CHAPTER TWO
Riley was grateful that the interstate traffic was light at this early hour.
She finished up the roll she had grabbed from the kitchen and took a sip of the coffee she’d also brought along.
In a holder on the dashboard, her cellphone was ready for an essential call.
She punched in the contact and put her phone on speaker.
“Mom?” April answered, sleepiness in her voice.
“Hey, sweetie. Sorry to call so early, but I wanted to update you.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve got to head to Chicago. Meredith just threw a new case my way.”
“Oh,” April said, a pause stretching between them. “Are you leaving right now?”
“Afraid so. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Bill’s going to keep an eye on you.”
April’s voice brightened. “Tell him to bring Jilly along next time. She makes things... interesting.”
Riley’s grip on the wheel eased. “I will. You going to be all right?”
“Sure,” April said, sounding more awake now. “Just catch whatever bad guy you’re chasing this time, okay?”
“I plan to. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Riley ended the call and made the turn off of the interstate toward Quantico.
When she pulled into the BAU parking lot, the early morning mist still clung to the grounds, swirling through the lighted lot.
She’d made the forty-minute drive from Fredericksburg in record time.
As she killed the engine, her phone vibrated with a text from Bill—a simple “Be safe.”
Riley tucked her personal concerns into a mental compartment and stepped out into the cool morning air. The familiar weight of her go-bag settled against her shoulder as she locked her car. The BAU building loomed ahead, its windows glowing amber.
“Agent Paige!”
Riley turned to see Ann Marie Esmer hurrying across the parking lot, her blond hair perfectly arranged despite the early hour. The young agent looked as if she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine, her navy blue pantsuit impeccably pressed, a patterned scarf artfully arranged at her neck.
“Morning, Ann Marie,” Riley said, pausing to allow her to catch up.
“I got here as fast as I could,” Ann Marie said, slightly breathless. “Chief Meredith’s message sounded urgent.”
They fell into step together, heading toward the building’s entrance.
“Any new developments with the Dillard situation?” Ann Marie asked, her voice dropping slightly. “I’ve been checking the alert system daily.”
Riley shook her head. “Nothing concrete. He’s gone completely off-grid.” She pushed through the glass doors, nodding to the security guard at the front desk. “But I did get some unwelcome news yesterday. Jefferson Bell is scaling back April’s security detail starting today.”
Ann Marie’s perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together in concern. “They can’t do that. Not with someone like Dillard out there.”
“They can, and they are,” Riley said as they walked toward the elevator. “Budget constraints, personnel shortages—the same story we hear everywhere. And it’s true that they’re responsible for a lot of students, not just my daughter.”
“What are you going to do?” Ann Marie pressed the elevator button, her blue eyes studying Riley’s face with genuine concern.
Riley sighed. “What can I do? April’s seventeen, determined to be independent. She’s downloaded a tracking app on her phone, and she’s promised to check in regularly. She knows the protocols. Bill’s staying home with Jilly while I’m gone, and he’ll check in with April too.”
The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. Ann Marie pressed the button for the fourth floor, where Meredith’s office was located.
“I wish there was something more I could do,” Ann Marie said quietly.
“I appreciate that,” Riley said. “I’ll let you know if I can think of anything.”
The elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor, and they made their way down the corridor toward Meredith’s office. The BAU was quieter than usual at this hour, most agents not due in for another hour or two. Their footsteps echoed against the polished floor.
“Has Chief Meredith given you any details about this case?” Ann Marie asked.
“Just that it’s about two homicides in Chicago with high-profile victims and an unusual MO.” Riley paused outside Meredith’s door. “And that it couldn’t wait.”
She knocked on the frosted glass door, which bore the nameplate “Special Agent in Charge Brent Meredith.”
“Come in,” Meredith’s deep voice called from within.
Riley pushed open the door to find their supervisor standing behind his desk, his broad frame silhouetted against the window where dawn was just beginning to break.
Meredith’s angular African American features were set in their usual stern expression, but Riley detected an additional tension in the set of his shoulders.
“Agents,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Thank you for coming in so promptly. I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t essential.”
Riley and Ann Marie took their seats, and Meredith settled into his own chair, reaching for a file folder.
“I received a call at 4:30 this morning from Detective Lieutenant James Callahan of Chicago PD’s Homicide Unit,” Meredith began, opening the folder. “They’ve got two murders with matching signatures, both high-profile victims.”
Meredith brought up a photographic image on his computer. It showed a woman in her late forties, elegantly dressed, her body seated at a table with a wine bottle, her fingers carefully wrapped around a wine glass.
“Margaret Thornfield, age 48,” Meredith said. “Found two days ago in her suite at the Grand Regency Hotel in Chicago. Preliminary toxicology indicates arsenic poisoning. An open bottle of unlabeled wine was found at the scene, along with a single glass.”
Riley studied the photograph. The woman’s face was contorted in what must have been her final agony, but the arrangement of her body was grotesquely deliberate, obviously posed postmortem.
“The second victim was found yesterday,” Meredith continued, bringing up another photograph, this one showing another dead woman in a similar pose. “Victoria Ashworth, age 47, killed in her wine cellar. Also poisoned with arsenic, also with an unlabeled bottle of wine at the scene.”
Riley’s head snapped up at the name, a flutter of recognition passing through her.
“Victoria Ashworth?” she repeated. “As in, Bradley Ashworth’s widow?”
“The same. I gather you’re familiar with the name.”
“It was a national scandal twenty years ago,” Riley said, the memories flooding back.
“Bradley Ashworth was in his sixties,” Meredith continued. “CEO of Ashworth Enterprises. Victoria was in her twenties, a struggling artist. The tabloids had a field day with it—called her every name in the book.”
Ann Marie looked between them, her expression curious. “I’ve never heard of either of these women.”
“You would have been too young to remember,” Riley said. “But Victoria Ashworth’s marriage was tabloid fodder for months. The age difference, the wealth disparity—everyone assumed she was just after his money.”
“Was she?” Ann Marie asked.
Riley hesitated. “That was certainly the narrative at the time.”
“What connects these victims besides the method?” Riley asked, returning her attention to Meredith. “Socioeconomic status? Social circles?”
“Both wealthy socialites, both with connections to Chicago’s elite,” Meredith replied.
“But Callahan will brief you on the details when you arrive. What matters is that Chicago PD has requested our expertise, and I’ve agreed to send you both.
This has the hallmarks of a serial killer with a specific victimology, and the unusual MO suggests we’re dealing with someone meticulous, perhaps ritualistic. ”
He closed the folder and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
“Jerry Langham will take over your classes as usual, Agent Paige. There’s a Bureau jet waiting at the airstrip to take you to O’Hare. A rental car will be ready when you land, and I’ve arranged for rooms at the City View Hotel downtown. Call Callahan as soon as you arrive—he’s expecting you.”
Riley and Ann Marie both stood, taking this as their dismissal.
“Agent Esmer, would you excuse us for a moment?” Meredith said. “I need a quick word with Agent Paige.”
“Of course. I’ll wait outside.” Ann Marie said as she slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.
Meredith waited until her footsteps had receded before speaking again.
“How are things at home, Agent Paige?” he asked, his formal demeanor softening slightly.
Riley sighed, knowing exactly what he was asking. “No change on the Dillard situation. He’s vanished completely.”
“The forensics team is still working on it,” Meredith assured her. “They’re checking every database, every camera feed. If he surfaces, we’ll know.”
“I appreciate that, Chief.” Riley hesitated. “I know you’re bending the rules by dedicating resources to this.”
Meredith shook his head dismissively. “Dillard made it Bureau business when he threatened an FBI agent and her family. Speaking of family—how’s Agent Jeffreys holding up?”
“He’s managing,” Riley said carefully.
“He’s turned down two assignments in the past week,” Meredith said, his expression neutral. “I thought I’d save myself another rejection.” He paused. “He’s one of our best, as you know, and he’s especially good at breaking in rookie partners. Any idea when he’ll be ready to return to active duty?”
Riley felt a twinge of guilt. Bill’s extended leave was creating strain not just at home, but within the unit as well. But of course, she really needed him to be there if she couldn’t be.
“I wish I knew,” she admitted. “Right now, he’s focused on keeping our family safe.”
“Keep me posted. And Agent Paige—be careful in Chicago. This killer is methodical, patient. Could be dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful,” Riley promised, turning toward the door.
“And Agent Paige,” Meredith added, causing her to pause. “Try to keep your mind on the case. I know that’s easier said than done with everything happening at home, but...”
“I understand,” Riley said. “Thank you, Chief.”
She found Ann Marie waiting in the hallway, her go-bag already slung over her shoulder.
“Everything okay?” Ann Marie asked as they walked toward the elevator.
“Fine,” Riley said. “Just an update on the Dillard situation.” Noting Ann Marie’s concerned expression, she added, “Nothing new there, which isn’t helpful. I know he’s still lurking around somewhere.”
They rode the elevator down in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. As they crossed the lobby toward the exit that would lead them to the airstrip, Ann Marie spoke up again.
“I’ve really never heard of either of these women who were victims,” she said. “I looked up Victoria Ashworth while I was waiting. Found some old articles about the scandal when she married Bradley Ashworth.”
“It was all anyone could talk about back then. Young, beautiful artist marries elderly billionaire—the gold-digger narrative wrote itself.”
“Did you believe it?” Ann Marie asked, her tone curious rather than judgmental.
Riley considered the question as they pushed through the doors into the cool morning air. The mist had begun to lift, revealing the waiting jet on the small airstrip adjacent to the BAU building.
“I suppose I did,” she admitted. “It was easy to make assumptions. Young, beautiful woman with nothing to her name suddenly marries one of the richest men in America? It seemed obvious to a lot of people.”
“Maybe people judged her too harshly,” Ann Marie suggested. “Without knowing the full story of their relationship.”
Riley glanced at her younger colleague, struck by the insight. “Maybe they did,” she conceded. “Have you seen any obvious parallels between the victims?”
“Nothing beyond the obvious, similar ages, extreme wealth. I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to Chicago to find out the rest.”
As they climbed the steps to the waiting aircraft, Riley made a conscious effort to push thoughts of Bill, April, and Jilly to the back of her mind.
Leo Dillard was a threat, but they had no idea where he was, or when or how he might strike.
Right now, there was a killer in Chicago who had already claimed two lives.
The cool, sterile interior of the jet welcomed them as they stowed their bags and settled into their seats.
As the engines began to rumble beneath them, Riley closed her eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath.
By the time she opened them again, she had tucked away her personal concerns behind the professional mask she’d perfected over years of separating her work from her life.
It was a necessary compartmentalization, one that had served her well throughout her career.
But as the jet taxied down the runway, gathering speed for takeoff, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that some threats couldn’t be contained in neat mental boxes. And some shadows had a way of spreading far beyond their expected boundaries.