was seething. “Just go, Bill.”
“But Riley – ”
“Believe me or don’t believe me. Take your pick. But right now I want you to go.”
With an air of resignation, Bill got up from the table and left.
Through the kitchen doorway, Riley could see that almost everybody had left the house, including April. Lucy came back into the kitchen.
“Agent Huang is leaving a couple of agents here,” she said. “They’ll watch the house from a car for the rest of the night. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to be alone inside. I’ll be glad to stay.”
Riley sat and thought for a moment. What she wanted – what she needed right now – was for somebody to believe that Peterson wasn’t dead. She doubted that she could convince even Lucy of that. The whole thing seemed hopeless.
“I’ll be all right, Lucy,” Riley said.
Lucy nodded and left the kitchen. Riley heard the sound of the last agents leaving the house and shutting the door behind them. Riley got up and checked both the front door and back door to make sure they were locked. She moved two chairs up against the back door. They would make noise enough if anybody picked the lock again.
Then she stood in the living room and looked all around. The house looked weirdly bright, with every single light burning.
I ought to turn some of them off, she thought.
But as she reached for the living room light switch, her fingers froze. She just couldn’t do it. She was paralyzed with terror.
Peterson, she knew, was coming for her again.
Chapter 3
Riley hesitated for a moment as she entered the BAU building, wondering if she was really ready to face anyone today. She hadn’t slept all night, and was bone-tired. The sensation of terror that had kept her awake all night had run her adrenaline until there was nothing left. Now, she just felt hollowed out.
Riley took a deep breath.
The only way out is through.
She gathered her resolve and walked into the busy maze of FBI agents, specialists, and support staff. As she wound her way through the open bay area, familiar faces looked up from their computers. Most smiled to see her and several gave her a thumbs-up. Riley slowly felt glad she had decided to come in. She’d needed something to lift to her spirits.
“Way to go with the Dolly Killer,” one young agent said.
It took Riley a couple of seconds to understand what he meant. Then she realized that “Dolly Killer” must be the new nickname for Dirk Monroe, the psychopath she had just taken down. The name made sense.
Riley also noticed that some of the faces looked at her more warily. Doubtless they had heard about the incident at her house last night when a whole team had raced to her frantic call for backup. They probably wonder if I’m in my right mind, she thought. As far as she knew, absolutely no one else in the Bureau believed that Peterson was still alive.
Riley stopped by the desk of Sam Flores, a lab technician with black-rimmed glasses, hard at work at his computer.
“What news have you got for me, Sam?” Riley said.
Sam looked up from the screen at her.
“You mean about your break-in, right? I’m just now looking at some preliminary reports. I’m afraid there won’t be much. The lab guys didn’t get anything off the pebbles – no DNA or fibers. No fingerprints, either.”
Riley sighed with discouragement.
“Let me know if anything changes,” she said, patting Flores on the back.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Flores said.
Riley continued on to the area shared by senior agents. As she passed by the small glass-walled offices, she saw that Bill wasn’t in. That was actually a relief, but she knew that sooner or later she would have to clear up the recent awkwardness between them.
When she set foot in her own neat, well-organized office, Riley immediately noticed that she had a phone message. It was from Mike Nevins, the D.C. forensic psychiatrist who sometimes consulted on BAU cases. Over the years, she had found him a source remarkable insight, and not only into cases. Mike had helped Riley through her own bout of PTSD after Peterson had captured and tortured her. She knew he was calling to check up on her, as he often did.
She was about to call him back, when the broad frame of Special Agent Brent Meredith appeared in her doorway. The unit commander’s black, angular features hinted at his tough, no-nonsense personality. Riley felt relieved at the sight of him, always reassured by his presence.
“Welcome back, Agent Paige,” he said.
Riley got up to shake his hand. “Thanks, Agent Meredith.”
“I hear you had another little adventure last night. I hope you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Meredith looked at her with warm concern, and Riley knew that he was trying to assess her readiness for work.
“Would you like to join me in the break area for some coffee?” he asked.
“Thanks, but there are some files I really need to review. Some other time.”
Meredith nodded and said nothing. Riley knew he was waiting for her to speak. Doubtless he had also heard about her belief that Peterson had been the intruder. He was giving her a chance to voice her opinion. But she was sure that Meredith wouldn’t be any more inclined than anybody else to agree with her about Peterson.
“Well, I’d better be going,” he said. “Let me know whenever you’re up for coffee or lunch.”
“I’ll do that.”
Meredith paused and turned back toward Riley.
Slowly and carefully, he said, “Do be careful, Agent Paige.”
Riley detected a world of meaning in those words. Not long ago, another higher-up in the agency had suspended her for subordination. She’d been reinstated, but her position could be still tenuous. Riley sensed that Meredith was giving her a friendly warning. He didn’t want her to do anything to jeopardize herself. And raising a lot of fuss about Peterson might cause trouble with those who had declared the case closed.
As soon as she was alone, Riley went to her filing cabinet and pulled out the thick file on the Peterson case. She opened it up on her desk and browsed through it, refreshing her memory about her nemesis. She didn’t find much that was helpful.
The truth was that the man remained an enigma. There hadn’t even been any records of his existence until Bill and Riley finally tracked him down. Peterson might not even be his real name, and they’d turned up several different first names supposedly connected with him.
As Riley looked through the file, she came across photographs of his victims – women who had been found in shallow graves. They had all borne burn scars, and the cause of death had been manual strangulation.
