CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sheriff Rich peered over his glasses at Riley. Holding up the small metal object, she said, “It’s a pawn. For a chess set.”
“But why was it left for me?” Dana asked.
Ann Marie spoke up. “We’re afraid it was left by a very dangerous man that we’re tracking. He’s angry about a package that didn’t get delivered five years ago.”
Dana frowned, as if sifting through memories. “I remember something about that,” she said slowly. “Someone made a huge issue back then. Because someone died, wasn’t that it? But no one came to me about it.”
“The one who complained back then,” Riley explained, “has been striking out now. He’s attacked three delivery drivers and killed two of them.”
Dana’s horrified expression showed that now she understood why they were there.
Sheriff Rich hastened to reassure her. “Ms. Beaufort, I promise you, we’re not going to let anything happen to you. We’ll have officers stationed at your home, and we’ll suspend your delivery route until we’ve apprehended this individual.”
Riley studied Dana Beaufort’s face. The resemblance hadn’t registered immediately, but now it seemed impossible to miss—dark hair touched with early gray, similar build, even the shadows around their eyes told parallel stories of hard-earned resilience.
It was like looking into a funhouse mirror, one that reflected not a distorted version of herself, but rather a glimpse of who she might have been had life taken a different turn.
“No.” Riley’s voice cut through the room, sharper than she’d intended. “No,” she repeated, softer this time, her mind assembling a plan even as she spoke. “If we pull Dana from her route, we lose our best chance of drawing him out.”
All eyes turned toward her, looking startled.
“He’s watching her schedule, her movements,” Riley continued. “He’s made his plans—the chess piece proves that. If she suddenly doesn’t show up for work, he’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll disappear, regroup, maybe even accelerate his timeline or change targets.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Sheriff Rich asked. “We can’t use Ms. Beaufort as bait.”
“Not her.” Riley stopped pacing and turned to face them. “Me.”
Dana blinked. “You?”
“Look at us,” Riley gestured between them. “We could be sisters. From a distance, in a delivery uniform, with a cap pulled low—he’d never know the difference.”
Ann Marie spoke slowly, comprehension dawning. “It could work. He’s probably been watching her from a distance anyhow, noting the route, the timing. He wouldn’t expect a switch.”
“Unless he’s somewhere nearby watching us now,” Sheriff Rich said.
“Maybe he is,” Riley admitted. “Maybe he’ll just slip away. But if not, we might be able to catch him by surprise.”
Sheriff Rich frowned, crossing his arms. “That’s a hell of a risk, Agent Paige. Even if you’re right and he takes the bait, you’d be out there alone, vulnerable.”
“Not alone,” Ann Marie interjected. “I could hide in the back of the truck. Extra protection, out of sight.”
Riley felt a surge of appreciation for her young partner. Ann Marie didn’t just follow; she anticipated, extended, and improved.
“We’d need to coordinate with her supervisor at SwiftUnified,” Riley said. “Get the exact route, learn the procedures, make it look authentic.”
Dana set her mug down with a decisive thud. “Sandra Beckett. She ‘s the depot manager. She starts at 6 a.m. every morning—she’ll be there now.” A flicker of hope crossed her face. “You really think this could work?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Riley said. “But only if we move fast. When’s your shift supposed to start?”
“Noon. I load up around 11:30, head out at 12.”
The kitchen fell silent as Sheriff Rich considered the plan. Riley could see the internal debate playing out across his face—duty versus innovation, caution versus opportunity.
“If—and I mean if—we try this,” he finally said, “we do it with full backup. I want an officer tailing the delivery truck at a discreet distance. We’d need a direct line of communication and a clear extraction plan if things go south.”
“Agreed. And we’ll need officers here with Dana, just to be safe. But not obvious to anyone outside.”
The sheriff pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the station, get Diaz and Martinez over here. They’re my best.” He stepped into the living room to make the call, his voice a low murmur in the background.
Ann Marie had moved to the window, scanning the quiet street outside. “We should review the route before we go. Familiarize ourselves with any choke points, isolated areas.”
Riley turned to Dana. “Do you have your delivery schedule for today? And maybe a spare uniform?”
Dana disappeared down a hallway, returning moments later with a folded brown uniform and a tablet. “The schedule’s on here. The app shows the route and delivery sequence.” She handed both to Riley. “The uniform might be a little big on you—I’m just a bit taller.”
Riley took the items, already mentally preparing for what lay ahead. She scrolled through the delivery schedule, memorizing the sequence, the addresses, the estimated times.
Sheriff Rich returned to the kitchen. “Diaz and Martinez are on their way. ETA ten minutes. I’ve briefed them on the situation.”
“Good,” Riley said. “Once they’re here, we should head to the depot. I want as much time as possible to prepare.”
Sheriff Rich made another call—this time to the depot manager, Sandra Beckett, to let her know they were coming.
Then minutes stretched as they waited, each lost in their own thoughts.
Riley continued studying the delivery route, identifying vulnerable points—isolated rural mailboxes, houses set back from the road, areas with poor cellular reception.
Ann Marie checked her weapon discreetly, then helped Riley try on the uniform jacket to check the fit.
A patrol car pulled up outside, and two uniformed officers approached the house.
Sheriff Rich made quick introductions, then gave his officers concise instructions—no one in or out except emergency services, regular perimeter checks, and an unmarked vehicle parked down the street as additional surveillance.
“Ready?” he asked, turning to Riley and Ann Marie.
Riley met Dana’s eyes one last time. “We’re going to end this today,” she promised, hoping she could keep her word.
As they followed Sheriff Rich to his cruiser, Riley felt the familiar tightening in her chest that always preceded an operation—part anxiety, part anticipation. Ann Marie walked beside her, outwardly calm but with a telltale tension in her shoulders.
“This is going to work,” Ann Marie said quietly as they climbed into the backseat of the sheriff’s car.
“It has to,” Riley replied simply as the car pulled away, carrying them toward the depot and whatever waited beyond.
*
The SwiftUnified Parcels depot sat on the industrial outskirts of town, a squat concrete building flanked by rows of brown delivery trucks.
Riley studied the facility as Sheriff Rich’s cruiser pulled into the employee lot.
Loading docks lined the eastern wall, the wide bay doors raised to reveal workers shuffling packages onto conveyor belts.
“Sandra should be in her office,” Sheriff Rich said, killing the engine. “I called, so she’ll be expecting us.”
Inside, the depot hummed with the organized chaos of a logistics hub in motion. Workers in brown uniforms wheeled carts loaded with packages, barcode scanners beeped in a steady rhythm, and the conveyor belts whirred as they carried parcels toward their designated loading zones.
Sheriff Rich led them through the warehouse toward a small glass-walled office in the corner.
A woman with close-cropped gray hair and the straight-backed posture of someone who’d spent decades in military service looked up from her computer as they approached.
She rose immediately, extending a hand to the sheriff.
“Walt,” she said, her grip firm as they shook hands. “You said this was about Dana. Is she alright?”
“Sandra, this is Special Agent Riley Paige and Agent Ann Marie Esmer from the FBI,” Sheriff Rich said, bypassing her question for the moment. “As I said on the phone, we need your help with a situation.”
Sandra’s gaze shifted to Riley and Ann Marie. “FBI? What’s happened?”
Riley stepped forward. “Ms. Beckett, we have reason to believe that Dana Beaufort may be the target of a dangerous individual. We’ve secured her safety, but we believe this person intends to make his move today, during her delivery route.”
Sandra’s expression hardened. “It’s about that package from five years ago, isn’t it? The one that never made it to that poor kid who died.”
Riley was impressed by Sandra’s quick connection. “Yes. We believe the killer has been planning this for a long time. He’s methodical, patient, and he’s chosen to act now.”
“So, what do you need from me?” Sandra asked, her tone businesslike despite the gravity of the situation. “You want to cancel her route?”
“Actually,” Ann Marie interjected, “we want to run it as scheduled—but with Agent Paige taking Dana’s place.”
Sandra’s eyebrows rose as she looked between Riley and the sheriff. “Undercover? As a delivery driver?”
“Dana and I share a resemblance,” Riley explained.
“From a distance, wearing her uniform and cap, I could pass for her. If we’re right about the killer’s plan, he’s expecting her on the route today.
If we disrupt that expectation, he might disappear, only to try again later when we’re not watching. ”
Sandra studied Riley’s face more carefully now. “You do look similar. Enough to fool someone who’s only seen her from a distance or in passing.” She paused, thinking. “What’s your plan once you’re out there?”
“Agent Esmer will hide in the cargo area of the truck,” Sheriff Rich explained. “I’ll have an unmarked unit following at a safe distance. If these individual approaches or makes any move, we’ll be ready to apprehend him.”
Sandra turned to her computer. A few keystrokes later, she swiveled the monitor toward them. “This is Dana’s route for today.”
“Any deliveries that stand out as particularly isolated or vulnerable?” Riley asked, peering at the screen.
“These three here,” Sandra highlighted stops on the digital map. “Rural properties, set back from the main road. This one especially—the mailbox is about 200 yards from the house, at the end of a long drive. Dana usually leaves packages in a lockbox at the gate unless a signature is required.”
“Do all these deliveries happen in sequence, or is there flexibility?” Ann Marie asked.
“The system optimizes for efficiency, but drivers have some discretion. The scanner provides turn-by-turn directions and updates as they complete deliveries.”
Riley straightened. “We need to familiarize ourselves with the truck and equipment. How much time do we have?”
Sandra checked her watch. “Loading starts in an hour. Route begins at noon.”
“Perfect,” Riley said. “Can you show us Dana’s truck and walk us through the procedures?”
Sandra led them out to the warehouse floor, where a line of identical brown delivery trucks waited. She stopped at one with “Route 17” stenciled on the side.
“This is Dana’s regular vehicle,” Sandra said, unlocking the cab. “GPS system built into the dash. Scanner hooks here. Packages get loaded in sequence—first deliveries at the rear doors for easy access.”
Riley climbed into the driver’s seat, familiarizing herself with the controls. The seat needed adjusting—Dana was just a little taller—but otherwise, it felt manageable. She noticed the blind spots, the limited rear visibility that would make it harder to see someone approaching from behind.
“Does Dana typically lock the cargo area between deliveries?” Ann Marie asked, inspecting the rear of the truck.
“Company policy says yes, but in practice, on residential routes with frequent stops, most drivers leave it unlocked for efficiency,” Sandra admitted. “Especially in areas like this.”
“That works in our favor,” Ann Marie noted. “I’ll have better mobility if I’m not trapped behind a locked door.”
Sheriff Rich had stepped aside to make a call. He rejoined them as Sandra was demonstrating how to use the electronic scanner for package tracking.
“My deputy is set in an unmarked car,” he reported. “He’ll maintain visual contact with the truck throughout the route, staying far enough back to avoid detection.”
“We need to establish radio contact,” Riley said. “Sheriff, can we get earpieces that would allow continuous communication without being obvious?”
“I’ll get them ready,” Sheriff Rich said.
They spent the next forty minutes drilling on procedures—how to scan packages, operate the truck’s systems, follow the electronic delivery instructions. Riley practiced entering and exiting the vehicle the way Dana would, mimicking her posture and movements based on Sandra’s descriptions.
Ann Marie explored the cargo area, finding optimal hiding positions that would allow her to observe through the small window connecting to the cab while remaining hidden from outside view. She tested sightlines and identified the fastest ways to move from concealment to action if needed.
At 11:15, Sandra brought them Dana’s official uniform—a fresh set rather than the one Dana had provided. The brown shorts and shirt fit Riley better than expected. The cap pulled low obscured much of her face.
“How do I look?” Riley asked, turning to Ann Marie.
“Like you’ve been delivering packages for years,” her partner replied. “Though maybe try to look a little less like you’re calculating the most efficient way to incapacitate someone.”
Riley consciously relaxed her stance, softening her usually alert posture to match Dana’s more casual bearing. “Better?”
“Much.”
Workers began bringing in carts loaded with packages for Route 17. Sandra supervised as they loaded the truck, explaining to Riley which addresses might require signatures and which were simple drop-offs.
“Here’s Dana’s ID badge,” Sandra said, handing Riley a plastic card on a lanyard. “You probably won’t need it, but better to have it.”
Sheriff Rich returned from his car with the communication equipment—discrete earpieces that would allow Riley and Ann Marie to stay in contact with each other and with the deputy following in the unmarked car.
As noon approached, Riley felt the familiar calm settling over her, the clarity that always came before an operation. She checked her concealed weapon one last time, ensuring it was secure but accessible beneath the uniform shirt.
Ann Marie caught her eye. They’d been in more dangerous situations than this, but the stakes felt different somehow. This killer had been planning for years, nurturing his vengeance like a precious thing. He wouldn’t be easily deterred.
“Ready?” Sheriff Rich asked, checking his watch.
Riley adjusted her cap one final time and climbed into the driver’s seat of the delivery truck. “Let’s go catch ourselves a killer.”