Page 47 of Silent Night

Sheila's heart hammered in her chest as she took a deep breath, trying to calm her fraying nerves. She couldn't let her fear get the best of her – not when Heather's life was at stake. "Heather," she whispered urgently, gripping the girl's trembling hand. "You need to trust me. Stay quiet and do exactly what I say, okay? We'll get out of here. I promise."

"Okay," Heather said, her voice barely audible through her sniffles.

"Good. Now let's get you out of this trunk." Sheila braced herself against the SUV, using her other hand to help Heather climb out of the confined space. Once they were both standing, she tightened her grip on Heather's hand, as if afraid the girl would slip away into the darkness.

The pitch-black basement seemed to stretch on endlessly around them, its shadows swallowing every sound, leaving only the pounding of their own hearts in their ears. Sheila strained to remember the way to the elevator, recalling the twists and turns she'd taken to reach this spot.

"Stay close to me," she murmured, guiding Heather forward with a gentle tug. They moved cautiously, each step a careful dance between silence and the need for speed.

The darkness of the parking garage basement seemed to swallow all sound, leaving Sheila and Heather in a cocoon of silence punctuated only by their own breathing. Sheila's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears as she strained to listen for any hint of danger. Her fingers tightened around Heather's hand, willing the other woman to stay calm and quiet.

A sudden metallic clang shattered the stillness, making Heather jump and bite back a scream. Sheila's pulse raced even faster, her mind racing through possibilities—had the killer discovered their escape? Was he closing in on them?

"Shh," she whispered urgently. "Stay quiet, Heather. We can't let him find us."

They froze, holding their breath as they strained to hear the source of the noise. But all that met their ears was the eerie silence of the underground garage, the shadows pressing in from all sides like a vise.

Then, without warning, the unmistakable sound of footsteps broke the silence, sending a shiver down Sheila's spine. She gestured quickly for Heather to hide behind a nearby pillar, her eyes scanning the gloom for any sign of movement.

"Stay here," she whispered to Heather, her voice barely a breath. "No matter what happens, stay hidden."

With her gun at the ready, Sheila steeled herself for the confrontation that was surely coming. Every step the unseen figure took seemed to reverberate in her chest, and she found herself holding her breath, afraid even the sound of her breathing would give her away.

The silence that followed was both a relief and a torture. Sheila's heart pounded in her ears, drowning out any other sound as she strained to listen for the slightest hint of danger. Her fingers tightened around the gun, knuckles turning white with tension. She knew this moment was crucial—one wrong move could cost them their lives.

Please let it be Finn, she thought, praying for a familiar face to emerge from the darkness.

Suddenly, a man burst forth from the shadows like a specter materializing before her. His eyes were wild and desperate, darting left and right as he clutched a knife in his trembling hand. His unkempt hair framed an angular face twisted into a snarl, and a faded tattoo on his neck seemed to slither like a snake with each hurried breath.

Sheila's instincts kicked in immediately. She stepped out from behind the pillar, leveling her gun at the man's chest. "Drop the knife!" she barked, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides.

He froze, his gaze locking onto Sheila, but the knife remained firmly in his grip. The air between them crackled with tension, each second stretching out into an eternity.

"Drop it now!" she commanded again, her finger itching to pull the trigger. Desperation flickered in the man's eyes, but still, he didn't comply.

Is he going to attack? Sheila wondered, her mind racing through possible scenarios. She couldn't afford to hesitate—not with Heather's life on the line. She needed to make a decision, and fast.

"Last chance," she said, trying to inject authority into her voice. "Drop the knife or I'll have to shoot."

The tense standoff between Sheila and the knife-wielding man reached a boiling point. Without warning, the man sprang at her with a sudden burst of speed. Caught off guard, Sheila tried to fire, but her finger stalled on the trigger, unfamiliar with the pressure required.

He closed the distance between them in an instant, his arm swinging wide to knock the gun from her grasp. The weapon clattered to the cold concrete floor, skittering away into the darkness. Using his momentum, the man shoved Sheila hard, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Her breath whooshed out of her lungs as she hit the floor, the impact reverberating through her body. She tasted blood in her mouth, a coppery tang, and realized she'd bitten her lip during the fall.

Get up, Sheila, she told herself, groaning in pain as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her muscles screamed in protest.

She caught sight of the man hurrying away, and for a brief moment, she thought he was fleeing in fear. But then it dawned on her—he wasn't running away from her.

He was going after Heather.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, igniting a fire in her gut that overpowered the pain. "No!" she cried. "Run, Heather! Run!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The dank air of the basement parking garage clung to Sheila's skin as she scrambled up, her heart pounding in her chest. Russel was charging at Heather, the knife glinting menacingly in his hand. Heather stood petrified, her back against a concrete pillar, and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Sheila's kickboxing instincts kicked in. She sprinted forward, adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she closed the distance between them, she launched herself at Russel, wrapping her arms around his legs with all her strength. The impact brought him crashing to the cold, grimy floor, the air whooshing out of his lungs.

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