Page 43 of Silent Night

Sheila hesitated a moment longer. Then, realizing her sister would not be dissuaded, she hurried off.

It was time to catch a killer. She just hoped Walden hadn't had a chance to warn him.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The tires of Finn's car screeched to a halt on the gravel driveway in front of Pastor Walden's house. The gloom of early night shrouded the building, an old Victorian with peeling paint and dark windows that stared down at Sheila like hollow sockets. Her heart pounded in her chest as they both sprang from the vehicle, urgency driving their movements.

"Come on!" Finn shouted, rushing up the creaky wooden steps to the house. Sheila followed close behind.

Finn hammered the door with his fist. "Russel Cook! Open up! This is the Sheriff's Department!"

Several seconds passed. There was no sound, no movement, no sign that anyone had heard them.

"Stay behind me," Finn said to Sheila, his gaze never leaving the door. He reared back and, with a ferocious kick, sent the door flying inward, splintering the frame. Sheila winced at the sound, feeling her own body tense in anticipation.

Finn entered the house with his weapon drawn, the barrel leading the way as he scanned the dimly lit interior. Sheila trailed a step behind, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She clenched her fists, ready for whatever lay ahead, but Finn motioned for her to stay put. He disappeared around a corner, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

Sheila's pulse drummed in her ears as she waited, her senses heightened as she strained to hear any sign of movement. She could smell the mustiness of the old house mixed with a faint trace of something metallic. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was the scent of blood. Every fiber of her being screamed to rush in and help, but she knew Finn had more experience in these situations. Trust him, she told herself, swallowing hard. Trust him.

The silence was deafening as the seconds slowly ticked by. Finally, Finn reappeared around the corner, his face etched with disappointment. He holstered his weapon and shook his head. "The house is empty," he said, frustration simmering in his voice. "No vehicle in the garage either. It looks like Russel is gone."

Sheila felt her stomach clench, a cold knot of anxiety forming as she considered their next move. They needed to find Russel—and fast. The knowledge that another victim had already been abducted weighed heavily on her, fueling her determination.

"Where would he go?" she asked, her eyes scanning the room. "Could he have gone back to the church?"

"Or maybe he's got a hideout somewhere," Finn said, considering her words. "But we can't afford to waste time chasing shadows. We need to be smart about this."

Sheila took a deep breath, trying to still the panic rising within her. She closed her eyes and tried to think like Russel, to imagine where he might feel safest. As an Olympian kickboxer, she had learned to anticipate her opponents' moves, to get inside their heads. Now, she focused that same skill on Russel, searching for any insight that might lead them closer.

"Can we track his phone?" she asked suddenly.

Finn shook his head, frustration etched on his face. "I don't have his number. I doubt Walden will give it to us, either."

Sheila bit her lip, thinking hard. She recalled seeing Pastor Walden's desk earlier, with its neat stacks of papers and the worn leather-bound address book. "What if we check the pastor's records? He might have written down Russel's contact information somewhere."

Finn frowned thoughtfully. "It's twenty minutes to the church. And what if the number's not in there? We can't afford to waste time."

Sheila pursed her lips. Then she had an idea. "Tess! The church secretary, remember?"

Finn looked puzzled.

"I came across a leatherbound book when I was grabbing the computer," she continued patiently. "According to Tess, it was an address book. What if we call Tess and ask her to look in the book for Russel's number?"

Finn's face brightened at the suggestion. "Now we're talking."

Sheila pulled out her phone and dialed the number for Salvation Springs Church.

After a few rings, a voice answered on the other end.

"Salvation Springs Church, how may I help you?" It was Tess.

"Tess, this is Sheila Stone with the Coldwater Sheriff's Department. I was—"

"I remember," Tess said. "How is Pastor Walden?"

"Good. He's good. Listen, we need your help. We're trying to track down a young man named Russel Cook."

"Russel?" Tess sounded puzzled. "Are you talking about Pastor Walden's son?"

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