Once Forsaken (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 7)

by Blake Pierce

  “Certainly,” the boy said. “Just a moment.”

  He stood up and started fumbling with something. Her vision was blurry now, and she couldn’t see what it was.

  He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Her legs turned rubbery, and she almost fell, but he supported her.

  Something isn’t right, she thought.

  The world was spinning, and she could barely tell up from down.

  The boy was putting something around her neck—something that was rough against her skin. Whatever it was, it now was supporting her, holding her upright. Her vision cleared just a little and she realized …

  I’m standing on the bench.

  Then she felt a push, and her body dropped off the bench, and the thing jerked painfully tight around her neck, and she was dangling in midair.

  She tried to ask …

  “Why?”

  But she was gagging and choking now and she couldn’t breathe.

  And then …

  … where was she?

  Why, she was in Mexico, sitting under the arbor arch with all the beautiful flowers, and Rosa had just brought her a cup of hot sweet atole to make her feel better, and …

  The world went black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Riley was in the Byars library when her phone buzzed. It was a text message from Meredith telling her to call him right away.

  Riley’s heart sank. This was going to be bad news. She could feel it her gut.

  At that moment she was interviewing Byars’s chief librarian, asking if she’d seen anything or anyone suspicious—especially someone who looked like the composite sketch. Lucy and Bill were elsewhere on campus conducting similar interviews with college personnel—secretaries, janitors, groundskeepers, and anyone else who might have noticed something amiss. They had all come back to the campus that morning, determined to turn up some clue before another student was murdered.

  Riley turned away from the librarian and called Meredith.

  He said, “Agent Paige, there’s been another murder.”

  Riley almost groaned aloud. They had failed to find the killer and he had struck again.

  “Where?” she said. “When?”

  “The body was found just now in Witmer Park. It’s just a short walk from campus.”

  “Another hanging?” Riley asked.

  “That’s right. Another Byars student. Her name is Patience Romero.”

  Riley was jolted by the name.

  The girl we talked to on Monday!

  “We’ll head straight over there,” Riley told Meredith. “Who’s on the scene?”

  “Somebody called nine-one-one,” he replied. “They’ve got the area secured.”

  They ended the call, and Riley brought the park up on her phone. She sent Bill and Lucy text messages telling them to meet her there. Then she trotted across the campus. At the edge of the campus, she converged with the other two agents.

  “What’s going on?” Bill asked. Lucy was also listening eagerly.

  Riley remembered Lucy’s distress after Monday’s interview with Patience Romero. If the young agent still felt bad over how that had gone, this was definitely going to be hard on her.

  But there was no way to break the news gently.

  “There’s a new victim,” Riley said. “It’s Patience Romero.”

  “Shit,” Bill snapped.

  Lucy gasped aloud.

  “No!” she cried.

  Riley simply nodded. She wanted to tell Lucy not to let it get to her. But she knew it would do no good.

  They all hurried toward the park. By the time they got there, official vehicles had already parked along the street. Riley knew that reporters would also arrive soon.

  She, Bill, and Lucy followed a path to where the police were roping off the murder scene. She and her colleagues all ducked under the tape.

  The girl’s body was still in place. It was a grotesque sight—a pretty blonde in pretty clothes hanging beneath an arched bower. Her lovely clothing was rumpled, and her hair was moving a little in the breeze.

  That pampered, privileged life had been cut brutally short.

  The setting, too, was bizarre. This area had been designed as a nice place to sit—a decorative arch with benches, put here for comfort, for a touch of class. Whoever had decided on this design touch could never have imagined this scene.

  The police forensic team was already here, prowling the scene for clues. Standing next to the body examining it closely was someone Riley knew—Chief Medical Examiner Ashley Hill. They’d worked on cases together in the past.

  Riley walked toward Ashley.

  “What can you tell me?” she asked.

  Ashley’s voice sounded bitter.

  “It looks like she had been dead for more than an hour before anybody found her. It looks like suicide. But of course, it’s supposed to look like suicide. It’s definitely not.”

  Not that she needed to be told, but Riley could see at a glance that Ashley was right. The rope was attached at the center of the arch. Whoever had tied it there must have been more agile or taller than this girl in her pretty clothes.

  Riley remembered her worry from the night before. Now her worst fears were realized. She and her team had moved too slowly, and the killer was quickening his pace.

  Riley turned to the head of the forensics team.

  “Who found her?” she asked.

  “That guy over there,” the man said, pointing to a young man who stood gawking just beyond the police tape. Riley walked over to him.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  He pointed to a woman standing next to him.

  “Pearl and I work at a bank near here. It was a nice day, so we decided to eat lunch here in the park. When we got here, we saw—”

  Words failed him and he pointed to the body.

  The woman said, “Leroy called nine-one-one right away.”

  “You did the right thing,” Riley said. “Be sure that the police have your contact information.”

  Riley rejoined Bill and Lucy, who were watching as the body was being brought down. Riley heard the sound of approaching sirens.

  Bill said, “What I really don’t get is the motive. Why privileged students, all from one school? Is it some kind of a class thing? Is it because the kids are wealthy and the killer’s jealous?”

  Riley thought for a moment.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think it’s someone who knows these victims or is drawn to them for some reason. Each victim is personal.”

  If only I knew why, she thought.

  Lucy was still visibly upset, but Riley sensed that she wasn’t going to let it get the best of her.

  “It’s like he’s invisible,” Lucy said. “We’ve got a drawing of him out all over the place, but nobody ever sees him. He came here and did this, but nobody saw him.”

  Riley mulled it over silently. It was dawning on her now that something must be very wrong with the sketch. She’d suspected it when she’d first seen it. It had looked, if anything, too detailed and vivid.

  I should have listened to my instincts, she thought.

  After all, she’d spent enough time with Murray to recognize the symptoms of false memory and confabulation. Through no fault of his own, the description he gave of the attacker could be very inaccurate. Now they had to start trying to figure out what he looked like all over again.

  Trey Beeler, head of the BAU’s forensic unit, arrived with his team. The last time Riley had seen him was at the Rossums’ garage after Murray’s near murder. The sirens she’d heard must have been from the team’s vehicle speeding here from Quantico.

  “Damn,” Trey said to Riley. “I’d hoped we’d seen the last of this.”

  Riley noticed that one of the cops was gingerly picking up a paper cup from beneath the arch.

  “May I see that?” she asked.

  The cop handed it to her, and she saw that there were still a few drops inside that hadn’t been spilled
. She took it straight to Trey, who immediately understood.

  “We’ll check it,” he said. “I’ll bet good money that we’ll find alprazolam.”

  Riley heard the sound of a raised voice beyond the police tape. She turned and saw Dean Autrey quailing before a taller, angry man. Riley couldn’t hear what was being said, but she detected a Hispanic accent.

  As she walked toward them, she noticed the man bore a certain resemblance to Patience. His hair and complexion were a little darker, but had the same aristocratic features.

  Her father, Riley realized.

  She ducked under the tape and approached them.

  Patience’s father was livid and shouting.

  “Incompetent! I talked to you on the phone! I warned you!”

  Autrey was muttering “I’m so sorry” over and over again.

  Riley called out, “Señor Romero, could I have a word with you?”

  She pulled out her badge.

  “I’m Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI, and—”

  The man took a threatening step toward her. Riley could see that he was both grieving and angry—a strange and alarming mix of emotions.

  “You!” he yelled at her. “You knew there was a killer, but you did nothing!”

  “I understand you’re upset. I just need to ask—”

  “No!” Romero said, interrupting her again. He pointed to Autrey and shouted, “You FBI people are as incompetent as this cabrón. I’ve got nothing to say to you. I’m hiring my own investigator—and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  He stormed away before Riley could reply. Autrey was left standing there, dumbstruck and ashen.

  Discouraged, Riley rejoined Lucy and Bill.

  “It doesn’t sound like he’s going to be very cooperative,” Lucy said.

  “I’m not sure I blame him,” Riley said with a sigh. “Besides, I doubt very much that he knows anything that can help us. Come on, let’s head back over to Quantico. Meredith will want a report.”

  As Riley, Bill, and Lucy left the park and headed toward their vehicle, reporters descended on them. Sinking into a state of despair, Riley blocked out their questions. Even so, she could hear them saying the same word over and over again.

  “Why … why … why …”

  That was the question that kept rattling through Riley’s brain.

  Why?

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Riley’s day didn’t improve when she got home that evening. She had supper with April, Jilly, and Gabriela, but Ryan didn’t show up. He hadn’t been home since he’d left angrily last night.

  He had moved in to be part of the family less than two weeks ago, but he was already backing away. April and Jilly said nothing about it over dinner, but Riley could see that they were sad and disappointed. They’d come to enjoy having Ryan around—and he’d been a great help to them lately, especially Jilly.

  After dinner, Riley went to her bedroom office and called Ryan at his house.

  “When are you coming back?” she asked. “Are you still mad at me?”

  She heard a long sigh.

  “It’s not a matter of being mad at you. You’re never really there, that’s all. It’s just like it used to be.”

  The words stabbed Riley in the heart.

  “It’s just like it used to be.”

  He obviously meant when their marriage had been falling apart before.

  Was it happening all over again?

  “I think you’re being unfair to me,” Riley said.

  “Am I?”

  A silence fell between them.

  Ryan said, “Look, I just need some time and space.”

  Riley’s wound deepened. That was exactly what he used to say when he was pulling away from her and April.

  “The girls miss you,” she said.

  He didn’t reply.

  She said, “Could you at least talk to them? Tell them what’s going on?”

  “You’re the one who needs to talk to them, Riley.”

  Riley felt a spasm of anger. He was doing it again—unloading the responsibility for everything that was wrong onto her.

  Memories came flooding back of how ugly things had gotten between them. An especially dreadful possibility occurred to her. When they were married, he’d had affairs.

  “Have you met somebody else?” she asked.

  Ryan’s voice sounded defensive.

  “Why does that even matter?”

  “You could just say yes or no.”

  “No. And anyway, it’s beside the point. I need space—and whether you know it or not, you do too.”

  He said goodbye and hung up.

  Riley sat there, stunned. She realized she was shaking.

  But shaking from what?

  Anger? Bitterness? Fear? Grief?

  Whatever it was, she knew that she was directing it against herself. She wished she could blame Ryan for what was happening.

  Why not? Wasn’t this all his fault?

  But somehow, she couldn’t help feeling horribly in the wrong.

  “Maybe he’s right,” she murmured aloud.

  In any case, what was she supposed to do now? Ryan had said that she ought to talk to the girls. Perhaps she should. Who else was going to help them make sense of what was going on?

  But somehow she couldn’t do it.

  And of course, the girls must have felt her absence.

  She was driving them away.

  She drove everyone she cared about away.

  She thought about her one-time neighbor Blaine—a charming, handsome man, and she’d almost struck up a relationship with him. But poor Blaine had been badly beaten by a killer Riley was pursuing. He’d been so frightened that he moved away.

  April, too, had experienced horrors no teen should suffer.

  For that matter, so had Ryan—bound and held hostage by a maniac bent on revenge against Riley.

  My fault, she thought miserably. Or my job’s fault.

  But what was the difference, really? Weren’t she and her job one and the same? As long as that was true, how could she ever hope to have a meaningful relationship with anybody at all?

  And now she was even doing her job badly.

  Without her work, what was left?

  Nothing, she thought.

  Worst of all, other lives were in danger. She had no idea who the killer would attack next, but she knew it would be soon. She even felt fearful for Murray, so isolated in his vast house. Of course the security there was good and she could think of no rational reason why he might be in danger. Even so, she sensed some kind of desperate trouble hanging over him.

  She needed a drink. She went downstairs, where she found herself alone. Gabriela had gone down to her quarters and the girls were in their rooms doing homework.

  Everything was exactly as it should be.

  Everything except Riley.

  She went to the kitchen cabinet and took out a glass and a bottle of bourbon.

  She poured a strong shot and put the bottle back in the cabinet. She turned to leave the kitchen, but another impulse hit her. She took the bottle out again, and carried both it and the drink she had poured upstairs.

  She sat down again in her bedroom office.

  She felt herself slipping into a very dark place in her own mind. It was the place where her inner demons lived—demons of anger, violence, and cruelty.

  There was only one other person in the world who understood that place as well as she did.

  She swallowed the shot of bourbon at a gulp.

  She went to her closet and took down a box from a shelf. Inside the box she found an all-too-familiar object—a gold chain bracelet.

  She sat down at her desk and fingered the bracelet.

  “Shane the Chain,” she whispered. His nickname signified his preference for killing with chains.

  Shane Hatcher had a matching chain that he wore as a token of their dark friendship.

  Riley had never worn hers.

  Her inner darkne
ss seemed to deepen.

  Why not? she thought bitterly.

  She poured another shot and gulped it down, gathering her nerve.

  Then she unfastened the clasp and put the chain on her wrist for the very first time. It felt strange and heavy, and it seemed to emit an electric charge. It sparkled as she turned it in the light from her desk lamp. She rather liked having it on.

  Once again, a tiny inscription on one of the links caught her eye.

  “face8ecaf”

  She’d long since cracked the riddle of the inscription. It meant “face to face,” and it was suggestive of a mirror. Hatcher, after all, was a sort of mirror—a mirror in which Riley could see everything about herself that truly terrified her.

  The letters were also an address.

  She turned toward her computer, opened her video chat program, and typed in the characters.

  She expected Hatcher’s face to appear, to hear his sinister purr of a voice.

  Instead, there was no answer.

  She tried it again.

  Nothing.

  There’s got to be some way to reach him, she thought.

  She poured another drink, telling herself to drink more slowly. She had to stay coherent, at least for a while longer.

  She ran an internet search on Hatcher’s name. The results were perfectly predictable—mostly news stories about his escape from Sing Sing, and how he was still at large and high on the FBI’s most wanted list. She found absolutely nothing that might help her contact him.

  Then a new idea occurred to her.

  There was one person who might be able to help.

  She typed in the video address for Van Roff. A few seconds later, she was face to face with the hulking technician.

  “Rufus!” he said, trying to revive his old joke. “How’s Cancún?”

  Riley didn’t laugh.

  “I need some help, Van,” she said. “And this is really, really something we must keep between ourselves.”

  Van Roff’s eyes widened with interest.

  “Name it,” he said.

  “Have you ever heard of Shane Hatcher?”

  Van Roff’s mouth dropped open.

  “Jesus, who the hell hasn’t?”

  “I’m trying to contact him.”

  Van’s face turned pale.