enough to have a college-aged daughter. A certain stiffness around her eyes might be habitual or Botox-induced or both.
Riley remembered seeing her on television. Normally when she met someone she’d seen on TV, she was struck by how different they looked in real life. Weirdly, Hazel Webber looked exactly the same. It was as if she were truly two-dimensional—an almost unnaturally shallow human being in every possible way.
Her outfit also puzzled Riley. Why was she wearing a jacket over her lightweight sweater? The house was certainly warm enough.
Part of her style, I guess, Riley figured.
The jacket gave her a more formal, businesslike look than just slacks and a sweater. Perhaps it also represented a kind of armor, a protection against any genuine human contact.
Riley stood up to introduce herself, but Webber spoke first.
“Agent Riley Paige, BAU,” she said. “I know.”
Without another word, she sat down at her desk.
“What are you here to tell me?” Webber said.
Riley felt a jolt of alarm. Of course, she had nothing to tell her. Her whole visit was a bluff, and Webber suddenly struck her as the kind of woman who wasn’t easily bluffed. Riley was in over her head and had to tread water as hard as she could.
“I’m actually here to ask you for information,” Riley said. “Is your husband at home?”
“Yes,” the woman said.
“Would it be possible for me to talk with both of you?”
“He knows that you’re here.”
Her non-answer disarmed Riley, but she took care not to show it. The woman fastened her cold, blue eyes on Riley’s. Riley didn’t flinch. She just returned her stare, bracing herself for a subtle battle of wills.
Riley said, “The Behavioral Analysis Unit is investigating an unusual number of apparent suicides at Byars College.”
“Apparent suicides?” Webber said, arching a single eyebrow. “I’d hardly describe Deanna’s suicide as ‘apparent.’ It seemed plenty real to my husband and me.”
Riley could swear that the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees. Webber betrayed not the slightest hint of emotion at her mention of her own daughter’s suicide.
She’s got ice water in her veins, Riley thought.
“I’d like you to tell me what happened,” Riley said.
“Why? I’m sure you’ve read the report.”
Of course, Riley had done nothing of the kind. But she had to keep bluffing her way along.
“It would help if I could hear it in your own words,” she said.
Webber was silent for a moment. Her stare was unwavering. But so was Riley’s.
“Deanna was injured in a riding accident last summer,” Webber said. “Her hip was badly fractured. It seemed likely that it would have to be replaced altogether. Her days of riding in competitions were over. She was heartbroken.”
Webber paused for a moment.
“She was taking oxycodone for the pain. She overdosed—deliberately. It was intentional, and that’s all there is to it.”
Riley sensed that she was leaving something unsaid.
“Where did it happen?” she asked.
“In her bedroom,” Webber said. “She was snug in her bed. The medical examiner said she died of respiratory arrest. She looked like she was asleep when the maid found her.”
And then—Webber blinked.
She literally blinked.
She had faltered in their battle of wills.
She’s lying! Riley realized.
Riley’s pulse quickened.
Now she had to really apply the pressure, probe with exactly the right questions.
But before Riley could even think of what to ask, the office door opened. The woman who had brought Riley here came in.
“Congresswoman, I need a word with you, please,” she said.
Webber looked relieved as she got up from her desk and followed her assistant out the door.
Riley took some long, slow breaths.
She wished she hadn’t been interrupted.
She was sure she’d been about to crack through Hazel Webber’s deceptive facade.
But her opportunity wasn’t gone.
When Webber came back, Riley would start in on her again.
After less than a minute, Webber returned. She seemed to have recovered her self-assurance.
She stood by the open door and said, “Agent Paige—if you really are Agent Paige—I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
Riley gulped hard.
“I don’t understand.”
“My assistant just called the BAU. They have absolutely no investigation underway concerning suicides at Byars College. Now whoever you are—”
Riley pulled out her badge.
“I am Special Agent Riley Paige,” she said with determination. “And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that such an investigation gets underway as soon as possible.”
She walked past Hazel Webber out of the office.
On her way out of the house, she knew that she had made an enemy—and a dangerous one at that.
It was a different sort of danger from what she usually faced.
Hazel Webber wasn’t a psychopath whose weapons of choice were chains, knives, guns, or blowtorches.
She was a woman without a conscience, and her weapons were money and power.
Riley preferred the kind of adversary she could punch out or shoot. Even so, she was ready and willing to deal with Webber and whatever threats she could muster.
She lied to me about her daughter, Riley kept thinking.
And now Riley was determined to find out the truth.
The house seemed empty now. Riley was surprised to leave without encountering a single soul. She felt as if she could rob the place and not get caught.
She went outside and got into her car and drove away.
As she approached the manor gate, she saw that it was closed. Standing just inside were both the burly guard who had let her in and the enormous butler. Both had their arms crossed, and they were obviously waiting for her.
