CHAPTER THREE
The blue glow of the monitor painted Leo Dillard’s face in ghostly light, casting sharp shadows across the hollows of his cheeks.
In the quiet of his sparsely furnished apartment, the only sounds were his measured breathing and the soft click of his keyboard as he refreshed the encrypted chat portal for the fourteenth time in the past hour.
Even though three days of methodical attempts to reach ShadowCipher had yielded nothing but digital silence, Leo remained undaunted.
Patience had always been his most cultivated virtue—the same patience that had allowed him to dismantle his sister Kelli’s life one careful move at a time, the same patience that would eventually deliver Riley Paige into a carefully constructed trap.
He leaned back in his ergonomic chair, allowing himself a moment of contemplation.
Then his eyes were drawn to a set of architectural designs spread out on his desk—including floor plans and renderings of exterior views.
The townhouse designs were an unsolved puzzle, each line and measurement committed to memory after countless hours of study.
County property records had been embarrassingly easy to access—a testament to the false security of public information systems. What those documents didn’t show, however, were the modifications that Special Agents Riley Paige and Bill Jeffreys had made to transform an ordinary Fredericksburg townhouse into a domestic fortress.
Leo traced the outline of the plans on the printed sheet.
“You’ve been thorough,” he told himself, admiration coloring his voice.
In the two weeks since he’d begun his surveillance, he’d identified seven exterior security cameras, reinforced window frames, motion sensors at strategic points, and what he suspected was a silent alarm system linked directly to local law enforcement.
The house breathed security, every entrance a mouth full of electronic teeth ready to snap shut on unwelcome intruders.
A weaker man might have abandoned such a challenging target. Leo simply saw it as a worthy test of his abilities. He had marked and identified each discovery on the printed sheets.
He reached for a notebook beside his keyboard, flipping through pages of meticulous observations.
Each entry was dated, exact times indicated, with detailed notes on the comings and goings of the household.
April’s departure for college had simplified matters somewhat—one less variable to account for—but Jilly remained, as did Gabriela, the Guatemalan housekeeper who lived there.
And of course, Bill Jeffreys, whose current schedule he wasn’t sure of.
The opportunity Leo sought remained frustratingly elusive.
Physical access to the townhouse would be nearly impossible without triggering multiple alarms. And while Leo felt sure that he could overpower Bill Jeffreys in the right circumstances—the man wasn’t getting any younger, after all—such a direct confrontation wasn’t the elegant solution Leo sought.
Similarly, approaching either daughter directly carried too many variables, too many opportunities for failure.
No, what he needed was leverage. Information. The kind of psychological ammunition that would allow him to wage a more subtle campaign.
Which brought him back to ShadowCipher.
Leo refreshed the chat portal again, anticipation prickling along his skin.
The hacker’s reputation on the darkest corners of the web was nearly mythical—a digital phantom who could extract information from the most secure government databases.
The FBI’s personnel files would be challenging—but not, according to whispered rumors, beyond ShadowCipher’s capabilities.
His own technical skills were considerable—Georgetown’s computer science department had recognized his talents early, before his parents had severed all ties—but the FBI’s security protocols required specialized knowledge that even he lacked. Hence, the necessity of outside assistance.
A bitter smile twisted Leo’s lips as he thought of his parents.
Charles Preston Dillard, senior partner at Lawson and Dillard, and Elizabeth Hollington Dillard, Georgetown real estate royalty.
How quickly they’d abandoned their only son when confronted with the truth of his nature.
As if their own hands were clean. As if their wealth and social standing hadn’t been built on the calculated destruction of competitors and rivals.
The hypocrisy still stung, though Leo would never admit as much aloud.
The memory of his mother’s face when she’d confronted him about Kelli—the horror, the disgust, as if she were seeing him for the first time—had etched itself into his memory.
His father’s cold pronouncement still echoed: “You are no longer our son.”
Their rejection had been thorough. Removal from family trusts, changes to their wills, a complete excision as if he were a cancerous growth rather than their flesh and blood.
Fortunately, his grandfather’s legacy remained—a substantial inheritance secured before the old man had known the truth.
Leo remained free to pursue his interests without financial concerns.
Leo straightened, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that had gathered there.
Three nights of attempts to reach ShadowCipher, each more elaborate than the last. He’d navigated through a labyrinth of encrypted forums, left messages in digital dead drops, deployed codes that only those with specific knowledge would recognize. Tonight had to yield results.
While he waited, Leo returned to his study of Riley Paige.
His other notebook—bound in rich brown leather—contained everything he’d learned about her.
News clippings, copied excerpts from publicly available case files, observations from the lectures he’d attended at Quantico.
A psychological profile is built piece by meticulous piece.
He’d been drawn to her from the first lecture.
Something in the quiet authority of her voice, the unflinching way she dissected the minds of killers and predators.
She understood the darkest impulses of humanity with an intimacy that suggested personal knowledge.
Not participation—no, Riley Paige was too bound by her rigid moral code for that—but familiarity nonetheless.
In another life, she might have recognized the kindred aspect of his intellect, might have seen the potential for collaboration rather than conflict.
Leo had felt the possibility of connection during their interactions at the academy, had nurtured it carefully like a seedling requiring just the right conditions to flourish.
But then had come that moment in her office, when he’d misread the signals, when he’d attempted to transform their intellectual rapport into something more intimate.
Her rejection had been swift, professional, and complete.
She’d looked at him with those eyes that suddenly saw him too clearly, then filed the official reprimand without hesitation.
The memory still burned. Not because of wounded pride, but because she’d revealed herself as just like all the others—unable to perceive the true nature of his interest, the genuine appreciation he held for her mind and abilities.
She’d reduced their connection to something tawdry, had placed him in the category of “problem student” rather than “equal intellect.”
It was an error he would make her regret at length.
The sudden chime from his computer pulled Leo from his reverie. His head snapped up, eyes fixing on the screen where a message had appeared in the previously empty chat window.
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
Leo’s heart rate accelerated, though his expression remained impassive. He waited for a deliberate three seconds before he replied.
“Persistence is a virtue when the goal is worthwhile.”
“And what goal requires my particular talents?”
Leo considered his response carefully. ShadowCipher’s reputation included both technical brilliance and ethical ambiguity, but even in the darkest corners of the web, certain requests raised red flags. He needed to frame his needs precisely.
“I require access to personnel records in a federal database. Not to alter, merely to examine.”
“Federal is broad. FBI? CIA? NSA? Treasury?”
“FBI. Specifically, Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
A pause stretched between messages, long enough that Leo wondered if he’d been too direct. Then:
“BAU records are triple-encrypted, with separate security protocols from standard FBI databases. Access paths change every 72 hours. Intrusion detection systems flag any unauthorized query attempts.”
“I’m aware of the challenges. That’s why I sought you specifically.”
“Flattery costs extra.”
This was the game Leo had expected—the establishment of parameters, the subtle testing of boundaries and capabilities.
“Name your price.”
“50k. Half now, half on delivery. Bitcoin only, through tumbled channels.”
The figure was substantial but not unexpected. Leo’s inheritance provided more than enough to fund such endeavors, and the potential value of what ShadowCipher could provide far outweighed the cost.
“Acceptable. What information do you need?”
“Subject’s full name and badge number, if available. The more specific identifiers, the cleaner the extraction.”
This was the moment of commitment—the point where his interest in Riley Paige would be documented in a way that could potentially be traced back to him. But the risk was minimal compared to the potential reward.
“Special Agent Riley Paige. BAU senior profiler. I don’t have her badge number.”
Another extended pause followed. Leo imagined ShadowCipher running preliminary searches, gauging the difficulty of the task. Or perhaps researching Riley herself, determining whether this request might carry complications beyond the technical challenges.
“Interesting choice. Any specific information you’re after, or are you fishing?”
“Personal vulnerabilities. Psychological evaluations. Case histories that were particularly traumatic. Anything that provides insight into pressure points.”
“This sounds personal.”
Leo tensed, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. ShadowCipher was probing, testing for weaknesses or indiscretions that might compromise their arrangement.”
“My reasons are my own. You’re being paid for technical expertise, not psychological analysis.”
“Fair enough. Transfer the initial payment to this address. I’ll be in touch within three days if it’s possible. No guarantees.”
A string of alphanumeric characters appeared on screen—a bitcoin wallet address routed through multiple anonymizing services. Leo copied it carefully, then completed the transfer from one of his own now-anonymous accounts.
“Payment sent. Confirmation code attached.”
“Received. Remember: three days. No contact attempts from your end during that window. I’ll reach out when I have something or if I determine it’s not possible.”
The chat window went blank before Leo could respond, the connection severed from ShadowCipher’s end. The abrupt termination might have irritated someone with less self-control, but Leo merely leaned back in his chair, a sense of satisfaction settling over him.
The first piece had been moved on the board.
Now came the waiting—a state that others might find intolerable but that Leo had mastered through years of practice.
He turned his attention back to the townhouse plans, studying them with renewed interest. If ShadowCipher delivered as promised, the information would provide the key he needed to bypass physical security entirely.
Why break down a door when you could simply walk through the cracks in a person’s psyche?
He ran his finger along the outline of Riley’s bedroom on the blueprint, imagining her sleeping there, unaware that her secrets were about to be exposed. Unaware that the student she had dismissed so easily was about to become the architect of her unraveling.
Soon, ShadowCipher would deliver the tools that would allow him to reach inside her mind, to touch the places she kept most carefully guarded.
Leo closed the blueprint carefully, sliding it into a leather portfolio with his other materials. The waiting would be exquisite, a period of anticipation that would only sharpen his focus and determination. He shut down his computer.
Three days. Then Riley Paige would begin to understand the true nature of vulnerability—and the price of underestimating him.