CHAPTER ELEVEN
Time had lost all meaning for Jilly. She was in a dimly-lit space that might have once been a storage room, the single overhead bulb casting pale yellow light that barely reached the corners.
Her wrists still bore angry red welts where the zip ties had cut into her skin.
How long had she been here? Hours? Days?
The not knowing was almost as torturous as captivity itself.
Leo had released her legs from the metal folding chair and hauled her to her feet before he’d uncovered her head.
He’d brought her here, walking shakily with the taser held close to her back, its plastic casing occasionally brushing against her spine and sending involuntary shivers through her body.
Then he’d freed her hands with a quick snip of wire cutters and shoved her inside with enough force that she stumbled forward onto her knees, leaving it to her to get rid of the cotton gag that had dried her mouth to sandpaper.
He’d said, “Make yourself comfortable while you can. I’ll need you back in the chair again later.”
There was an old, stained cushion on the floor, barely big enough for her to lie down on.
A bulb high overhead, flickering like it might give out at any moment.
No windows, just the one door that she’d heard him padlock from the outside.
Not even a chair to sit on. No furniture at all, no shelves, nothing but hard walls.
Not sheet rock, not even wood. Nothing she could claw her way through.
He’d left a bag of chips, crumpled and greasy, next to a paper cup.
One small mercy she was grateful for: an old toilet and sink at the far end of the room.
But was it now night or day? Midnight or noon?
Jilly’s thoughts spiraled, untethered from the usual markers of passing time.
She had counted heartbeats until the numbers blurred.
She had sung songs in her head until the melodies tangled.
She had recited every poem she knew until the words lost their meaning.
One particular question surfaced again and again, a tide that wouldn’t recede. Where was her Mom?
Jilly knew that Riley Paige was legendary at finding people—everyone knew that. She had found Jilly herself, hadn't she? Plucked her from the edge of ruin at that truck stop in Phoenix when no one else had even bothered to look. So why hadn't she found her now?
A familiar doubt curled through Jilly's thoughts. What if Mom wasn't looking as hard this time? What if she was too busy …
No. Jilly shook her head as much as the hood allowed. Her mom loved her. Mom had chosen her, had fought for her in court against her biological father. Mom had given her a home, a family, when she'd had nothing but bruises and bitter memories.
But still, the doubt persisted.
Jilly's breath hitched beneath the gag, the sound muffled and pathetic. She hated her own weakness, hated this muddy pool of self-pity.
She forced her mind to sharpen, to recall the techniques Mom had taught her for staying centered during stress. Breathe as deeply as possible. Focus on one physical sensation at a time. Create a mental inventory of facts you know to be true.
Fact: Mom had found her in Phoenix.
Fact: Mom had made her family when she had none.
Fact: Mom would move heaven and earth to find her …
A sudden sound sliced through Jilly's thoughts. Footsteps approaching, measured and unhurried. She tensed, thinking that surely her hammering heartbeat was audible. The door opened, and a tall shadow was standing there.
"I must apologize for leaving you alone for so long, Jilly." Leo's voice was smooth, almost gentle. "I've been quite busy with … various preparations. I hope you understand."
Her muttered curse was meant to be defiant, but even to her own ears, it came out desperate and afraid.
"I know, I know," Leo continued, as if they were having a normal conversation. "It must be terribly unpleasant for you. This kind of isolation can be quite... destabilizing."
She focused on her breathing again, tried to steady it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic.
"I wonder," he said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, "do you know why your mother hasn't found you yet?"
Jilly's breath caught. Despite her determination, the question hit its mark.
"I've studied Special Agent Riley Paige for quite some time now," Leo continued.
"Did you know that? I've followed her career, her cases.
I know her capabilities. And yet... here you are still.
A captive." He paused. "Soon, you'll know just how much she loves you.
How far she's willing to go to save your life. "
Again a muffled curse emerged only as a strangled sound.
"It's a curious thing, adoption," Leo said, his voice thoughtful. "A choice made for whatever reasons, rather than a bond forged by blood. I wonder sometimes if it's quite the same. Does she love you as much as April, do you think? Or is there always that lingering doubt in your mind?"
Tears of rage burned behind Jilly's eyes. He was playing on her deepest fears, fears she hadn’t voiced even to herself for a long time before now.
"Perhaps I should have taken April instead," Leo mused. "That would have been interesting, wouldn't it? To see if Riley's response would be different for her biological daughter."
Jilly's chest tightened, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
Then, suddenly, a buzzing sound cut through the silence. Leo's phone.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, all politeness. "I need to take this."
He stepped back out the door, and Jilly heard the lock snap into place.
Then she was alone again with her own thoughts, now even more disturbing to her than Leo himself.
*
Leo closed the door behind him and looked again at the message on his phone.
We should talk.
The call was from ShadowCipher. His digital accomplice, who rarely initiated contact unless something significant had developed.
The abandoned building creaked around him as he moved to the portable workstation he’d carefully arranged. The room was dimly lit, the windows covered to conceal even that slight illumination from anyone outside.
The power station hummed quietly, feeding electricity to his equipment. A small luxury, but a necessary one. Leo adjusted his chair and opened his laptop, the screen casting harsh white light across his features.
The building had no internet service, of course—a feature, not a flaw, in Leo’s estimation. Invisibility was essential. But ShadowCipher had helped him piggyback onto an unsecured network from a nearby business. Not ideal for most people, but perfect for his temporary needs.
Leo’s fingers moved efficiently across the keyboard, accessing the encrypted messaging platform where he and ShadowCipher conducted their business.
He’d never met the hacker in person—had no idea if ShadowCipher was male or female, young or old.
It was irrelevant. What mattered was competence, and in that regard, ShadowCipher was exceptional.
I’m here. What news? Leo typed.
The reply came almost instantly, as if ShadowCipher had been waiting.
Officer Stanley Pope is alive.
Leo paused, his hands hovering above the keyboard. This was unexpected. He’d been so meticulous with that box—everything precisely calculated to provide just enough oxygen to stretch out Pope’s suffering without delivering a quick release through death. The timing had seemed perfect.
Are you certain? He typed.
I hacked DC police reports. He was found barely conscious but survived. Transported to Georgetown University Hospital. Critical condition initially, now stabilized.
Leo leaned back in his chair, processing this information. He hadn’t anticipated that particular development, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
Who found him? Leo asked, though he suspected the answer.
Special Agent Riley Paige. According to internal communications, she figured out your location based on the clues you left. Arrived just in time to save him.
So Riley had found him in time after all. Interesting. Leo smiled as he imagined Riley’s desperate race against time, her frantic efforts to save a man she barely knew. The mental image was almost as satisfying as if Pope had died.
I hope you’re not disappointed, ShadowCipher wrote. Your plan for him failed.
Not at all. Death was never the only objective. The fear, the helplessness, the pure animal terror of slowly suffocating in darkness—Pope experienced all of that. And Riley experienced the desperation of nearly failing to save him. That’s almost better than if he’d died.
He paused, then added: Though I wouldn’t have been displeased if she’d found him a few hours later.
What’s your next move? ShadowCipher inquired. Another box?
No, Leo typed. I never repeat performances. My next target won’t survive. And Riley will feel it all—the guilt, the helplessness, the knowledge that she failed to see what was right in front of her.
Who is it? The question appeared almost too quickly, betraying ShadowCipher’s curiosity.
Leo’s hands stilled. He’d worked with ShadowCipher for months now—the hacker had proven invaluable, providing access to Riley’s personal records, helping infiltrate her home security system so he could open that back door, creating digital breadcrumbs that would keep investigators running in circles.
But every relationship had its boundaries.
That information is on a need-to-know basis, Leo wrote at last. And you don’t need to know.
The silence stretched for nearly a minute—an eternity in digital conversation. When ShadowCipher finally responded, the message was curt.
I see. I thought we were partners.
We’re business associates, Leo corrected. I pay you well for your services.
Partners share information. Trust each other.
Leo’s jaw tightened. I trust your abilities. That’s sufficient.
Another long pause followed before ShadowCipher’s final message appeared.
We’re done.
The connection terminated abruptly, leaving Leo staring at a blank screen. A cold sensation settled in his stomach—not quite fear, but a distinctly uneasy feeling.
We’re done? Leo wondered.
Had their working relationship suddenly ended, just like that? Over a fit of pique? Was ShadowCipher really that petty? Leo would never have guessed it.
But he decided it didn’t really matter. ShadowCipher had already done everything Leo needed, supplied all the services Leo had paid for. ShadowCipher had also given Leo tools that he could use without the hacker’s help.
For example, Leo knew perfectly well that forensic technicians had mirrored the phones of Riley and her family, leading them to think they could monitor all his communications with them—read their messages and listen to their conversations.
That was true, but only as long as it suited Leo—and so far, it had suited Leo.
What those technicians didn’t know was that Leo now had the power of shutting them out exactly when he wanted to.
And that was all he really needed. He needed no help from ShadowCipher to proceed with his plans for tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
The word sent a thrill through Leo that banished his momentary concern.
Tomorrow he would take a life, watching the light fade from human eyes.
He’d orchestrated deaths before—his sister’s suicide had been his masterpiece of psychological manipulation—but he had never experienced the intimate act of killing firsthand.
Leo rose from his chair and walked to the window, carefully drawing the blanket that covered it slightly aside, standing to the side of the frame where he wouldn’t be visible even if someone happened to glance that way.
Darkness had fallen completely now. In the distance, the lights of Washington DC glittered, oblivious to his presence on the periphery.
“Sleep well, Riley,” he whispered to the night. “Tomorrow you’ll understand what true loss feels like.”
He imagined her face when as events unfolded as they surely would—the horror, the self-recrimination, the devastating knowledge that she’d failed to protect someone she cared about, someone in her own family.
The thought warmed him from within, a delicious anticipation that surpassed any physical pleasure he’d ever known—at least this far.
Leo let the window blanket drop into place and turned back to his workstation, mind already cycling through the details of tomorrow’s plan.
ShadowCipher’s petulance was not his problem.
Nothing would interfere with what he had set in motion.
Nothing would rob him of the exquisite experience awaiting him.
His first kill. His initiation into a realm of power few ever truly understood.
Leo smiled in the darkness, savoring what was to come.