Page 53 of Silent Grave

"A few don't appreciate our work," Riggs admitted. "Old-timers who think we're outsiders causing trouble. But nothing violent." She leaned over Sheila's shoulder, pointing to several addresses. "These ones worry me though. Properties that keep changing hands, or where we're not sure who lives there."

Finn joined them, studying the list. "We'll need teams to check each location. But we have to be careful—if Whitman sees us coming..."

He didn't finish the thought. They all knew what could happen if Peter felt cornered.

"I can help," Riggs said. "My people know these roads, these houses. We've been documenting everything up here for months."

Sheila considered this. Having the protesters' local knowledge could be valuable, but involving civilians in a potential manhunt was risky.

"What about utility records?" Finn asked. "Any of these houses showing unusual power consumption? Water usage?"

Riggs shook her head. "Most are off the grid. Solar panels, well water. It's why people choose to live up here—independence from the system."

Independence. Isolation. Perfect conditions for someone who'd learned to use darkness as a weapon.

Sheila pulled out her phone, calling dispatch. "I need every available deputy. And get Doc Sullivan up here—he might be able to help us narrow down which of these properties could connect to the old mine system."

As she coordinated the response, her mind kept returning to the Whitman house. To those photos of a young boy in chains, smiling at the camera. To the cross that had been passed from father to son, transformed from a symbol of faith into something darker.

Somewhere on this mountain, in one of these twenty-three houses, he was continuing his father's work.

But something about this didn't align with what they knew about him. Sheila's hands tightened on the steering wheel as her mind raced through the possibilities. The killer had always used the mines themselves as his classroom, his sanctuary. He chose his victims at the entrances, letting the darkness do most of his work. Taking Michelle directly from the surface felt wrong.

A cold realization settled over her. "He's adapting," she said quietly. "He knows we've been monitoring the mine entrances."

"Which makes him even more unpredictable," Finn said.

"And more likely to make a mistake. Hopefully, one that will lead to his arrest."

But which house was his? And how many hours did they have before Michelle Waring became another lesson in his twisted gospel of darkness?

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Rachel Tolland had been watching Mine Entrance Four for hours straight, taking breaks only when other protesters could cover her shift. Sarah Riggs thought she was crazy for staying out here so long, especially after Michelle had disappeared.

But Rachel couldn't leave. Something about this entrance felt different.

Maybe it was the way the wind carried sounds from deep inside, despite MSHA's attempts to seal it. Or how the shadows seemed darker here, more absolute. Or maybe it was just that this entrance was farthest from the crowds, the cameras, the constant buzz of official activity.

The sun cast long shadows across the mountainside. Rachel checked her phone—no service, as usual. She'd have to hike back to the main road to update Sarah. But just as she stood to leave, a sound reached her from the mine.

A voice.

She froze, straining to hear. The wind played tricks up here, turned machinery groans into whispers, falling rocks into footsteps. But this had been distinct. Human.

Rachel moved closer to the entrance. MSHA had installed heavy steel barriers, but their work looked hasty, rushed. A gap remained near the ground where the barrier didn't quite meet the uneven stone—not big enough for an adult to squeeze through, but enough to let sound escape.

"Hello?" she called softly, then immediately regretted it. If the killer was down there...

But the voice came again, clearer this time. A woman's voice, weak but unmistakable: "Help."

Rachel's heart pounded. She should run back, get the police. That would be the smart thing, the safe thing. But if it really was Diana down there, barely alive after so many hours in the darkness...

She examined the gap more closely. If she pressed herself hard on the ground, she might be able to—

"Please," the voice called. "Anyone."

Rachel grabbed the edge of the barrier and pulled. Nothing. She tried again, bracing her feet against the stone wall. Something shifted, sending a shower of loose rock skittering into the darkness. The gap widened slightly.

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