CHAPTER ONE
Sheila Stone stood by her father’s side at the edge of the empty gravel lot, her breath forming faint clouds in the crisp October air.
The cold crept through her jacket, but she barely noticed it.
Her eyes scanned the shadows around them, darting between the skeletal outlines of leafless trees and the occasional glint of moonlight on the windshield of a parked car.
“Where is he?” Sheila muttered, her voice low.
Gabriel Stone didn’t look at her. His gray eyes were fixed on the distant tree line, his posture relaxed but alert. “He’ll show,” he said, the gruffness in his voice doing little to hide the edge of tension beneath. “He always does.”
Sheila tightened her grip on the flashlight in her hand, the metal cool against her skin. She wasn’t so sure. The man they were waiting for—Gabriel’s old informant from his law enforcement days—was an enigma wrapped in an erratic streak. And he was late.
This meeting was far more important to Sheila than she cared to admit.
It wasn't just about any investigation—it was about her mother’s unsolved murder ten years ago.
Henrietta Stone had stumbled across evidence of corruption in the Coldwater County Sheriff’s Department, and someone powerful had silenced her for it.
Gabriel had spent years burying his own guilt, knowing he’d chosen to keep quiet back then to protect their family.
But now, with the recent attempt on Sheila’s life by a department plant named Tommy, the stakes were higher than ever.
Tommy was in a coma—the result of an attempt on his life, presumably by the very people who had sent him to kill Sheila in the first place—but his actions had confirmed one thing: The corruption that killed Henrietta hadn’t gone away. It had only grown stronger.
Even Finn, Sheila's partner and boyfriend, and Star, her fourteen-year-old charge, weren’t safe.
Just yesterday, Sheila had climbed into her truck to discover an armed stranger was in the seat behind her.
He'd warned her to give up the investigation, implying both Star and Gabriel would be at risk if she didn't. Though he hadn't mentioned Finn, Sheila assumed he was in danger as well.
Star and Finn were currently together. The plan was that later, when Finn came into work, he'd first drop Star off at the gym where Bo Pratz, Sheila's former sparring partner and one of the best kickboxers she'd ever fought, would keep an eye on her.
He was always more than happy to do the Stones a favor, and since he was divorced and only saw his kids on the weekends, he had plenty of free time on his hands.
Sheila took a deep breath as she and her father waited in the cold for a contact who might hold the next piece of the puzzle that would help her understand why her mother had been killed. But with every second that passed with no sign of her father's contact, her unease deepened.
“Should we call him?” she asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “No. He doesn’t like that. Makes him jumpy.”
“Jumpy?” Sheila’s tone sharpened. “We’re standing out here like sitting ducks, and you're worried about him being jumpy?”
“Relax, kid.” Gabriel finally turned to her, his weathered face softening. “I wouldn’t bring you out here if I thought it wasn’t safe.”
Sheila didn’t reply. Safe wasn’t a word she trusted anymore—not since Natalie, her older sister, had died.
Not since the weight of their family’s fractured history had landed squarely on her shoulders.
Not since she’d become painfully aware of the cracks in the system her father had once sworn to uphold.
And which she was now supposed to uphold as sheriff of Coldwater County.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out with a gloved hand. The message was from Finn.
Any updates? Star and I are good. No sign of trouble.
Sheila exhaled a small sigh of relief. She could picture Finn’s steady gaze, his protective presence as he watched over Star, the troubled fourteen-year-old who’d somehow wormed her way into their lives—and their hearts.
The fact that Finn had become someone Sheila could trust so implicitly still surprised her, though she was grateful for it.
“Finn says they’re fine,” Sheila said, glancing up at her father.
Gabriel grunted. “Good.”
She texted a reply: Still waiting for him to show.
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant rustling of wind through dry grass.
Sheila shoved her hands into her pockets, trying to suppress the nagging sense of unease that had been growing since they’d arrived.
She thought about Natalie, how her sister had always been the one to lead, to face danger head-on.
Natalie had been fearless—until the day she wasn’t.
She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps. Her hand moved instinctively toward her concealed weapon, her body tensing. Gabriel’s hand came up in a calming gesture.
“Easy,” he said. “That’s him.”
A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a deliberate slowness that set Sheila’s nerves on edge. The man wore a battered leather jacket and a wide-brimmed hat that cast his face in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly.
“Gabriel,” the man said, nodding. His gaze shifted to Sheila. “This the kid?”
Gabriel stepped forward. “This is my daughter. Sheila.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked her over. “She the one causing all the trouble?”
"She's not the one who started this mess. But with any luck, she's going to help clean it up."
The man studied her for a few more seconds before reaching into his jacket. Sheila’s pulse quickened, but Gabriel didn’t flinch. The man pulled out an envelope and handed it over. Gabriel opened it and peeked, his eyes scanning the contents quickly before he nodded.
“This checks out,” he said. He tucked the envelope into his pocket. “Anything else we need to know?”
The man hesitated again, his gaze flicking toward Sheila. “Just one thing. You’re stirring up a hornet’s nest, old man. You better be sure about what you’re doing.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “I’m sure.”
The man nodded once, then turned and disappeared back into the shadows as quickly as he’d come.
Sheila watched him go, her mind racing with questions she didn’t know if she wanted answers to. “What was that about?”
Gabriel didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced motion. He took a long drag before finally speaking.
“Means we’re getting close,” he said, his voice low. “And that scares some people.”
“Close to what?” Sheila pressed.
Gabriel turned to her, his gray eyes sharp and unyielding. “Close to the truth.”
Sheila swallowed hard, her frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "What truth, Dad? What's in the envelope?"
Gabriel took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Not here. I'll show you when we're somewhere safe."
"Safe?" Sheila’s voice edged with impatience. "You said this meeting was safe. What aren’t you telling me?"
Gabriel glanced around the empty lot, his eyes scanning the shadows. "This place was safe enough for the drop. But what’s in this envelope, it’s not just about you or me anymore. It’s bigger than that."
Sheila wanted to argue, but instead she bit her tongue. Her father took another drag, his eyes scanning the shadows, and then together they returned to the truck.
As Gabriel started the engine and the truck rumbled to life, Sheila crossed her arms and stared out the window. The envelope burned in her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch. They drove in silence for a few miles, the headlights cutting through the darkness of the back roads.
Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Sheila spoke. “If you’re going to make me wait much longer, I’ll just grab it and open it myself.”
Gabriel glanced at her, his lips twitching in what might have been a smirk. “Patience, kid. But fine.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out the envelope, and handed it to her. “Just don’t freak out when you see it.”
Sheila took the envelope, her fingers fumbling slightly as she tore it open. Inside were several pages of documents, some typewritten, others handwritten. There were photocopies of old reports, bank statements, and even a grainy photograph of a man she didn’t recognize.
“What is all this?” she asked, flipping through the papers. Her eyes caught snippets of text: ‘Illegal wire transfers,’ ‘offshore accounts,’ and ‘internal memo—Sheriff’s Dept.’ But the jumble of information made little sense.
“It’s a trail,” Gabriel said, his voice steady. “Connecting key players in the department to some very shady dealings. Bribes, cover-ups, even hits on people who got too close to the truth.”
Sheila’s grip tightened on the pages. “And this has something to do with Mom?”
Gabriel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Everything to do with her. That”—he nodded toward the envelope—“is part of what she was working on when they killed her. She’d found out about the corruption, and she was gathering proof. Enough to bring the whole system down.”
"If that's the case, why would that guy give up information like this so easily? It’s not exactly the kind of thing you’d just hand over, not without getting something in return."
Her father gave her a long look. "Who says he didn't get anything in return?"
Sheila raised an eyebrow. “Did he owe you a favor or something?”
Gabriel exhaled heavily. “Back when I was working Internal Affairs, I covered for him. He made a mistake during an operation, and when it came across my desk, I made it go away. Let’s just say he’s been paying it forward ever since.”
This admission made Sheila uneasy. "What kind of mistake?"
"He didn't kill anybody, if that's what you're wondering. It was a chain-of-custody thing—the kind of mistake that could ruin a career, given how it threatened to destroy a case the department had been building for years."
Sheila frowned, the pieces slowly coming together in her mind. “So he’s helping you now because he feels guilty? Or because you could expose him?”
Gabriel’s jaw worked for a moment before he said, “Maybe a bit of both. Nobody really knew the details of what he did, nobody except me. It would do some damage to his reputation if I shared those details. But I have no motive to do so."
"So long as he keeps playing ball."
"That's the way it works."
They were both silent for several moments. Sheila stared down at the envelope again.
"Whatever proof of departmental corruption this is," she said, "that's not really what we need. We need names. I want to know who sent Eddie Mills to our house ten years ago. He may have been the only one who pulled the trigger, but that doesn't mean he's the only one who killed Mom."
Her father stared out the windshield in silence. Empty countryside rolled by.
" Is there a name in here?" Sheila asked.
"You tell me. You're the sheriff."
Sheila flipped through the pages again, her eyes narrowing as she searched for something that made sense.
Finally, a particular document caught her attention—a photocopy of an old personnel file with scribbled notes in the margins.
Her gaze landed on a name written in bold at the top: "Carlton Vance. "
"Carlton Vance," she murmured. "Does that name ring a bell?"
Gabriel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"It should. He was one of the most respected deputies in the department back in the day.
Worked Internal Affairs for a while—he hired me, actually.
" He grunted, and a small smile creased his lips.
"Used to call me 'the Pitbull' because I'd get a hold of something and never let go.
Seems a bit ironic in retrospect, though. "
He fell silent for a few moments.
"Anyway," he went on, "he retired about five years before your mom… before she died. Why? What's he got to do with this?"
Sheila’s stomach churned as she studied the file. "There’s a memo here linking him to an offshore account. Looks like he’s been getting payments from…"—she scanned the documents more closely—"a company called Meridian Holdings."
Gabriel leaned over to look at the memo. "You're sure? Meridian Holdings?"
"Have you heard of it?"
"It's a shell company. The kind people use to launder dirty money."
"And you know about it because…?"
"It’s been tied to a lot of high-profile cases." He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe Carlton Vance is tied up in this. He could be secretive, sure, but I had no idea…" He trailed off, as if walking down the halls of memory.
Sheila traced the notes in the margins with her finger. "You think Carlton Vance sent Eddie Mills to kill Mom?"
"A week ago, I'd have said no way in hell. But now…" He paused, thinking. "If he didn't send Mills, then he very well may know who did. Getting him to admit it, though, could be difficult."
Sheila clenched her jaw. "He'll talk. One way or another. Where does he live?"
"Used to have a place out on Westwood. Don't know if he's still there."
"Well, then, we'd better go find out."