Nashville, Tennessee. August 1994.

Shane Chambers is dead. Or so she's been told.

Psychiatrist Sheridan Crockett spent three days semi-comatose with grief before her brain came back online. Now it won't stop.

She knows how dangerous minds work. She spent years studying them, treating them, surviving one. She recognized the orchestrated quality of Shane's death before the funeral was over — the sealed media drops, the backup plans, the careful management of what she was and wasn't allowed to see. Accidents don't come with contingencies.

Shane left her everything — his estate, his house, a journal filled with two years of portraits drawn from memory and a letter written the night before he died. He also left her the slow, terrible understanding that his silences weren't protective. They were structural. And whatever he was protecting her from is still operating.

She already has one thread. Months ago, she sat across from Anna Strobe's sister in a bar in Arizona and pulled information out of her the hard way. What she got was this: whatever put Anna on Shane's trail wasn't about Shane. It was older than that. “Like his old man or something.”

Sheridan knows how to pull a thread.

The lawyers, the investigators, the fixers around her are managing something. She can feel it the way she used to feel a dangerous patient's energy from across a room. She has a psychiatrist's knowledge of how predatory minds operate, a dead man's files, and the cold fury of a woman who has already survived one man trying to destroy her.

She's going to find out who killed Shane Chambers. She's going to find out why. And whoever is behind it is going to learn what happens when the most dangerous person in the room decides to stop being managed.

They should have left her inconsolable.

Finding Sheridan is Nashville noir about conspiracy, grief weaponized into purpose, and a woman who understands predatory minds well enough to become one.

T.H. Malcolm

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