CHAPTER ONE
Riley walked alongside Bill through the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit building at Quantico. Special Agent in Charge Brent Meredith had summoned them here to discuss the ongoing search for Leo Dillard.
“You okay?” Bill asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Riley nodded, a reflexive response rather than an honest one.
In her twenty-plus years with the Bureau, she’d never felt so haunted by a case.
Of course, this one was dangerously personal.
Leo had been threatening her by stalking her family.
And she knew that he was still out there, watching, waiting, planning his next move with her at the center of his twisted game.
Bill knew better than to believe her easy acceptance. “No, you’re not,” he said, his hand briefly touching the small of her back. “And that’s okay.”
Like an old married couple, Riley and Bill often found themselves thinking the same things and finishing each other’s sentences.
Their partnership had weathered divorces, trauma, and the occasional bureaucratic storm, emerging stronger each time.
The past year and a half, with their relationship deepening beyond friendship, had only heightened that connection.
They paused outside Meredith’s office door. Riley took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and willing her expression into professional composure.
Bill’s knock on the door was answered with Meredith’s gruff “Come in.”
Meredith’s office hadn’t changed in all the years Riley had known him.
The same austere furnishings, the same photographs of his family on the credenza behind his desk.
Special Agent in Charge Brent Meredith looked up from his computer, his broad frame imposing even while seated.
His black, angular features arranged themselves into an expression of cautious welcome as he gestured toward the chairs opposite his desk.
“Paige. Jeffreys. Right on time. Agent Garner will be here momentarily. Have a seat.”
Riley sat first, resisting the urge to check her phone.
April had texted an hour ago reporting on her activities at Jefferson Bell University, and Jilly would be home by now and focused on her homework.
Gabriela would be there, of course, steady as always.
Still, Riley couldn’t shake the persistent worry that had become her constant companion.
“How are you holding up?” Meredith asked without preamble, his gaze directed primarily at Riley.
“Fine,” she answered automatically.
Bill shot her a sideways glance.
“Really? Because you don’t look fine. Neither of you does.” Meredith leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “This isn’t just another case, and we all know it. Dillard has made this personal for you.”
Riley sighed, relenting. “My nerves are shot,” she admitted. “Gabriela thinks I’m losing my mind, checking the locks three times every night.”
“And I’m checking them again, right behind you,” Bill added.
“And the girls?” Meredith asked Riley.
“They’re tough and brave. I wish they didn’t have to be.”
“I wish they didn’t, too,” Meredith agreed.
Bill took up the explanations. “Riley’s last contact with him was that night when he lured her to Echo Bridge, leading her to think she’d find him there. All she found was that written note you’ve already seen.”
Lines from that note kept running through Riley’s mind: Yes, I texted your daughter…
Yes, I knew she would tell you about our conversation and the proposed meeting at this bridge…
And yes, I knew you would forbid her from coming herself …
So here you are, alone on Echo Bridge at 9:00 p.m., while I am elsewhere …
I want you to understand, Riley, that I know you.
I understand how you think, how you act, how you prioritize …
She shuddered with the feeling that Leo was crawling inside her very skin.
“Now he’s vanished again,” Riley told Meredith. “It’s worse than if he were making contact. Every hour of every day. I can practically feel him watching me.”
“That’s what concerns me,” Meredith said. “You’re giving him too much credit, Riley. You’re projecting.”
“Projecting?” Riley’s voice sharpened. “He was my student before I knew what kind of man he was. He studied me, learned my habits, my methods. He’s read every article ever written about me. He knows about my... ability.”
She paused awkwardly. Her so-called “gift” for getting into the minds of killers wasn’t something she discussed openly.
In law enforcement circles, especially among detectives who worked homicide, Riley Paige was something of a legend.
The whispers said she could see things at crime scenes that others missed, could piece together profiles from the barest fragments of evidence.
Some even claimed she had some kind of sixth sense.
But sitting here with Bill and Meredith—two of only four people who truly understood the nature of her ability—Riley knew better.
There was nothing supernatural about what she did.
It was observation, deduction, and intuition fused together through years of experience and a willingness to wade into the darkest corners of human psychology.
“He knows how I think,” Riley continued. “And I’m starting to believe he might have the same kind of insight.”
“He’s not you,” Meredith said firmly. “What you do, this ability you have to understand these monsters—I know that it comes from your lifetime of experience plus a rare level of awareness. Dillard is obsessed with you because he sees something he wants but can never have. Don’t hand him more power by thinking that he can read your mind. ”
Riley wanted to believe him. Wanted to accept the rational explanation that Leo was just another brilliant psychopath who’d fixated on her.
Before she could form a reply, a knock at the door interrupted her.
Meredith called for the visitor to enter, and Riley turned to see Special Agent Garner Hogue step into the office.
Hogue was tall and lean, with close-cropped hair and the kind of face that revealed nothing without his permission.
Riley had known him for years and respected his methodical approach to investigation.
Under different circumstances, she might have been reassured by his presence.
Today, she read only frustration in the tightness around his mouth.
“I hope I’m not late,” Hogue said, nodding briefly to Riley and Bill before focusing on Meredith. “I have that update you requested.”
“We were just discussing Dillard,” Meredith replied. “Paige and Jeffreys should hear this too.”
Hogue hesitated only a moment before taking the remaining empty chair.
“We’ve been following the money trail, as you suggested.
Dillard’s parents were thorough in cutting him off financially after his cruelty to his sister drove her to suicide, but they couldn’t touch the inheritance that came from his grandfather. ”
“How much are we talking about?” Bill asked.
“Seven figures, conservatively,” Hogue replied. “Plus some property holdings that weren’t directly tied to the family trusts. We’re running them down now, but most were sold off in the years before he enrolled at the Academy.”
“So you think he’s been planning something like this for years?” Riley asked. She had no reason to believe that Leo’s fixation on her went back that far.
“Planning something,” Hogue corrected. “Maybe just building his own power, staking out his independence. Maybe he’s been looking for an adversary.”
“But the resources are there,” Meredith said. “That’s what matters now.”
“Yes,” Hogue agreed. “He has the money to move around, change identities, bribe his way through situations if necessary.”
“What about facial recognition?” Riley asked. “Traffic cameras, airport security—”
“We’ve been running those programs continuously,” Hogue said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “The problem is that Dillard is a chameleon. From what we’ve pieced together, he’s skilled with theatrical makeup and disguise.”
Riley recalled her interactions with Leo in her classroom—his unremarkable appearance, his ability to blend in with the other trainees despite being, in retrospect, nothing like them at all. She’d dismissed him as just another student, nothing special. That had been her first mistake.
“He’s staying local,” Riley said with sudden certainty. “He won’t go far from me. That’s the whole point for him. You shouldn’t have to look very far.”
“Agent Paige,” Hogue said carefully, “I understand your personal investment in this case, but my team has been tracking all possible movements, and we’re not limiting our search to any area.
We’ve got alerts at every transportation hub in a five-hundred-mile radius, we’re monitoring all known associates—”
“He doesn’t have associates,” Riley cut in. “He has targets and he has tools. People are just means to an end for Leo.”
The room fell silent. Riley knew she was letting her frustration show, knew that Hogue was just doing his job—and doing it well, by any standard measure. But standard measures didn’t apply to Leo Dillard.
Bill placed a steadying hand on her forearm. “What about properties?” he asked Hogue. “You mentioned he sold most of them, but are there any still in his name? Family vacation homes, hunting cabins, anything off the grid?”
“We’ve identified three properties still technically in his name or held by shell companies we believe he controls,” Hogue replied, his tone professional despite Riley’s outburst. “One in the Poconos, one in coastal North Carolina, and a condo in Baltimore. All have been searched thoroughly. No sign of recent occupation.”
“He wouldn’t use anything traceable to him,” Riley muttered. “He’s too smart for that.”
“Which is why we’re expanding the search to properties that might be rented under aliases, or held by third parties who might not even realize their connection to him.
It’s painstaking work. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we’re doing everything possible.
Every resource available is committed to finding him. ”
“Before or after he makes his next move?” Riley asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
Meredith shot her a warning look. “Agent Hogue’s team is the best we’ve got, Paige.”
“I know that,” she said, softening slightly. “I’m sorry, Garner. I know you’re doing everything in the book.”
“The problem is,” Bill interjected, “Dillard hasn’t read the same book.”
A humorless smile flashed across Hogue’s face. “Oh, he’s read the book, all right. He knows the book backwards and forwards. But he ignores it. He thinks it’s one big joke.”
The conversation might have continued along those lines—professional, tense, ultimately unsatisfying—if Riley’s phone hadn’t chosen that moment to buzz sharply. She fished it from her pocket, expecting a text from April about a ride home from practice.
Instead, Gabriela’s name flashed on the screen. Riley felt a cold apprehension as she swiped to answer.
“Gabriela? What’s—”
A flood of Spanish poured through the speaker, too rapid and distraught for Riley to follow completely. But some words cut through clearly: “Jilly... gone... police...”
“Slow down,” Riley said, rising to her feet without realizing it. The other agents watched her, suddenly alert. “What happened to Jilly?”
Gabriela’s voice broke into sobs. “He took her. I had the gun. I couldn’t shoot because of how he held her in front of him. I call police already.”
Riley’s world narrowed to a pinpoint, all peripheral sound and sight fading to a dull roar. Bill was on his feet beside her, his hand at her elbow, steadying her.
“Gabriela, listen to me,” Riley said, fighting to keep her voice level. “Don’t touch anything else. The police are on their way?”
“Sí, they come now. I hear sirens.”
“I’m on my way home. Right now.” She ended the call and looked at the three men staring at her. “He’s taken Jilly,” she said to them.
No one asked who “he” was. They all knew.