Silent Smile (Sheila Stone #10)

PROLOGUE

The tires of Sheila Stone's SUV screeched as she pulled into the parking lot of the Coldwater County Jail. The call she'd received just twenty minutes ago echoed in her mind: Eddie Mills had tried to kill himself.

Eddie Mills. The man she'd arrested just last week for her mother's murder. The man whose car had been spotted fleeing their home that terrible night ten years ago when Sheila's world had been shattered.

After a decade of dead ends and false leads, she finally had the man responsible in custody. The key to unlocking the truth about that tragic night was finally within reach.

Unless, of course, he took those secrets with him to his grave.

Sheila burst through the jail's main entrance, her badge already in hand. The night guard, a young man named Tyler, whom Sheila recognized from previous visits, seemed startled by her sudden appearance. He fumbled to buzz her through the security door.

"Deputy Stone," he stammered, "I wasn't expecting—"

"Where is he?" Sheila said, her voice tight with barely contained emotion. Her fingers instinctively touched the small heart-shaped locket at her throat—her mother's, found on the living room floor that night, its delicate chain broken in the struggle.

The guard swallowed hard. "They've taken him to St. Luke's. It's the closest hospital equipped to handle—"

"How did this happen?" Sheila demanded, her eyes sweeping the room like they had swept her childhood home that night, searching desperately for answers among the evidence markers and blood stains.

The guard cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It happened during the night shift change, ma'am. Mills was in the high-security wing, cell block D. He'd been there since his arrest."

Sheila nodded impatiently. She knew this. She'd insisted on the highest security measures for Mills, worried that he might somehow slip away before she could get the truth from him.

Tyler continued, his words coming faster now. "During the shift change, there's a brief window when the guards are switching posts. Mills must have been waiting for this. He..." Tyler hesitated, his face pale.

"Go on," Sheila urged, steeling herself for the details.

"He managed to create a makeshift noose from his bedsheets. Tied it to the upper bunk. By the time the new shift guard made his first round, Mills was already..." Tyler trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Sheila felt her stomach lurch. The image of Mills hanging there, of all the answers she sought slipping away, made her feel physically ill. Ten years of investigation—following leads with her father Gabriel, tracking down Mills' vehicle, piecing together how he'd targeted their home that night—all of it could be for nothing.

"How long?" she managed to ask. Her voice sounded strange in her ears, reminiscent of that night when she'd called 911, trying to explain through her tears that someone had shot her mother.

"We're not sure exactly. Could have been anywhere from five to fifteen minutes. The guard immediately called for medical assistance and cut him down. There was a bit of an… accident."

"An accident?"

"The guard was so focused on getting Mills down, he didn't quite brace himself. Mills may have… bumped his head on the way down."

Sheila closed her eyes, holding back her frustration. There was no use throwing around blame just now.

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and nodded to herself, coming to a decision. "St. Luke's, you said?" she asked.

***

Sheila barely remembered to lock her car as she rushed toward the hospital's emergency entrance.

"Eddie Mills," she said breathlessly to the nurse at the reception desk. "He was brought in from the county jail. Where is he?"

The nurse eyed Sheila's badge and tapped at her computer. "He's in the ICU, ma'am. Are you family?"

"No, I'm with the sheriff's department. I need to speak with his doctor immediately."

The nurse nodded, reaching for the phone. "I'll page Dr. Reeves. Please have a seat."

Sheila paced the waiting room, unable to sit still. Her mind raced with questions. How bad were Mills' injuries? Would he survive? And if he did, would he be in any condition to finally give her the answers she'd been seeking for so long?

"Ms. Stone?" a voice called out. Sheila turned to see a tall woman in a white coat approaching. "I'm Dr. Reeves. I understand you're here about Eddie Mills?"

Sheila nodded, shaking the doctor's hand. "How is he?"

Dr. Reeves gestured to a quiet corner of the waiting room. "Mr. Mills is in critical condition. He suffered severe oxygen deprivation and has a skull fracture from the fall when they cut him down. We've placed him in a medically induced coma to help manage the swelling in his brain."

Sheila felt her stomach drop. So much for bumping his head. If Mills died now, he'd take the truth with him—why he'd really been at their house that night, what made him pull the trigger, whether he'd acted alone. The questions that had haunted her family for ten years would remain unanswered.

"What are his chances?" she asked.

The doctor's face was grave. "It's too early to say for certain. The next 48 hours will be crucial. Even if he survives, there's a significant risk of permanent brain damage."

Sheila leaned against the wall, feeling suddenly unsteady. "When will you know more?"

"We're monitoring him closely. I've scheduled another set of scans for this evening. That should give us a clearer picture of the extent of the damage."

Sheila nodded, trying to process the information. "I need to see him."

Dr. Reeves shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible right now. He's in intensive care, and we need to limit exposure to potential infections. Plus, there are legal considerations given his status as a prisoner."

Frustration welled up in Sheila. She was about to argue when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Finn, his face etched with concern.

"Sheila," he said softly. "I got here as soon as I could."

Dr. Reeves, sensing the need for privacy, excused herself with a promise to update them if there were any changes.

As soon as the doctor was out of earshot, Sheila turned to Finn. "What took you so long? I thought you were right behind me."

Finn ran a hand through his hair, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry. After you left the lake, I had to secure the kayaks and grab our gear. Then I hit traffic on the way into town. There was an accident on Main Street." He paused, studying her face. "How are you holding up?"

Sheila let out a shaky breath. "I don't know, Finn. Mills is in a coma. They don't know if he'll make it, and even if he does..." She trailed off, unable to voice her fears.

Finn pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Hey, it's okay. We'll figure this out, whatever happens."

Sheila let herself lean into his familiar strength. In the three years they'd worked together as partners, Finn had always been her rock. That hadn't changed six months ago when they started dating, or three months ago when she was promoted to sheriff. If anything, their personal relationship had made his steady support even more vital. She just wished she could stop second-guessing herself—and, by extension, him—in her new role.

Sheila pulled away. "I need to call my dad, let him know what's going on."

Finn nodded. "Of course."

Sheila dialed her father's number. No answer. She left a voicemail: "Dad, it's… it's Eddie Mills. He tried to kill himself. He's alive but in a medically induced coma. Call me back when you can, okay?"

With a deep sigh, she ended the call and began pacing again. "Why'd Mills do this?" she wondered aloud. "Just pure guilt—or fear of getting caught? Or is it possible someone else threatened him?"

Finn shook his head. "I don't know. The interim sheriff has ordered a full investigation. They're checking his recent mail, visitor logs, everything."

"I need to be a part of that investigation," Sheila said.

"Sheila," Finn said gently, "you know that's not possible. You're too close to this case. Hell, you shouldn't have been allowed to interview Mills in the first place."

She knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. "I can't just sit here and do nothing, Finn. This might be my last chance to find out what really happened to my mom." She swallowed hard, remembering the countless nights she'd spent poring over the case files, the interviews with witnesses who'd seen Mills' car, the dead ends that had nearly broken her spirit. "My father and I have waited ten years for answers. We need to know why Mills came to our house that night, why he chose Mom."

"I know. I know. One day at a time, okay? We'll just keep checking in, see how things are going. I promise, Sheila, as soon as Mills is able to hold a conversation, he'll answer for whatever part he played in your mother's death. Okay?"

"Okay," Sheila said, nodding. But as she stared off in the direction the doctor had gone, she found herself wondering if she would ever actually get those answers.

Or if she had just lost them. Permanently.