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"I know we haven't known each other long, Sheila," he confessed, his voice low and sincere. "But I can't help but think how devastated I'd be if something happened to you."
"Only a month," she reminded him, feeling the pull of vulnerability as she allowed herself to lean into his touch. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one she wasn't certain she could navigate with ease. But there was something about Finn that made her want to try.
"Sometimes, that's all it takes," Finn said, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly as he smiled at her. "You've made quite an impression on me, Sheila Stone. And I'm not just saying that because you're some kind of kickboxing prodigy."
Sheila chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with their physical proximity. She let herself revel in the moment, grateful for the connection they shared and the support he'd offered throughout the investigation.
As their eyes locked, Sheila felt a gravitational pull drawing her closer to him. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she found herself lost in the depths of his gaze. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing there beneath the moonlit sky. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and as their lips neared one another, an intoxicating mix of fear and anticipation filled her.
"Deputy Mercer! I've got a question about the report!" came a sudden shout, jolting Sheila back to reality. Startled, she pulled away from Finn, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The interruption had come from a junior officer, who was holding a clipboard and looking rather apologetic as he realized what he had walked in on.
"Uh, sure," Finn said, clearing his throat and stepping back from Sheila. "What do you need?"
"Section B—I'm not sure how to fill out this part about the suspect's motive," the young officer explained, scratching his head.
"Let me take a look," Finn said, leaving Sheila's side as he walked over to help the officer.
Sheila watched them for a moment before turning her attention toward the hotel entrance. It had been a long day, and she was eager to get home and process everything that had happened. As she gathered her belongings, Finn rejoined her, his face a bit flushed, but his expression resolute.
"Hey, before you go," he began, hesitating for only a brief moment. "Would you like to grab dinner sometime? You know, when we're not chasing down killers or dodging knives."
Sheila smiled, playing coy as she pretended to mull it over. "Hmm, I don't know, Deputy Mercer. Are you sure you can handle a kickboxing prodigy on a date?"
"Only if you promise not to roundhouse kick me if I tell a bad joke," he replied with a grin, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity.
"Deal," she agreed, her heart swelling with a newfound excitement. "I'd love to."
Finn was visibly relieved. "Great," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow to set something up. Have a good night, Sheila."
"Goodnight, Finn," she replied, returning his smile as she walked away from the hotel. As she made her way to her car, she couldn't help but feel a sense of hope blossoming within her. Despite the darkness they had faced together, there was now a glimmer of light on the horizon—a chance for happiness amidst the chaos.
And for Sheila Stone, that was more than enough reason to keep moving forward.
EPILOGUE
Sheila sighed as she stepped through the doorway of her cramped apartment, exhaustion weighing down on her like a heavy blanket.
What a day, she thought.
Her apartment was cluttered, piles of clothes and old case files scattered around, fighting for space with worn-out furniture. She felt like it was much later than it actually was, her body aching for sleep.
As she walked through the narrow living room, she unholstered her gun and carefully placed it on the rickety coffee table. Her badge followed, the metallic surface catching the weak light as she set it down next to her weapon. With a weary sigh, she unbuckled her boots and kicked them off, sending them thudding against the wall.
Sheila reached for her phone, the screen lighting up to reveal no new messages. A pang of disappointment hit her, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly who she had hoped to hear from. She sank into the lumpy couch, the fabric scratchy against her skin. Propping her feet up on the edge of the coffee table, she stared blankly at the opposite wall, her thoughts drifting to the day's events.
"Could've gone so differently," she muttered under her breath, her heart rate picking up ever so slightly. The case played out in her mind like a movie, the images of Constance Gerring's face vivid and haunting. What if Constance had attacked her instead of Bailey Jessop? Would Sheila have been able to defend herself?
A chill ran down her spine as she considered her own mortality—how suddenly death could come, just like it had for Natalie. The thought lingered, festering in her mind as her breathing grew shallow, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and sorrow. She knew she needed to shake off these dark thoughts before they consumed her, but the pull of grief was strong.
"Snap out of it, Sheila," she whispered to herself, attempting to muster a shred of determination. "You survived today, and that's what matters."
She pushed herself off the couch, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. She shuffled to the kitchen, feeling as though she were wading through a thick fog. The linoleum floor felt cold beneath her feet.
As she opened the refrigerator, the light inside illuminated rows of neatly stacked groceries—a valiant attempt at maintaining order in her otherwise chaotic life. Her eyes fell upon a half-empty bottle of whisky, its amber liquid glinting tantalizingly under the pale glow. It seemed to have been waiting for a night just like this one.
"Maybe it'll help," she murmured, her fingers hovering above the cap. "Just one drink, just to help me relax and take my mind off things."
She picked it up and hesitated, the weight of the bottle heavy in her hand. Memories of Finn's struggles against his own demons came flooding back to her and the agreement they'd made to look out for one another. She didn't want to look weak by telling him she'd gone back to the bottle.
