Page 44 of Silent Trail

Sheila picked herself up off the cold ground, feeling her legs wobble beneath her. Her head throbbed, disoriented and dizzy from the sudden impact. She reached for the tender spot on the back of her head, wincing when her fingers brushed against a growing bump. She must've hit her head when she fell.

Bile rose in her throat, and for a moment she felt certain she'd be sick. Then the feeling passed, and she was steady again.

You can't keep having these close calls, she thought, not with your injury history. One more good knock on the head, and it might be light's out—permanently.

Squinting through the muted light, Sheila took in her surroundings. To her left lay her smashed car, an unrecognizable heap of metal. To her right, the killer's truck loomed like a predator in the shadows, its hood still ablaze with the flickering flare. The eerie silence only heightened her sense of unease.

"Where are you?" she murmured.

The flare's harsh light intensified Sheila's headache as she cautiously approached, her hand raised to shield her eyes. The shadows seemed to flee from the truck and the smashed car, leaving them exposed in an island of eerie illumination.

Suddenly she remembered her phone. She ought to call for help. The thought of being on the phone now, however, with the killer potentially lurking nearby, filled her with unease. She needed her hands free in case she had to defend herself.

I'll just make sure he's unconscious, she thought. Then, I'll keep an eye on him while I make the call.

As she neared the truck, however, she noticed the driver's door hanging open, revealing an empty seat.

"Where is he?" she muttered, her voice taut with tension. Her headache seemed to pulse in time with her pounding heart, a relentless drumbeat urging her forward.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded behind her, shattering the silence. Instinct took over as she spun around, just in time to see a small, heavyset man charging toward her, knife in hand. He must have been hiding behind the wrecked car, waiting for his moment to strike.

As he lunged at her, she sidestepped his attack and backpedaled to put distance between them.

"Think you can fool me?" he hissed, swiping with the knife. The cold steel cut through the air mere inches from Sheila's face, sending a shiver down her spine. "Sandra? You really didn't think I'd be able to figure out who you were?"

Her pulse quickened as she realized he had seen through her ruse. She had hoped that by adopting the persona of Sandra, a carefree and naïve woman, she could draw the killer out. But now, it seemed her plan had backfired.

"Where are the police, Sandra?" he taunted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You really thought you could handle me all by yourself, didn't you? Had to prove yourself to your big sister, is that it?"

The words shocked Sheila. How did he know about Natalie? How had he discovered her identity?

He smiled. "You didn't think I could figure out who you were? How stupid do you think I am?"

He thrust the knife forward, but Sheila dodged to the side. Despite the terror gripping her chest, she couldn't help but notice how unskilled the man was. His movements were clumsy, lacking the precision and finesse of a trained fighter. She felt a flicker of hope—without the element of surprise, perhaps he wasn't as dangerous as he appeared.

"Stupid enough," she muttered under her breath as she dodged another wild swipe. Her muscles tensed, ready to strike.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"Stupid enough to underestimate me," she said. In one fluid motion, she blocked his next attack and delivered a powerful kick to his chest, sending him staggering backward. His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she saw fear in them—fear mixed with an undiluted hatred.

"If you know who I am," she continued, her words dripping with confidence, "then you must know I'm a former Olympic kickboxer. If you think a piece of pointy steel gives you the advantage, think again."

As she spoke, she studied his reaction, gauging whether her calculated display of strength had been enough to deter him. The man's face contorted with rage, and there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Go on, then," she challenged, her heart pounding in her chest. "Let's see if you can really handle someone who knows how to fight back."

The hesitation in the man's eyes was palpable, as if he were weighing his options. Sheila held her breath, ready for his next move. And then, without warning, he spun on his heel and sprinted back toward the truck.

"Damn it!" Sheila cursed under her breath, breaking into a run after him. She couldn't let him escape, not now when she was so close to stopping him once and for all.

She expected the man to jump into the driver's seat, but instead, he yanked open the rear passenger door of the truck. Confused but still determined, Sheila closed the gap between them, her heart pounding in her ears.

As she neared the truck, she caught a glimpse of a figure bound and gagged in the back. The woman's eyes were wide with terror, her face pale and streaked with tears. Sheila's blood ran cold, and her resolve hardened—she couldn't let this monster hurt anyone else.

"Stop right there!" the man bellowed, pressing the knife to the captive woman's throat. His voice shook with a volatile blend of fear and rage. "Get one step closer, and I'll slit her throat!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

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