CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leo’s smile was cold as he pressed the knife against Susan Martinez’s throat.
The blade caught the weak afternoon light filtering through the waterworks’ grimy windows, a deadly glint against the officer’s pale skin.
Riley stood fifteen feet away, her service weapon drawn but useless.
Time stretched, distorted—that peculiar sense suspension that often happened in moments of crisis.
The words that he had just spoken seemed to echo through the air …
“You can save her life, or you can catch me. Pick one, Agent Paige. But not both.”
The same words.
The exact same words Garrett Voss had spoken fourteen years ago, when he’d held Officer Dana Chen with a blade to her throat.
Riley had made her choice then—had pursued Voss as he fled, believing Chen’s wound to be superficial.
But Voss had known exactly where to cut, the precise depth needed to ensure a fatal outcome that would unfold gradually, giving him just enough time to escape.
Chen had bled out before the paramedics arrived. Riley had caught Voss two days later, but the victory had been hollow, tainted by the knowledge that a woman with a husband and two children had died because Riley had calculated wrong.
And now here was Leo, recreating that moment right down to the words. A test she had failed once before.
“This brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Leo’s voice was gentle, almost intimate. “I always wondered what it was like for you that day. The moment of choice. Did you hesitate? Did you know, even as you ran after Voss, that you might be making a fatal mistake?”
Riley’s hands felt leaden, her vision blurring at the edges.
She hadn’t slept since the night before last. The exhaustion was a physical presence dragging at her limbs.
She needed to focus, to think clearly, but her mind kept skittering sideways, caught in the double image of then and now—Chen’s terrified eyes superimposed over Susan Martinez’s.
“I did my research, Riley,” Leo continued, almost conversational.
“Officer Dana Chen. Thirty-four. Two children. Husband was a firefighter. The wound didn’t look that bad at first, did it?
Just enough blood to be concerning, not enough to seem immediately life-threatening. Quite the miscalculation on your part.”
Riley swallowed hard at how Leo twisted the knife in a wound she’d tried so hard to heal.
She was aware of the earpiece nestled against her skin, the tiny microphone at her collar.
Bill, Hogue, the entire SWAT team—they were listening, positioned around the perimeter of the old waterworks facility where Leo had instructed her to come alone.
Another echo of the past; another demand she had pretended to follow while secretly bringing backup.
“This is different,” Riley said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
“Voss got away because I made a mistake. But you won’t be getting away, Leo.
The building is surrounded. There are snipers on the rooftops, teams at every exit.
Even if you kill Officer Martinez, you’re not walking out of here a free man. ”
Leo’s eyebrows rose, an expression of exaggerated surprise. “Surrounded? You mean you didn’t come alone like I asked? I’m hurt, Riley.” He gripped Susan’s dark hair, pulling her head back further to expose the vulnerable column of her throat. “You were supposed to play by my rules.”
“There’s no point in taking her life,” Riley pressed on, desperately trying to connect. “It won’t help you escape. It won’t advance your goals. All it will do is add another murder charge when they catch you.”
But even as the words left her mouth, Riley saw the subtle shift in Leo’s expression, the faint gleam of satisfaction in his eyes—he had anticipated this. Had expected her to bring reinforcements, to surround the building.
Which meant this wasn’t a desperate last stand. It was another move in his game.
“I’m disappointed,” Leo said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried across the cavernous space.
“I’d hoped you might have learned something from your previous failure.
Might have come alone this time, trusted me enough to follow instructions.
But I see you’re still making the same mistakes. ”
Susan’s eyes met Riley’s, wide with terror but also a desperate hope. Riley could read the message there—help is coming, so I might survive this.
Riley took a careful step forward. “It’s over, Leo. Let her go, and we can talk about—”
“Talk?” Leo laughed, the sound echoing harshly off the concrete walls.
“We’re beyond talking now, Riley. If I can’t have the pleasure of your exclusive company, then I’ll have to find my satisfaction elsewhere.
” His face hardened. “And if I’m going to be taken or killed today, I think I’d like to take one more life before I go. For old times’ sake.”
The movement was so fast that Riley almost missed it—a precise flick of Leo’s wrist, the blade slicing across Susan’s throat.
Not a wild slash, but a calculated incision, deep enough to hit the carotid artery but not instantly fatal.
A wound designed to create a window—just enough time for Riley to make her choice.
Leo shoved her forward as blood erupted, startlingly bright against her pale skin. As the officer toppled forward, Leo turned and sprinted toward the back of the facility.
“Officer down!” Riley shouted into her mic as she pressed her hands against the wound. “East entrance of the main floor! I need medical now!” Susan’s blood pulsed with each heartbeats, hot and slick. “Stay with me, Susan. Help is coming.”
Susan’s eyes were wide, her mouth working silently. One of her hands clutched at Riley’s sleeve, a desperate anchor.
“Bill! Hogue!” Riley called into her mic. “He’s heading toward the south exit. He can’t have gotten far.”
She glanced up, torn between the dying woman beneath her hands and the fleeing killer.
But there was no real choice, not this time.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Around her, she could hear the thunder of approaching footsteps as the tactical teams rushed in.
She bent lower over Susan, applying more pressure to the wound.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Just hold on.”
*
Riley’s voice crackled through Bill’s earpiece, “Officer down! East entrance of the main floor! I need medical now!”
Beside him in the command vehicle, Hogue was already barking orders into his radio, mobilizing the medical team. Bill didn’t wait. He lunged for the door, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion as he hit the ground running.
All he could think was Leo has hurt someone. And Riley is alone with him.
He’d been listening to their entire exchange through the comm unit as Leo recreated the Throat Slitter standoff from fourteen years ago.
Bill remembered the aftermath of that case—Riley’s quiet devastation after Officer Chen’s death, the way she’d second-guessed herself for months.
When Leo had uttered those same words—”You can save her life, or you can catch me”—Bill had felt an icy premonition.
Now, sprinting toward the east entrance, that history hit him hard. They couldn’t lose another officer. They couldn’t lose Riley.
“He’s heading toward the south exit,” Riley’s voice came through again, strained but controlled. “He can’t have gotten far.”
Bill adjusted his course, gesturing to the tactical team members running alongside him to split off toward the south wing of the sprawling facility.
The old waterworks was a labyrinth of machinery halls, filter galleries, and storage rooms—a warren with a dozen potential escape routes.
But they had every exit covered. Leo was contained. He had to be.
They entered through a side door, weapons raised, moving through the dim interior. Bill took point, following what he guessed to be the most direct route to Riley’s position, his senses hyper alert.
He rounded a corner and there she was—Riley on her knees beside a fallen figure, her hands pressed against a wound that leaked crimson onto the concrete floor.
Blood had soaked the front of Riley’s shirt, was smeared across her forearms. The tactical medic was already rushing past Bill, dropping to the ground beside them with his kit.
Hogue arrived seconds later with four more agents, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.
“That way,” Riley said without looking up, jerking her head toward a corridor leading deeper into the building. “South corridor, then he turned west. He can’t have gotten far.”
“Jensen, Gleason, with me,” Bill commanded. “The rest of you, split into pairs and cover every exit point.”
They moved fast, fanning out through the facility.
Bill took the route Riley had indicated, his weapon ready, eyes scanning for any sign of disturbance—a drop of blood, a scuff mark, anything that might indicate Leo’s passage.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber filled with ancient filtering equipment, huge concrete basins now dry and cracked with age.
The space offered a hundred hiding places.
“Clear the room,” Bill ordered. “Check every corner, every shadow.”
They worked methodically, covering every possible hiding spot. But as the minutes ticked by with no sign of their quarry, a familiar sense of frustration began to build in Bill’s chest. This felt like every other encounter with Leo—always one step ahead, always just out of reach.
“Sir,” Jensen’s voice came through his earpiece. “We’ve cleared the south and west quadrants. No sign of the target.”
Similar reports came in from other teams. No sign of Leo at any of the exit points. No sign of him anywhere in the building.
“He can’t have vanished,” Hogue growled, joining Bill in the central chamber. “We had eyes on every exit. Thermal imaging on the roof. Where the hell is he?”
But Bill already knew. “He tricked us. Again.”
“Agent Jeffreys!” A voice called from the far end of the chamber. One of the younger agents was waving urgently. “I found something.”
They converged on the spot where the agent stood pointing at what looked like an unremarkable pile of debris in a shadowed corner. Bill approached cautiously, then saw it—the edge of a metal hatch partially concealed beneath rusted pipes and broken concrete.
“Jesus,” Hogue breathed. “Maintenance tunnels.”
Bill crouched down, pushing aside the debris to reveal a rusted circular hatch, its handle recently disturbed—the dust pattern showed clear signs of use. He pulled it open with a grinding screech of corroded metal. A ladder descended into darkness, the air wafting up damp and cold.
“These old maintenance tunnels probably run beneath the entire facility,” Hogue said, pulling out his flashlight. “They must connect to the city’s storm drain system or the river culverts.”
“Gleason,” Bill called to the female agent. “Get a map of the underground infrastructure. We need to know exactly where these tunnels lead.”
As they stood there, a uniformed officer with a tactical vest and flashlight barreled past Bill, his boots scraping against the concrete floor. The officer’s face was set in grim determination as he dropped into the black maw of the tunnel.
Hogue swore under his breath. “Miller, Carson, back up Anderson,” he yelled, his voice echoing against the cold walls. Two agents immediately rushed forward and disappeared one by one into the yawning darkness below.
“The rest of you,” Hogue broadcast a command, “maintain the perimeter until we get those maps. We need backup teams at every potential exit point from those tunnels. Now.”
Bill stared down into the dark tunnel, a cold certainty spreading through him. The careful staging of the confrontation. The precise timing of Susan’s injury. The hidden escape route…
Leo had planned it all. Had known exactly how they would respond, where they would position their forces. Had probably counted on their discovery of the tunnels being delayed just long enough for him to slip away through the underground labyrinth.
“He’s gone,” Bill said quietly, the admission tasting bitter. “He’s been three steps ahead of us this entire time.”
Hogue’s face was grim in the harsh beam of the flashlight. “We’ll find him. Those tunnels have to lead somewhere.”
But Bill knew better. By the time they mapped the tunnel system and mobilized teams to cover the exit points, Leo would be long gone. Free and clear, just as he’d planned.
Susan Martinez had at best a slender chance of surviving, if she wasn’t dead already. And Jilly was still missing.