CHAPTER NINETEEN
Riley sat alone at the metal table, her hands resting on the surface, still faintly stained with traces of blood she hadn’t been able to scrub entirely from beneath her fingernails.
Susan Martinez’s blood. She stared at the institutional beige wall opposite her, seeing not its blank expanse but the moment when Leo’s knife had flashed across Susan’s throat.
An hour had passed since they’d returned to headquarters.
An hour since she’d given her initial statement, her voice mechanical as she recounted Leo’s taunting words, the careful recreation of a fourteen-year-old failure.
She’d pressed her hands against Susan’s wound, felt the woman’s life pulsing away.
The medical examiner had been blunt in his assessment—the cut had severed the carotid artery in a way that ensured maximum blood loss in minimum time.
Death had been inevitable from the moment Leo’s blade made contact.
Riley closed her eyes, willing away the image of Susan’s face, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief as she realized what was happening to her.
But another image rose unbidden—Dana Chen’s face, fourteen years ago, wearing that same expression of disbelief as Riley made the fateful decision to chase after Voss instead of staying to help.
Two women. Two deaths. Two choices she would carry forever.
The tactical team had found the tunnel entrance within minutes, but by then Leo was already gone.
The maintenance tunnels beneath the old waterworks facility had been built during a different era, a labyrinthine network originally designed to provide access to underwater machinery and piping systems. They had followed the most likely route, guided by fresh scuff marks on the dusty concrete.
The tunnel had led them to a rusted hatch, hidden behind a dilapidated chain-link fence and a tangle of overgrown brush along the riverbank.
A quarter-mile downstream from the waterworks, well outside the established perimeter.
The perfect escape route—shielded by thick woods and the constant sound of rushing water that would mask any noise Leo might make emerging from his underground passage.
“He had it all planned,” Bill had murmured after he and Riley arrived there, crouching to examine the ground around the hatch.
“Every detail. The confrontation inside, the timing of Martinez’s injury, this escape route, where he could park a getaway car.
He knew exactly how we’d respond, where we’d position our people. ”
A sharp knock at the door jolted Riley back to the present. She straightened in her chair, expecting another detective or perhaps an FBI representative to begin the next round of questioning.
Instead, a uniformed officer appeared, his expression uncomfortable as he ushered in a man Riley had never seen before.
Medium height, with dark hair graying at the temples and deep brown eyes red-rimmed from recent tears.
He wore a rumpled button-down shirt that looked as if it had been pulled on in haste.
“Agent Paige?” the officer said. “This is Mr. Martinez. He, uh... insisted on speaking with you.”
A cold wave of dread washed over Riley as the name registered. Martinez. Susan’s husband.
“I’ll be right outside,” the officer added before retreating, leaving Riley alone with the man whose wife’s blood still lingered beneath her fingernails.
Carlos Martinez stood rigidly just inside the doorway, his hands clenched at his sides, his face a mask of barely contained grief and rage.
“Mr. Martinez,” Riley began, rising from her chair. “I’m so sorry about your wife.”
“Are you?” His voice was quiet, controlled, but vibrating with emotion.
Riley swallowed hard. “Of course I am. Susan was brave, she—”
“I got a phone call,” Carlos interrupted, taking a step forward.
“About an hour ago. A man. He told me Susan was dead before anyone from the department had even contacted me.” His voice broke on the last word, but he forced himself to continue.
“He told me that Agent Paige could explain why my wife had to die. Said it was important that I hear it directly from you.”
Riley felt the blood drain from her face. Leo had called Susan’s husband. Had sent him here, to confront her, to force her to explain the inexplicable.
“Mr. Martinez, I...” She faltered, struggling for words that didn’t exist. “The man who killed your wife—he’s been targeting me. He recreated a situation from my past, a case where I...” She trailed off, seeing the incomprehension and anger building in Carlos’s eyes.
“Where you what? Made the same mistake? Got someone else killed?” His voice rose sharply. “That’s what he said. That you’d done this before. That you chose to let my wife die.”
“No,” Riley said, desperation edging into her voice. “That’s not what happened. I stayed with Susan. I tried to save her. But the cut was too severe, and the medical team couldn’t get to us in time.”
“He said you knew exactly what he was going to do.” Carlos’s hands were shaking now. “Is that true? Did you know what he was planning to do to my wife?”
The question hit Riley hard. Should she have anticipated Leo’s recreation of the Voss scenario? The truth was twisted, complicated—and nothing she could say would ease this man’s pain.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly. “I couldn’t have known exactly what he was planning. But I should have been more prepared. I should have...”
Carlos stared at her for a long moment, tears now flowing freely down his face. “My wife left for work this morning. She kissed me goodbye.” His voice broke. “And now she’s gone because some psychopath wanted to play games with you.”
Riley stood speechless, his accusation crushing her. Because it was true. Susan Martinez was dead because Leo was obsessed with Riley. Because Riley had failed to catch him, again and again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words utterly inadequate.
Carlos shook his head, his brief surge of anger already collapsing under the weight of his grief. “Your sorry won’t bring her back.” He turned and walked unsteadily to the door. “Nothing will.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded unbearably final to Riley’s ears. She sank back into her chair, the familiar sting of tears she couldn’t afford to shed. Not now. Not with hours of questioning still ahead. Not with Jilly still missing.
She dug her nails into her palms, using the sharp pain to center herself, to push back against the wave of emotion threatening to drown her. There would be time for breaking later. For now, she needed to hold herself together.
For Jilly. For herself.
But God, she was tired.
Riley straightened her back, inhaled deeply, and prepared for the next round of questions. The day was far from over.
*
Eight o’clock in the evening now, and Riley had been here since the aftermath of the waterworks, her only reprieve a fifteen-minute break to choke down fast food that tasted like cardboard.
The fluorescent lights of the interview room had long since given her a dull headache, their constant drone a fitting soundtrack to the past several hours of her life.
Sitting across from her now was Mike Nevins, the forensic psychiatrist and FBI consultant she had sometimes turned to for help over the years. His usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, the knot of his tie loosened in a rare concession to the gravity of the situation.
“I still can’t believe he accessed my records,” Mike said. “My security protocols are supposed to be impenetrable.”
“Leo has resources we haven’t identified,” Riley replied, her voice raspy from hours of talking. “Possibly a partner with hacking skills.”
Mike stared down at his hands, spread flat against the table’s metal surface.
“All those sessions, Riley. Everything you told me about your fears, your traumas. Everything Bill shared about his struggles after the Pope shooting.” He looked up, his eyes haunted.
“I’ve been the unwitting conduit for Leo’s manipulation.
I might as well have handed him the blueprints to your psyches. ”
Riley studied the forensic psychiatrist across from her. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen Mike Nevins rattled like this. His customary fastidiousness had given way to something almost disheveled—not just the loosened tie, but a fundamental unraveling of his professional composure.
“He’d be pleased to see you this way,” she said quietly.
Mike’s eyes snapped to hers. “What?”
“Leo. He’d be pleased to see your distress.” Riley leaned forward slightly. “That’s part of his game—to spread the damage as widely as possible. To make everyone in my orbit suffer, not just me.”
Mike absorbed this, his expression shifting as professional training reasserted itself over personal anguish. “You’re right, of course.” He straightened his shoulders, made a small adjustment to his tie. “And I’m allowing myself to become another piece in his game.”
During the short silence that followed, Riley understood what was coming next.
“So,” she forced herself to ask the question directly. “What’s your assessment of my ability to function? Am I still on the case?”
“I have no choice but to recommend you be pulled, Riley. Agent Hogue will continue leading the investigation without you.”
Even though she’d expected it, his words were impossible to accept. “Mike, you can’t—”
“I’ve made the same recommendation regarding Bill,” he continued, cutting off her protest. “I’ve just finished his assessment.”
Riley pushed back from the table, desperate energy propelling her to her feet. “You can’t pull both of us. Leo is using information about me, about my family, from your files. No one knows his psychology better than Bill and I do.”
“Riley.” Mike’s voice sharpened. “Sit down. Please.”
The authority in his tone, so rare from the usually deferential psychiatrist, caught her off guard. She sank back into the chair.
“You haven’t slept in way too many hours,” Mike said.
“You’ve just watched a woman die in front of you—a woman whose death was choreographed specifically to traumatize you.
You’re physically exhausted and emotionally compromised.
” His eyes held hers, unflinching. “And most significantly, your daughter’s life hangs in the balance. ”
“Which is exactly why I need to stay on this case,” Riley insisted. “Jilly needs me—”
“Jilly needs you to be clearheaded,” Mike interrupted. “She needs you to understand that in your current state, you might actually make decisions that put her life more at risk than it already is.”
The words landed with devastating accuracy. Riley felt herself deflate, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it had come.
“Leo wants you running on fumes,” Mike continued more gently. “He wants you making decisions from a place of exhaustion and desperation. That’s when you’ll be most predictable to him, when he can anticipate your every move.”
Riley stared at him, the truth of his words sinking in despite her resistance. How many times in her career had she seen it—investigators too close to a case, too emotionally invested, making catastrophic errors in judgment?
“I can’t just do nothing,” she said, her voice small.
“Going home and getting some rest isn’t ‘nothing,’ “ Mike replied, filling out a prescription. “It’s strategically sound. It’s preparation for what comes next. Because this isn’t over, Riley. You and I both know that. Leo will make contact again, and when he does, you’ll need to be at your best.”
Riley closed her eyes briefly, defeat settling over her shoulders. “How long?”
“Twenty-four hours, minimum,” Mike said. “After that, we’ll reassess.”
A day. A lifetime. Both, when your child was missing.
“Hogue is good,” Mike added, as if reading her thoughts. “One of the best. And he has full access to everything you know about Leo. The investigation won’t stop just because you’re not physically present.”
Riley nodded slowly, reluctant acceptance replacing the fight in her posture.
“You and Bill can both go home now,” Mike said, gathering his notes. “Get some actual sleep. Eat something that didn’t come in a paper bag.”
“Hogue will call if there’s any development?”
“Immediately,” Mike confirmed.
Riley stood, swaying slightly as fatigue washed over her. “I should check in with him before I leave.”
“He’s been briefed,” Mike said, rising as well. “Your only responsibility right now is to take care of yourself.”
Handing her the prescription, he added, “This is for both you and Bill. It will help you sleep.”
As she stepped into the hallway, Bill was already there, leaning against the wall. His face was lined with exhaustion, the stubble on his jaw now well on its way to becoming a beard. His eyes met hers, a silent question.
“He pulled me too,” Riley said, her voice flat.
Bill nodded, unsurprised. “I figured as much. Twenty-four hours?”
“Minimum.”
They moved down the corridor together, their steps slow, like survivors emerging from a battlefield. Neither spoke as they descended in the elevator, passed through the lobby, and stepped into the cool night air.
The parking lot was half-empty this time of evening, their car looking lonely under the harsh glare of a security light. Riley fumbled in her pocket for the keys, then remembered Bill had driven them here after the waterworks.
“You okay to drive?” she asked.
“Yeah.” His hand found the small of her back, a brief, steadying touch. “Let’s go home, Riley.”
She nodded. Home, to a house still bearing the scars of Jilly’s abduction. Home, to wait for news, for a phone call, for the next move in Leo’s game. Home, to try to rest, knowing that somewhere out there, Leo still had their daughter.
They walked toward the car together, in silence.