by Blake Pierce
She stopped to listen. No music was emanating from April’s room upstairs. Then she heard her daughter scream.
April’s voice was coming from the backyard. Riley gasped and rushed through her dining area and out onto the large back deck. When she saw April’s face and torso pop into view above the fence between yards, it took Riley a moment to realize what was happening. Then she relaxed and laughed at herself. Her automatic panic had been an overreaction. But it had been instinctive. All too recently, Riley had rescued April from the clutches of a madman who had targeted her for revenge on her mother.
April disappeared from view and then popped up again squealing with pleasure. She was jumping on the neighbor’s trampoline. She’d made friends with the girl who lived there, a teenager who was about April’s age and even went to the same high school.
“Be careful!” Riley called out to April.
“I’m fine, Mom!” April called back breathlessly.
Riley laughed again. It was an unfamiliar sound, springing from feelings she had almost forgotten. She wanted to get used to laughing again.
She also wanted to get used to the joyful expression on her daughter’s face. It seemed like only yesterday when April had been terribly rebellious and sullen, even for a teenager. Riley could hardly blame April. Riley knew that she had left a lot to be desired as a mother. She was doing everything she could to change that.
That was one thing she especially liked about being on leave from field work, with its long, unpredictable hours often in faraway locations. Now her schedule meshed with April’s, and Riley dreaded the likelihood that this would someday have to change.
Best to enjoy it while I can, she thought.
Riley went back into the house just in time to hear the front doorbell ring.
She called out, “I’ll get it, Gabriela.”
She opened the door and was surprised to find herself facing a smiling man she hadn’t seen before.
“Hi,” he said, a bit shyly. “I’m Blaine Hildreth, from next door. Your daughter is over there now with my daughter, Crystal.” He held out a box to Riley and added, “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’ve brought you a small housewarming gift.”
“Oh,” Riley said. She was startled at the unaccustomed cordiality. It took her a moment to say, “Please, come on in.”
She accepted the box awkwardly and offered him a seat in a living room chair. Riley sat down on the sofa, holding the gift box in her lap. Blaine Hildreth was looking at her expectantly.
“This is so kind of you,” she said, opening up the package. It held a mixed set of colorful coffee mugs, two of them decorated with butterflies and the other two with flowers.
“They’re lovely,” Riley said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d love some,” Blaine said.
Riley called out to Gabriela, who came in from the kitchen.
“Gabriela, could you bring us some coffee in these?” she said, handing her two of the mugs. “Blaine, how do you like yours?”
“Black will be fine.”
Gabriela took the mugs into the kitchen.
“My name is Riley Paige,” she said to Blaine. “Thanks for stopping by. And thank you for the gift.”
“You’re welcome,” Blaine said.
Gabriela returned with two mugs of delicious hot coffee, then went back to work in the kitchen. Somewhat to her embarrassment, Riley found herself sizing up her male neighbor. Now that she was single, she couldn’t resist. She hoped he didn’t notice.
Oh, well, she thought. Maybe he’s doing the same with me.
First, she observed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Widowed or divorced, she figured.
Second, she estimated that he was about her age, maybe a little younger, perhaps in his late thirties.
Finally, he was good-looking—or at least reasonably so. His hairline was receding, which wasn’t a strike against him. And he seemed to be lean and fit.
“So, what do you do?” Riley asked.
Blaine shrugged. “I own a restaurant. Do you know Blaine’s Grill downtown?”
Riley was pleasantly impressed. Blaine’s Grill was one of the nicest casual lunch places here in Fredericksburg. She’d heard that it was terrific for dinner, but hadn’t had a chance to try it.
“I’ve been there,” she said.
“Well, that’s mine,” Blaine said. “And you?”
Riley took a long breath. It was never easy to tell a total stranger what she did for a living. Men especially were sometimes intimidated.
“I’m with the FBI,” she said. “I’m—a field agent.”
Blaine’s eyes widened.
“Really?” he said.
“Well, on leave at the moment. I’m teaching at the academy.”
Blaine leaned toward her with growing interest.
“Wow. I’m sure you’ve got some real stories. I’d love to hear one.”
Riley laughed a bit nervously. She wondered if she’d ever be able to tell anybody outside of the Bureau about some of the things she had seen. It would be even harder to talk about some of things she had done.
“I don’t think so,” she said a bit sharply. Riley could see Blaine stiffen, and she realized that her tone was rather rude.
He ducked his head and said, “I apologize. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
They chatted for a few moments after that, but Riley was aware that her new neighbor was being more reserved. After he politely said goodbye and left, Riley closed the door behind him and sighed. She was not making herself approachable, she realized. The woman starting a new life was still the same old Riley.
But she told herself that it hardly mattered at the moment. A rebound relationship was the very last thing she needed right now. Her life required some serious sorting out, and she was just beginning to make progress in that direction.
Still, it had been nice to spend a few minutes talking to an attractive man, and a relief to finally have neighbors—and pleasant ones at that.
*
When Riley and April sat down at the table for dinner, April couldn’t keep her hands off her smartphone.
“Please stop texting,” Riley said. “It’s supper time.”
“In a minute, Mom,” April said. She kept right on texting.
Riley was only mildly irritated by April’s display of teen behavior. The truth was, it definitely had an upside. Riley was doing great at school this year and making new friends. As far as Riley was concerned, they were a much better bunch of kids than April had hung out with before. Riley guessed that April was now texting with a boy she was interested in. So far, though, April hadn’t mentioned him.
April did stop texting when Gabriela came in from the kitchen with a tray of chiles rellenos. As she set the steaming, lusciously stuffed bell peppers on the kitchen table, April giggled mischievously.
“Picante enough, Gabriela?” she asked.
“Sí,” Gabriela said, also giggling.
It was a running joke among the three of them. Ryan had disliked foods that were too spicy. Actually, he couldn’t eat them at all. As far as April and Riley were concerned, hotter was better. Gabriela no longer had to hold back—or at least not as much as she used to. Riley doubted whether even she or April could handle Gabriela’s original Guatemalan recipes.
When Gabriela finished setting out the food for all three of them, she said to Riley, “The gentleman is guapo, no?”
Riley felt herself blush. “Handsome? I hadn’t noticed, Gabriela.”
Gabriela let out a burst of laughter. She sat down to eat with them and started to hum a little tune. Riley guessed that it was a Guatemalan love song. April stared at her mother.
“What gentleman, Mom?” she asked.
“Oh, our neighbor came by a little while ago—”
April interrupted excitedly. “Omigod! Was it Crystal’s dad? It was, wasn’t it! Isn’t he gorgeous?”
“And I think he is single.” Gabriela said.
>
“OK, back off,” Riley said with a laugh. “Give me some room to live. I don’t need the two of you trying to fix me up with the guy next door.”
They all dug into the stuffed peppers, and dinner was almost finished when Riley felt her phone buzz in her pocket.
Damn it, she thought. I shouldn’t have brought it to the table.
The buzzing continued. She couldn’t very well not answer it. Since she’d gotten home, Brent Meredith had left two more text messages, and she’d kept telling herself that she’d call him later. She couldn’t put it off anymore. She excused herself from the table and answered the phone.
“Riley, I’m sorry to bother you like this,” her boss said. “But I really need your help.”
Riley was startled to hear Meredith call her by her first name. That was rare. Although she felt quite close to him, he usually addressed her as Agent Paige. He was normally businesslike, sometimes to the point of being brusque.
“What is it, sir?” Riley asked.
Meredith fell silent for a moment. Riley wondered why he was being reticent. Her spirits sank. She felt sure that this was precisely the news she’d been dreading.
“Riley, I’m asking a personal favor,” he said, sounding much less commanding than usual. “I’ve been asked to look into a murder in Phoenix.”
Riley was surprised. “A single murder?” she asked. “Why would that require the FBI?”
“I’ve got an old friend at the field office in Phoenix,” Meredith said. “Garrett Holbrook. We went to the academy together. His sister Nancy was the victim.”
“I’m so sorry,” Riley said. “But the local police …”
There was a rare note of entreaty in Meredith’s voice.
“Garrett really wants our help. She was a prostitute. She just disappeared and then her body turned up in a lake. He wants us to look into it as the work of a serial killer.”
The request seemed odd to Riley. Prostitutes often did disappear without getting killed. Sometimes they decided to do their work somewhere else. Or just quit.
“Does he have any reason to think so?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Meredith said. “Maybe he wants to think that in order to get us involved. But it’s true, as you know, that prostitutes are frequent targets of serials.”
Riley knew that this was true. Prostitutes’ lifestyles made them high-risk. They were visible and accessible, alone with strangers, often drug dependent.
Meredith continued, “He called me personally. I promised him I’d send my very best people to Phoenix. And of course—that includes you.”
Riley was touched. Meredith wasn’t making it easy to say no.
“Please try to understand, sir,” she said. “I just can’t take on anything new.”
Riley felt vaguely dishonest. Can’t or won’t? she asked herself. After she had been captured and tortured by a serial killer, everyone had insisted she take a leave from work. She’d tried to do that, but found herself desperately needing to be back on the job. Now she wondered what that desperation had really been all about. She had been reckless and self-destructive and had a hell of a time getting her life under control. When she had finally killed Peterson, her tormentor, she had thought everything would be fine. But he still haunted her, and she was having new problems over the resolution of her last case.
After a pause, she added, “I need more time off the field. I’m still technically on leave and I’m really trying to put my life together.”
A long silence followed. It didn’t sound as though Meredith was going to argue, much less pull rank on her. But he wasn’t going to say he was OK with it, either. He wouldn’t let up the pressure.
She heard Meredith heave a long, sad sigh. “Garrett had been estranged from Nancy for years. Now what happened to her is eating him up inside. I guess there’s a lesson there, isn’t there? Don’t take anyone in your life for granted. Always reach out.”
Riley almost dropped the phone. Meredith’s words hit a nerve that hadn’t been touched for a long time. Riley had lost contact with her own older sister years ago. They were estranged and she hadn’t even wondered about Wendy for a long time. She had no idea what her own sister was doing now.
After another pause, Meredith said, “Promise me you’ll think it over.”
“I will,” Riley said.
They ended the call.
She felt terrible. Meredith had seen her through some awful times and he’d never shown such vulnerability toward her before. She hated to let him down. And she’d just promised him to think it over.
And no matter how desperately she wanted to, Riley wasn’t sure she could say no.
Chapter Three
The man sat in his car in the parking lot, watching the whore as she approached along the street. “Chiffon,” she called herself. Obviously not her real name. And he was sure there was a lot more about her that he didn’t know.
I could make her tell me, he thought. But not here. Not today.
He wouldn’t kill her here today either. No, not right here so near her regular workplace—the so-called “Kinetic Custom Gym.” From where he sat, he could see the decrepit exercise machinery through the storefront windows—three treadmills, a rowing machine, and a couple of weight machines, none of them working. As far as he knew, nobody ever came here to actually exercise.
Not in a socially acceptable manner anyway, he thought with a smirk.
He didn’t come around to this place much—not since he’d taken that brunette who had worked here years ago. Of course, he hadn’t killed her here. He’d lured her off to a motel room for “extra services” and with the promise of a lot more money.
It hadn’t been premeditated murder even then. The plastic bag over her head was only meant to add a fantasy element of danger. But once it was done, he’d been surprised at how deeply satisfied he’d felt. It had been an epicurean pleasure, distinctive even in his lifetime of pleasures.
Still, in his trysts since then, he’d exercised more care and restraint. Or at least he had until last week, when the same game went deadly again with that escort—what was her name?
Oh, yes, he remembered. Nanette.
He’d suspected at the time that Nanette might not be her real name. Now he’d never find out. In his heart, he knew that her death was not an accident. Not really. He’d meant to do it. And his conscience was unsullied. He was ready to do it again.
The one who called herself Chiffon was approaching about a half a block away, clad in a yellow tube top and a barely existent skirt, tottering toward the gym on impossibly high heels while talking on her cell phone.
He really wanted to know if Chiffon was her real name. Their one previous professional encounter had been a failure—her fault, he was sure, not his. Something about her had put him off.
He’d known perfectly well that she was older than she claimed to be. It was more than just her body—even teenage whores had stretch marks from childbirth. And it wasn’t the lines in her face. Whores aged faster than any kind of women he knew.
He couldn’t put his finger on it. But there was plenty about her that perplexed him. She displayed a certain kind of faux-girlish enthusiasm that wasn’t the mark of a true professional—not even a novice.
She giggled too much, like a child playing a game. She was too eager. And most oddly, he suspected that she actually liked her job.
A whore who really enjoys sex, he thought, watching her come nearer. Who ever heard of such a thing?
Frankly, it turned him off.
Well, at least he was sure that she wasn’t an undercover cop. He would have picked up on that in a split second.
When she got close enough to see him, he honked his car horn. She stopped talking on the phone for a moment and looked his way, shielding her eyes from the morning sunlight. When she saw who it was she waved and smiled—a smile that looked, for all the world, completely sincere.
Then she walked around back of the gym toward the “service” entrance. He
realized that she probably had an appointment to keep inside the brothel. No matter, he would hire her some other day when he was in the mood for a specific kind of pleasure. Meanwhile, there were plenty of other hookers around.
He remembered how they’d left things last time. She’d been cheerful and good-natured and apologetic.
“Come back anytime,” she’d told him. “It will go better next time. We’ll hit it off together. Things will get really exciting.”
“Oh, Chiffon,” he murmured aloud to himself. “You’ve got no idea.”
Chapter Four
Gunfire rang out around Riley. To her left, she heard the noisy cracks of pistols. To her right, she heard heavier weaponry—blasts from assault rifles and staccato sprays from submachine guns.
In the midst of the clamor, she drew her Glock handgun from her hip holster, dropped to a prone position, and fired off six rounds. She rose into a kneeling position and fired three rounds. She deftly and quickly reloaded, then stood and fired six rounds, and finally knelt and fired three more rounds with her left hand.
She stood up and holstered her weapon, then stepped back from the firing line and pulled off her earmuffs and eye protectors. The target with the bottle-shaped outline was twenty-five yards away. Even from this distance, she could see that she had clustered all her shots nicely together. In neighboring lanes, the FBI Academy trainees kept up their practice under the guidance of their instructor.
It had been a while since Riley had fired a weapon, even though she was always armed on the job. She’d reserved this lane at the FBI Academy firing range for a little target practice and, as always, there was something satisfying about the gun’s powerful recoil, the raw force of it.
She heard a voice behind her.
“Kind of old-school, aren’t you?”
She turned and saw Special Agent Bill Jeffreys standing nearby, grinning. She smiled back. Riley knew exactly what he meant by “old-school.” A few years ago, the FBI had changed the live-fire rules for pistol qualification. Firing from a prone position had been part of the old drill, but it was no longer required. Now more emphasis was put on firing at targets from up close, between three and seven yards. That was supplemented by the virtual reality installation where agents were immersed in scenarios involving armed confrontations in close quarters. And trainees also went through the notorious Hogan’s Alley, a ten-acre mocked-up town where they fought off imitation terrorists with paintball guns.
