Silent Neighbor (Sheila Stone #9)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sheila burst out of the bar's back door, the cool night air a shock after the stuffy interior. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind her with a resounding clang, momentarily drowning out the muffled sounds of the bar.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, the dim glow of a distant streetlight casting long shadows across the alley. At the far end, she spotted Lucas's retreating figure, his silhouette sharp against the ambient light of the street beyond.

What struck Sheila immediately was the fluidity of his movement. Gone was the stumbling, inebriated man from the bar. Lucas was moving with surprising speed and agility, his feet finding purchase on the uneven ground with practiced ease. It was as if the alcohol had evaporated from his system the moment he started running.

As if he had been overplaying his drunkenness all along.

"Stop! Police!" Sheila shouted, her voice echoing off the brick walls as she took off after him. The words felt almost ritualistic, a formality she knew would be ignored but couldn't help uttering.

Behind her, she could hear Finn's heavy footsteps as he joined the chase, his breathing already labored. "I'll try to cut him off!" he called out, veering down a side alley to their right.

Sheila's focus narrowed to the figure ahead of her, her breath coming in measured pants as she pushed herself to close the gap. The world around her faded away, her entire existence concentrated on the rhythmic pounding of her feet against the pavement and the slowly diminishing distance between her and Lucas.

Lucas glanced back, his eyes wide with panic, when he realized how quickly she was gaining on him. The momentary distraction cost him; he stumbled slightly, his shoulder grazing the rough brick wall of the alley. But he recovered quickly, pushing himself even harder.

They reached the end of the alley, confronted by a chain-link fence that loomed before them, at least eight feet high. Sheila felt a surge of triumph—surely this would slow him down. But to her disbelief, Lucas approached the fence without hesitation. His hands found the metal links, and he began to climb.

Sheila watched in amazement as Lucas scaled the fence with the practiced ease of an experienced climber—which, now that she thought about it, he was. He reached the top in seconds, swinging his legs over and dropping down on the other side with cat-like grace.

Gritting her teeth, Sheila reached the fence and began her own ascent. The metal links were cold against her palms, biting into her skin as she pulled herself upward. Her boots scrabbled for purchase, the fence swaying slightly under her less practiced movements. The top of the fence seemed impossibly high, but adrenaline and determination propelled her upward.

Finally she reached the top, swinging her leg over and allowing herself a moment's pause to locate Lucas. He was already halfway across the yard beyond, heading for another fence.

With a grunt of effort, Sheila dropped down on the other side, her boots hitting the ground with a solid thud that sent a jolt up her legs.

She found herself in someone's backyard, the space dimly lit by a single porch light. The grass was damp beneath her feet, soaking through the hem of her pants. A child's bicycle lay abandoned near a swing set, its metal frame gleaming dully in the low light.

Suddenly, a loud bark shattered the relative quiet of the night. Sheila's head snapped around to see a large dog, its breed indistinguishable in the darkness, charging toward her. The animal's eyes reflected the meager light, giving it a demonic appearance as it strained against its chain, teeth bared and saliva flying.

"Nice doggy," Sheila muttered, her heart racing as she slowly edged her way around the perimeter of the yard. The dog followed her movement, its barks growing more frenzied with each step she took. She could hear the chain creaking under the force of the dog's lunges, and she prayed it would hold.

Finally, she reached the gate on the far side of the yard. With one last glance at the still-barking dog, she fumbled with the latch, her fingers clumsy with adrenaline. After what felt like an eternity, the gate swung open with a protesting creak. Sheila slipped through, finding herself on a quiet residential street.

Neat houses lined both sides, their windows dark at this late hour. A gentle breeze rustled through carefully manicured hedges, carrying with it the scent of freshly mown grass and night-blooming jasmine.

A flash of movement caught her eye—Lucas, sprinting down the middle of the road. His figure was illuminated intermittently by the evenly spaced streetlights, creating a strobe-like effect that was almost dizzying. Sheila took off after him, her boots pounding against the asphalt, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights illuminated the street, growing rapidly brighter. A car horn blared, the sound shockingly loud in the night air. Sheila watched in horror as a vehicle swerved to avoid Lucas, tires screeching. The car fishtailed, narrowly missing a parked sedan before straightening out.

Sheila barely had time to process this near-miss before she found herself in the same situation. She dove to the side, feeling the rush of air as the car passed mere inches from her. Her shoulder hit the ground hard, and she rolled, coming up in a crouch on someone's lawn.

"Sorry!" Sheila called out reflexively, not breaking her stride as she regained her feet and resumed the chase. She could hear the driver shouting obscenities, the words fading as the car sped away.

As they ran, Sheila began to recognize their surroundings. The cookie-cutter houses gave way to more familiar landmarks—a 24-hour laundromat, a closed convenience store, the neon sign of a late-night diner. They were looping back toward the bar, taking a circuitous route through the neighborhood.

Realization dawned on her—Lucas was heading for the parking lot. He had to be trying to reach his vehicle.

Without breaking stride, Sheila pulled out her radio. "Finn," she panted, her breath coming in short gasps, "he's heading back to the bar. Cut him off at the parking lot!"

"Copy that," came Finn's breathless reply, barely audible over the static of the radio.

Sheila veered down a side street, taking a shortcut she hoped would put her ahead of Lucas. Her lungs burned with each breath, and her legs felt like lead. The taste of copper filled her mouth, and sweat stung her eyes, but she blinked it away, focused solely on her goal.

As she emerged onto the street leading to the bar, she saw Lucas just ahead, making a beeline for the parking lot. The distance between them had shrunk considerably, and Sheila felt a surge of renewed energy.

She was close, so close.

With a final burst of speed, Sheila closed the distance. Lucas reached a battered pickup truck, its once-blue paint now a patchwork of rust and faded color. He fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking visibly. Whether it was from exhaustion or the lingering effects of alcohol, Sheila couldn't tell.

She didn't give him the chance to figure it out. With a flying tackle that would have made her high school football coach proud, Sheila slammed into Lucas, sending them both crashing to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she maintained her grip, using her body weight to pin Lucas down.

"You're under arrest," Sheila said as she pinned Lucas's arms behind his back.

Finn caught up just then. He stopped and leaned on his knees, gasping for air.

"I had nothing… to do with it," Lucas said, panting. "I didn't… kill them."

"No?" Sheila asked. "Well, running from the police is a funny way to show you're innocent."