"How bad are the protests?" she asked as they continued walking.
"Getting worse. News crews are up there now. Riggs is giving interviews about corporate negligence and public endangerment." They reached the parking lot, and Finn pulled out his keys. "I'll drive. You're still half asleep."
She wanted to argue but knew he was right. As they pulled out of the lot, she thought about their killer, hidden somewhere in that maze of tunnels. If MSHA sealed the mines, they'd lose any chance of tracking him through the tunnel system.
Which meant he'd won. At least for now.
Unless they could find another way to stop him before he killed again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The protest crowd had doubled since Sheila's last visit to the mines. Flashlight beams and cell phone lights created a constellation of moving points in the gathering darkness, while portable floodlights cast harsh shadows across angry faces and hand-painted signs. NEWS 5 and other local station logos glowed from the sides of broadcast vans.
Sarah Riggs stood at the center of it all, her steel-gray hair catching the light as she spoke with a cluster of reporters. Two men in MSHA jackets conferred nearby, their clipboards illuminated by headlamps as they examined documentation. The larger of the two—middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and the build of someone who spent more time behind a desk than in the field—kept shooting irritated glances at the crowd.
Sheila spotted her father's familiar figure near the mine entrance, deep in conversation with Dave Kendrick from Search and Rescue. Gabriel's hands moved in sharp, frustrated gestures as he spoke. Even from a distance, she could read the tension in his posture.
"Your father spent twenty minutes arguing with the MSHA guys," Finn said as they made their way through the crowd. "Didn't get anywhere."
A sign bobbed past: CORPORATE GREED = MURDER. Another read, SEAL THE DEATH TRAPS. Sheila caught fragments of conversation as they walked: "...about time someone did something..." and "...can't believe they let people just walk in..." and "...whole mountain's probably unstable..."
She understood their fear, their anger. Two young men were dead. But she also knew that sealing these mines now might give their killer exactly what he wanted—a perfect hiding place, inaccessible to law enforcement.
Still, she couldn't deny Riggs had a point. Wasn't protecting potential victims more important than catching one killer? The thought of another person wandering into these tunnels, becoming prey to this twisted hunter…
But then she remembered Sullivan saying there could be 'hundreds' of unofficial entrances to the mines. She could seal every known entrance, post guards and barriers, but it wouldn't keep people out. Not if they were determined to get in.
"We can't seal what we can't find," she said quietly.
"Sheriff Stone!" Sarah Riggs's voice cut through the noise. "Care to comment on MSHA's intervention? Or would you rather keep pretending these mines are safe?"
Cameras swung toward Sheila. Reporter microphones materialized like mushrooms after rain. She felt Finn tense beside her, ready to run interference, but she gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Better to handle this directly.
"Ms. Riggs," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I understand your concerns about public safety. But you're interfering with an active murder investigation."
"No," Riggs countered, "I'm preventing more deaths. These mines should have been properly sealed decades ago. Instead, they've become hunting grounds for a killer—a killer your department can't seem to catch."
The words stung, but Sheila kept her expression neutral. "We're making progress. But even if we could shut down the mines, it wouldn't stop everyone from—"
"Progress?" Riggs's laugh was bitter. "Two men are dead. How many more bodies need to pile up before someone takes action?"
More cameras. More microphones. The crowd pressed closer, drawn by the confrontation. Sheila felt the weight of their attention, their judgment. They wanted someone to blame—the mining company, the sheriff's department, anyone who might have prevented these deaths.
But they didn't understand. Couldn't understand. The real danger wasn't the mines themselves, but the darkness that lived in them. A darkness that wore night-vision goggles and a silver cross, that drew religious symbols in the dirt beside its victims.
A darkness that might very well benefit from all this attention. Might even crave it.
Suddenly, a commotion near the edge of the crowd drew Sheila's attention. A woman pushed her way through, her face tight with panic. She was in her fifties, dressed in hiking clothes, her silver hair escaping a utilitarian braid.
"Sheriff!" she called out, her voice trembling. "Please—I need help!"
Sheila moved toward her, Finn following close behind. The reporters swung their cameras to track them.
"I'm Sheriff Stone," she said. "What's wrong?"
"My name is Carol Martinez. My sister, Diana—she went into the mines this morning." The woman's hands twisted together as she spoke. "She's a geologist, studies ore deposits. She's been mapping the old copper veins for an environmental impact study."
Sarah Riggs pushed forward. "Another person missing? And you still think these mines should stay open?"