Page 4 of Silent Home

"There's always proof.Always."

For a long moment, neither spoke.Sheila knew her father was terrified of losing her, just as he'd lost her older sister, Natalie, though Natalie's death—suicide—had had nothing to do with corruption within the department.Still, a loss was a loss.

And Gabriel's life had been full of them.

But Sheila also knew that throwing in the towel wasn't in her blood, no more than it had been back when she was a kickboxer competing for the Olympic gold medal.And silence didn't mean safety—apparently she already knew too much, which was why Tommy had tried to silence her.

So why would she pump the brakes now?

"Well," her father said, clearing his throat, "I'm going to head out.Got a friend whose kid needs help moving into an apartment.You sure Roberts and Baxter can handle it?"

"They're the only ones besides Finn that I trust completely," she said."They've been taking shifts watching him since we brought him in."She paused.Her father's mention of an apartment had sparked an idea in her mind."Any idea where Tommy was staying?"she asked.

Gabriel blinked, surprised by the question."No, but it should be on file.Why?"

She decided to keep her reasoning to herself.She found herself questioning how much her father's heart was in this, and she didn't want him having second thoughts or trying to talk her down.Better for her to fly solo for now.

"Just wondering," she said.She offered her dad a smile."Be careful, okay?Your life could be at risk just as much as mine is."

He patted the holster concealed beneath his jacket."I may be old, but I ain't slow."

That won't do you much good if you don't see them coming,Sheila thought as she watched her father shuffle off down the hallway.But she tried to assure herself her father could look after himself.As a former kickboxing trainer and sheriff, he was every bit as deadly with his fists as he was with a gun.

Still, if he didn't see them coming…

Sheila pushed the thought aside and pulled out her phone, bringing up Tommy's personnel file.His listed address was an apartment complex on Broadview Avenue, not far from the station.As acting sheriff, she technically had the authority to enter any property connected to an active investigation.And attempted murder—Tommy's attack on her in the research facility—certainly qualified.

She couldn't wake Tommy, not while he was in a coma.But that didn't mean she couldn't get answers.

***

The complex turned out to be one of those hastily constructed buildings that had sprung up during Coldwater's recent growth spurt—three stories of beige siding and narrow windows, with a sign advertising "luxury apartments" that looked anything but luxurious.Tommy's unit was 2C, halfway down an exterior walkway that creaked under her feet.

She knocked first, maintaining the pretense of officiality.When no one answered, she studied the lock.Standard hardware store deadbolt, nothing fancy.The kind of lock that property managers often forgot to change between tenants.

Sheila pulled out her keyring.During her days as a patrol officer, she'd collected spare keys from various apartment managers, making copies "just in case."It wasn't strictly legal, but it had helped her check on elderly residents during wellness calls.Now, she cycled through them, testing each one.

The fourth key slid in smoothly, and the door opened with a soft click.Sheila slipped inside, closing it behind her.

The apartment was sparsely furnished—a futon couch, a coffee table still bearing ring marks from the previous tenant, a TV mounted on the wall.Everything looked temporary, as if Tommy hadn't expected to stay long.

Or knew he wouldn't need to.

The kitchen held little beyond basic supplies and takeout containers.But in a trash can, she found a receipt from Peak Hardware dated three days before his attack on her.The items listed made her blood run cold: rope, duct tape…

Plastic sheeting.

Had he been planning to interrogate her, then get rid of her body?If so, who had put him up to it?

The bedroom yielded more clues about Tommy's true nature.The closet contained three identical sets of clothes—jeans, plain t-shirts, work boots.No personal touches, no photos or mementos.This wasn't a home; it was a base of operations.

Under the bed, she found a laptop.Password protected, of course.But if she could crack it, there was no telling what information it might contain.

Sheila's phone buzzed.Finn's name lit up the screen.

With a deep, calming breath, Sheila answered it."What's up?"

"We've got a body," Finn said, his voice tight."Young woman, found in Theater Seven at the film festival.Multiple witnesses say the victim was alive less than an hour ago."

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