CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Riley stared at Leo’s message on her cellphone, then lifted her gaze to meet Bill’s. They both knew what Leo was demanding. They both knew what was at stake. And they both knew she couldn’t possibly comply with his demand: Come alone ….
“He’s escalating,” Bill said. “This is what he’s been building toward.”
Riley slipped the phone into her pocket. “We need to get back to the car. Now.”
They turned away from the river—away from the site where Peterson had died, away from the ghosts that haunted this patch of muddy shoreline—and began picking their way back through the woods.
Riley mind was racing ahead of her body.
Leo had chosen this moment carefully, sending them to this particular place to weaken her resolve before making his next demand.
The psychological manipulation was elegant in its cruelty—force her to revisit her darkest moment, then demand her compliance while she was still reeling from the memories.
“If it’s not Jilly at those coordinates,” Riley said, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch, “it could be Officer Martinez.”
Bill nodded grimly. “Either way, we’re looking at a hostage situation.”
As they navigated an incline, Riley’s phone buzzed again. She pulled it out, expecting another message from Leo. Instead, Garner Hogue’s name flashed on the screen.
“It’s Hogue,” she said, accepting the call and switching to speakerphone so Bill could hear. “Paige here. You’re on speaker with Agent Jeffreys.”
“We’re tracking your texts, Paige,” Hogue’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Those GPS coordinates Leo sent you—we’ve identified the location.”
“Where?” Riley asked.
“An abandoned municipal waterworks facility on the western outskirts of D.C.,” Hogue replied. “Been decommissioned for almost fifteen years. It’s a sprawling complex in ruins.”
“Perfect place for an ambush,” Bill muttered.
“Or for hiding a hostage,” Riley added. Was her daughter there now, scared and alone? Or was Leo holding Susan Martinez at that location instead?
“Tell me you’re not actually planning to go there alone,” Hogue said, his tone making it clear what he thought of that idea.
“Of course she’s not,” Bill answered before Riley could speak. “That’s off the table.”
Riley winced at how Bill seemed to make the decision for her.
Don’t react, she told herself.
With both of them this tired and anxious, she knew she had to fight down her impatience.
“We need to appear to follow his instructions,” she said. “If I don’t show up, whoever he’s holding dies. That’s not a bluff I’m willing to call.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Hogue asked.
“I go in alone,” Riley said, “but not unsupported. Bill and a SWAT team position themselves nearby—hidden, but close enough to intervene at the first sign of trouble. We secure the perimeter, cut off all escape routes.”
As they approached the edge of the woods. Riley could see the road ahead, their car a dark silhouette against the gravel shoulder.
“It’s still too risky,” Hogue argued. “He’ll be expecting exactly that kind of approach.”
“We don’t have time to plot anything more complicated,” Riley countered. “We need to be smarter than he expects, to control as many variables as we can.”
They reached the car, and Bill took the keys from Riley without discussion. She almost objected, but told herself that Bill was right. She was in no condition to drive. But was Bill? Their night without sleep, as well as the threat to those he considered family, was taking a toll on him as well.
“I’m dispatching SWAT to the location now,” Hogue said as they settled into the vehicle. “I’ll coordinate with local PD to establish a perimeter. But Paige—” His voice hardened. “Don’t even think about going in before backup is in place.”
“Understood,” Riley said, though a voice in the back of her mind whispered that she might not have the luxury of waiting if Jilly or Susan were in immediate danger.
Bill started the engine. “We’ll head straight there,” he told Hogue. “ETA approximately thirty minutes.”
“I’ve got aerial surveillance en route,” Hogue continued. “Should have eyes on the location in fifteen. I’ll update you with what we see.”
“Copy that,” Riley said. As Bill pulled onto the road and accelerated, she added, “Hogue, has there been any other contact from Leo? Any more demands?”
“Negative. He’s been silent since sending you those coordinates.”
The call ended, and silence filled the car. Riley stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past.
“You’re still thinking about the river,” Bill said quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.
“He wanted me to remember. He wanted me back in that moment, feeling everything I felt that night.”
“To destabilize you,” Bill said.
“That’s right. To make sure I’m operating from emotion rather than reason when I confront him.” She pressed her fingertips against her temples, trying to ease the building pressure there. “And it’s working. I feel like I’m walking underwater, Bill. Everything’s distorted.”
Bill was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was careful, measured.
“Maybe I should go in instead of you.”
Riley turned to look at him, finding his profile etched with concern. “What?”
“To the coordinates,” Bill clarified. “Leo asked for you specifically, but maybe we can—”
“No,” Riley interrupted firmly. “He’d be furious. And whoever he’s holding would pay the price.”
“You’re not exactly at your best right now,” Bill pointed out gently. “After what he made you relive at the river—”
“We’re both tired, Bill,” Riley said, more sharply than she meant to. “You’re not at your best either.”
A silence fell between them.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
“I know,” Bill said. “But this is part of his game—to get us at odds with each other. We can’t let him get the best of us.”
Riley knew Bill was right. But maintaining her own composure was becoming harder with every passing moment.
They rounded a bend in the road and encountered a convoy of three unmarked SUVs heading in their direction—part of the team Hogue had dispatched toward the location by the river.
Bill flashed his headlights, and the lead vehicle slowed, pulling to the side of the road.
Bill brought their car to a stop alongside it.
The driver’s window of the SUV lowered, revealing Agent Siobhan Gleason at the wheel. “Agent Paige, Agent Jeffreys,” she nodded. “Agent Hogue briefed us. We’re heading to the waterworks now.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” Bill replied. “Hogue’s coordinating with local PD for perimeter control.”
“Understood.” Gleason’s gaze shifted to Riley, her expression professional but her eyes betraying concern. “Agent Paige, are you... cleared for this operation?”
The question, diplomatic as it was, stung. Riley straightened in her seat. “I’m fine, Agent Gleason. Let’s just focus on bringing this to a swift conclusion.”
Gleason nodded, then raised her window. The convoy pulled back onto the road, executing a tight U-turn before speeding toward the waterworks. Bill waited for them to pass, then fell in behind the last vehicle.
“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Bill said after a moment. “Everyone’s on edge.”
The remainder of the drive passed in tense silence. As they approached the outskirts of the city, industrial landscapes replaced rural ones—abandoned warehouses, scattered machinery, chain-link fences topped with rusted barbed wire.
Finally, Bill turned onto a narrow access road partially overgrown with weeds. A faded sign warned “CITY PROPERTY – NO TRESPASSING,” its lettering barely visible beneath years of graffiti and weather damage.
The old waterworks facility loomed ahead—a sprawling complex of brick and concrete structures spread across several acres.
The main building, a massive edifice with towering windows and an imposing central tower, was flanked by cylindrical water tanks, their metal surfaces corroded to a mottled orange-brown.
Beyond them, a network of smaller buildings and underground access points dotted the landscape, connected by crumbling walkways and the ghosts of once-functional infrastructure.
Bill pulled to a stop beside the other FBI vehicles, already parked in a concealed position behind a derelict storage building.
Agents moved efficiently, donning tactical gear and checking weapons.
A portable command center was being established in one of the SUVs, communications equipment being set up with swift precision.
Riley exchanged glances with Ann Marie, who was here with the rest of the team.
Riley’s young partner and protégé looked concerned about her.
Riley wished they could talk for just a few moments, but now was no time for pleasantries.
“SWAT’s positioning around the perimeter,” Agent Clark Jenson informed them as they approached. “We’ve got snipers taking high ground positions, but visibility inside the main building will be limited.”
“What about thermal imaging?” Bill asked.
“Working on it,” Jenson replied, “but the concrete walls are thick. Readings are inconclusive.”
Riley surveyed the facility, her eyes drawn to the main building. According to the coordinates Leo had sent, that’s where she’d find him—and whoever he was holding.
“I need a comm unit,” she said, turning back to Jenson. “To call you in if I need you. And a vest.”
As they equipped her, Riley listened to the tactical briefing, her mind cataloging entry points, potential hazards, escape routes. She absorbed the information methodically, professionally—a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil still churning beneath her calm exterior.
“We’ve been trying to get blueprints for the building, but it’s taking time we don’t have,” Jenson said. “This place shut down so long ago, records are hard to come by. All we’ve got is the GPS signal, and you’ve got that on your cellphone”
“Then I’ll just have to follow it as well as I can.”
“Something else is worrying me,” Hogue said. “Surely he knows what we’re up to.”
“Probably,” Riley said. “He probably planned for it. Even so, we’ve got to make sure he doesn’t get away.”
Riley checked her weapon one last time, then tucked it into her holster. “I’m ready.”
Bill moved closer, his voice low, meant only for her. “Be careful,” he said.
Riley nodded, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them—concern, resolve, the understanding that came from years of facing danger together.
“Always am,” she replied, though they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
With a final nod to the assembled team, Riley turned and began walking toward the main building. As she approached, the building seemed to grow larger, more imposing—a decaying monument to industrial ambition, now reclaimed by neglect and time.
A rusted metal door stood partially ajar on the east side, as if Leo had deliberately left it open for her.
Riley paused beside it, listening. The wind whispered around the corners of the building, carrying the faint scent of stagnant water and corroded metal.
From somewhere inside came the steady drip of water against concrete.
Drawing her weapon, Riley pushed the door open wider with her foot and stepped inside. The air was immediately cooler, heavy with moisture and the musty scent of abandonment. Weak daylight filtered through dirt-encrusted windows high overhead, casting long shadows across debris-strewn floors.
She moved cautiously through what appeared to have been an administrative area, now stripped of anything valuable—empty desk frames stood like skeletons, filing cabinets lay toppled and rusted, their contents long since looted or destroyed by the elements.
Water damage had caused sections of the ceiling to collapse, creating precarious obstacles of twisted metal and crumbling plaster.
Making her way toward the location of the dot on her cellphone map, Riley went deeper into the building.
Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, announcing her presence.
Leo would know she was coming. That was part of his plan.
But how could he not also expect the SWAT team—or at least the possibility?
Did he also have plans for that eventuality?
A wide corridor stretched before her, lined with smaller maintenance rooms. At its end, a set of double doors stood closed. Riley approached slowly, her senses hyper alert for any sign of movement or sound beyond the doors.
As she reached them, she paused, pressing her ear against the metal surface. From within came the faint sound of movement—the scrape of a shoe against concrete, a muffled whimper.
Someone was alive in there.
Riley took a deep breath, centering herself. Whatever awaited her beyond those doors, she needed to be fully present, fully in control. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by memories of Peterson or fears for Jilly. For the next few minutes, she had to be nothing but an agent doing her job.
With one fluid movement, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, her weapon raised and ready.
She found herself inside what appeared to be the pump room.
The space was enormous—a cathedral to industrial function, its ceiling rising three stories above a floor crowded with massive machinery.
Huge pumps, pipes, and control panels filled the space, their once-gleaming surfaces now dull with rust and grime.
Catwalks crisscrossed the upper levels, providing maintenance access to the higher components.
Shafts of dusty light penetrated through skylights, illuminating swirling motes of dust in the otherwise dim interior.
And there, in the center of it all, stood Leo Dillard.
He looked different than he had in the classroom—harder, more feral.
His neat academic appearance had been replaced by something more predatory.
His dark hair was still perfectly styled, his clothes still impeccable, but something in his stance, in the cold calculation of his eyes, revealed the monster that had always lurked beneath the polished surface.
Before him, kneeling on the concrete floor with her hands bound behind her back, was Officer Susan Martinez. A gag covered her mouth, but her eyes were wide with fear and desperate hope as they fixed on Riley. Leo held a knife to her throat, its blade gleaming in the diffused light.
Riley froze, a wave of dizzying déjà vu sweeping through her. She had been in a situation like this one before.
Then Leo spoke the exact words that a killer had said to her years ago: “You can save her life, or you can catch me. Pick one, Agent Paige. But not both.”