Page 31 of Silent Grave

Gabriel patted Marcus's shoulder. "Thanks for the help. I owe you one."

Malcolm nodded absently. "I'll keep working on the other files, see if there's anything else recoverable."

Outside, the afternoon sun felt harsh after hours in Malcolm's dimly lit workshop. Sheila squinted, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

"We need to track down those goggles," she said as they walked to their vehicle. "They're military-grade—someone may have sold them locally."

Gabriel nodded. "Three licensed dealers in Utah. We start there, show them pictures of the goggles, and see if anyone has purchased anything similar in the past few years."

Sheila slid behind the wheel and took a deep breath. She was thinking about the cross, wondering what kind of twisted religious beliefs a man could have that would pardon him for the heinous crimes he was committing.

Or if, in his worldview, he was actually obeying a religious mandate.

Like a man on a mission.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot of Outdoor Adventures & Surplus as Sheila pulled into a space near the entrance. The store occupied a weathered strip mall on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, wedged between a discount furniture outlet and a vape shop. A neon "OPEN" sign buzzed in the window, competing with faded posters advertising camping gear and military surplus.

"Last one on the list," Sheila said, killing the engine. Her voice was rough with exhaustion. They'd spent the past four hours visiting the other two licensed night-vision dealers in Utah, showing them photos of the killer's goggles, coming up empty.

The first store had been almost comically unhelpful—a big-box outdoor retailer whose teenage employees barely knew what night-vision gear was, let alone its sales history. The second had proper records but nothing matching what they were looking for.

"This place is more promising," Gabriel said, studying the storefront. "Type of shop that does cash deals here and there, keeps things off the books."

Sheila glanced at her father. There was something in his tone that suggested he'd dealt with places like this before. She wondered how many contacts, how many sources, how many favors he'd accumulated over his decades in law enforcement.

And how many of those connections he'd kept hidden from her, just like he'd hidden so much else.

"You've been here before?" she asked.

"Once or twice." He shifted in his seat, grimacing as his bad knee protested. "Owner's name is Ray Hutchins. Ex-military, did three tours in Afghanistan. Knows his equipment."

Of course, he knew the owner's background. Sometimes, Sheila forgot just how deep her father's network ran in Utah law enforcement. She'd inherited some of those connections when she became sheriff, but others—the unofficial ones, the ones that operated in gray areas—those belonged solely to Gabriel Stone.

And what about his connections within the department? she wondered. Why didn't he expose the money laundering? Was he protecting his family… or was he protecting the people whose crimes he'd discovered?

Gabriel was studying her. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Just thinking."

Gabriel nodded. "Anyway, Ray knows about every piece of tactical gear that moves through this valley. If anyone can help us, it's him—assuming he wants to. He can be a bit… stubborn."

Sheila studied the storefront again. Bars covered the windows—not unusual for this neighborhood, but these looked newer than the rest of the building. Security cameras mounted in each corner swept the parking lot. Whoever Ray Hutchins was, he took his security seriously.

Sheila began to open her door, but her father's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Let me do the talking at first," he said. "Ray and I have history. Nothing bad," he added quickly, seeing her expression. "Just... complicated."

Sheila felt that familiar twist in her gut—the one that came whenever she discovered another aspect of her father's past he'd never shared. But she pushed it aside. Right now, they needed information more than she needed answers about her father's secrets.

The bell above the door chimed as they entered. The store's interior was dimmer than expected, illuminated mainly by fluorescent strips that cast everything in a slightly sickly glow. Glass cases lined the walls, displaying everything from tactical knives to high-end scopes. The air smelled of gun oil and leather.

A man emerged from a back room, and Sheila's first thought was that he moved like a soldier—balanced, alert, always aware of his surroundings. Ray Hutchins was shorter than she'd expected, but broad-shouldered and fit despite being well into his sixties. His gray hair was military-short, and a scar traced a pale line from his left ear to his jaw.

"Well, well," Ray said, his voice gravelly but not unfriendly. "Gabriel Stone. Didn't expect to see you darkening my door again." His eyes flicked to Sheila, taking in her badge, her stance, everything that marked her as law enforcement. "And this must be the daughter I've heard about. The new sheriff."

"Ray." Gabriel nodded in greeting. "You're looking well."

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