discover her name: Sheila Stone. Then he looked up this name, and he soon found an article about an Olympic kickboxer of the same name.

A kickboxer who'd grown up in Coldwater, Utah. And who just happened to be the sister of Coldwater's sheriff.

Reagan's heart pounded in his chest, the satisfaction he had felt moments ago now replaced by a seething rage that threatened to boil over.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, slamming his fist against the wall. The impact sent a jolt of pain up his arm, but it did little to quell the storm brewing within him.

He had been so careful, so methodical in his planning, and now he realized he was ensnared in a dangerous game. Every move he made, every victim he chose—it was all being watched, scrutinized by someone who held a position of power.

"Think, Reagan," he muttered to himself, his mind racing with possibilities. "What's her angle? Why is she toying with me like this?"

His thoughts were a whirlwind, a chaotic maelstrom that threatened to pull him under. He needed to learn more.

He tapped away at his phone again, and soon the screen displayed Sheila Stone's social media profile, her smiling face mocking him amidst images of her athletic achievements. As he scrolled through her posts with trembling fingers, he discovered that she, too, was one of those girls—the ones who reveled in their physical prowess, flaunting it without remorse or compassion for those they tormented. Those who had made his life a living hell.

"Perfect little athlete, huh?" Reagan muttered, his eyes narrowing in disgust. "Let's see how perfect you are when I'm done with you."

His heart raced with anticipation, each beat drumming out a promise of retribution. The thought of confronting Sheila, of making her pay for daring to involve herself in his plans, brought a sick sense of pleasure to the pit of his stomach. He could almost taste the fear and desperation that would soon drip from her every word, and the thought thrilled him.

Reagan glanced up at the darkened windows of Deirdre's dorm, his decision made. He would deal with Deirdre later—for now, he had a new target in his sights. With a determined stride, he stepped out of the shadows, ready to take control of the situation and face the woman who had dared to ensnare him.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Sheila's hands gripped the steering wheel as she pulled into the dark, deserted parking lot of the old steel mill. The headlights of her car cast eerie shadows on the cracked asphalt, and her heart pounded in her chest like a kickboxer's fists against a punching bag.

She scanned the area, searching for any signs of the person who called himself DarkReaper88, but there was nothing but darkness and silence. No other cars, no people, just the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

"You're ten minutes early," she whispered to herself, trying to calm her nerves. "You shouldn't be surprised he's not here yet."

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