Riley Paige 11-Once Buried

by Pierce, Blake

  It was easy for Riley to see that something was troubling her. She wanted to reassure her, to say something like …

  “You can tell me anything.”

  But that might be presumptuous.

  Finally Jenn seemed to shiver a little.

  “Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Without another word, Jenn disappeared down the hall, leaving Riley with a distinctly uneasy feeling. She’d long sensed that Jenn harbored secrets of her own—perhaps some very dark ones.

  Why won’t she trust me? Riley wondered.

  It seemed that one or the other of them was always a little distrustful. That didn’t bode well for them working together as partners.

  But there was nothing Riley could do about it—at least not yet.

  She glanced at her watch. She was almost late for an appointment with her longtime partner, Bill Jeffreys.

  Poor Bill was on leave these days, suffering from PTSD after a terrible incident during their last case together. Riley felt a pang of sadness as she remembered it.

  She and Bill had been working together with a promising young agent named Lucy Vargas.

  But Lucy had been killed in the line of duty.

  Riley missed Lucy every day.

  But at least she didn’t feel guilty about her death.

  Bill did.

  Early this morning, Bill had called Riley and asked her to meet him at the Marine base that made up the largest part of the Quantico facility.

  He hadn’t told her why, which worried her. She hoped it was nothing serious.

  Riley anxiously got up from her desk and headed out of the BAU building.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bill felt a tingle of worry as he led Riley toward the Marine target range.

  Am I ready for this? he wondered.

  It seemed almost a stupid question. After all, it was only target practice.

  But this was no ordinary target practice.

  Like him, Riley was wearing a camouflage uniform and carrying an M16-A4 rifle loaded with live ammunition.

  But unlike Bill, Riley had no idea what they were about to do.

  “I wish you’d tell me what this is all about,” Riley said.

  “It’s going to be a new experience for both of us,” he said.

  He’d never tried this new kind of range shooting before. But Mike Nevins, the psychiatrist who had been helping him with his PTSD, had recommended it for him.

  “It’ll be good therapy,” Mike had said.

  Bill hoped Mike was right. And he hoped it would take the edge off his nerves to try it out with Riley.

  Bill and Riley took positions next to each other among upright four-by-four wooden posts, facing across a wide grassy field toward a paved area. On the pavement were vertical barriers marked with bullet holes. A few moments ago, Bill had talked to a guy in a control booth and everything should be ready now.

  Now he spoke to that same guy through a little microphone in front of his lips.

  “Random targets. Go.”

  Suddenly, human-sized figures appeared from behind the barriers, all of them moving about in the paved area. They were wearing the uniforms of ISIS-style fighters and appeared to be armed.

  “Hostiles!” Bill called out to Riley. “Shoot!”

  Riley was too startled to shoot, but Bill fired one shot and missed. Then he fired another shot that hit one of the figures. The figure bent completely over and stopped moving. The other figures turned to avoid the gunfire, some of them moving faster, others hiding behind the barriers.

  Riley said, “What the hell!”

  She still hadn’t taken a shot.

  Bill laughed.

  “Stop,” he said into the microphone.

  Suddenly, all the figures were motionless.

  “Today we’re shooting at fake guys on wheels?” Riley asked with a laugh.

  Bill explained, “They’re autonomous robots, mounted on Segway scooters. That guy I talked to in the booth a minute ago is punching in programs for them to follow. But he doesn’t control their every movement. In fact, he doesn’t really control them at all. They ‘know’ what to do. They’ve got laser scanners and navigation algorithms so they can avoid each other and the barriers.”

  Riley’s eyes were wide with amazement.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And they know what to do when the shooting starts—run, or hide, or both.”

  “Want to try it again?” Bill asked.

  Riley nodded, starting to look enthusiastic.

  Again Bill said into the microphone, “Random targets. Go.”

  The figures began moving as before, and Riley and Bill fired single shots at them. Bill hit one of the robots, and so did Riley. Both of those robots stopped and bent over. The other robots scattered, some gliding about capriciously, others hiding behind barriers.

  Riley and Bill kept firing, but the shooting was getting harder. The robots that stayed on the move darted in unpredictable patterns at varying speeds. The ones who hid behind the barriers kept popping out, taunting Riley and Bill to shoot at them. It was impossible to tell from which side of the barrier they might appear. Then they either scurried around in the open or took shelter again.

  Despite all this seeming chaos, it only took about half a minute for Riley and Bill to take out all eight of the robots. They were all bent over and motionless among the barriers.

  Riley and Bill lowered their weapons.

  “That was weird,” Riley said.

  “Want to stop?” Bill asked.

  Riley chuckled.

  “Are you kidding? Absolutely not. What’s next?”

  Bill swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous.

  “We’re supposed to take out hostiles without killing a civilian,” he said.

  Riley looked at him sympathetically. He understood her concern. She knew perfectly well why this new exercise made him feel uneasy. It reminded him of the innocent young man he had mistakenly shot last month. The boy had recovered from his wound, but Bill still couldn’t shake off his guilt.

  Bill was also haunted because a brilliant young agent named Lucy Vargas had been killed in the same incident.

  If only I’d been able to save her, he thought yet again.

  Bill had been on official leave ever since, wondering if he’d ever be able to get back to work. He’d completely fallen apart, lapsing into alcohol and even contemplating suicide.

  Riley had helped him through it—in fact, she had probably saved his life.

  Bill felt like he was getting better now.

  But was he ready for this?

  Riley kept eyeing him with concern.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.

  Again, Bill remembered what Mike Nevins had said.

  “It’ll be good therapy.”

  Bill nodded at Riley.

  “I think so,” he said.

  They resumed their positions and raised their weapons. Bill spoke into the microphone. “Hostiles and civilian.”

  The same actions as before began to unfold—only this time, one of the figures was a female draped in a blue hijab. It certainly wasn’t hard to distinguish her from the hostiles in their drab, brown outfits. But she was weaving among the others in seemingly random patterns.

  Riley and Bill began to pick off the hostiles to the same effect as before—some of the male figures dodged the bullets, while others took shelter behind the barriers, only to dart out at unpredictable moments.

  The female figure also moved as if frightened by the gunfire, hurrying to and fro frantically, but somehow never bothering to hide behind a barrier. Her simulated panic only made it harder not to accidentally hit her.

  Bill felt cold sweat forming on his forehead as he fired one round after another.

  Soon he and Riley had shot all the hostiles, and the woman in the hijab stood alone unscathed.

  Bill breathed a slow sig
h of relief and lowered his weapon.

  “How are you doing?” Riley asked, a note of worry in her voice.

  “Pretty good, I guess,” Bill said.

  But his palms felt damp against the weapon, and he was shaking a little.

  “Maybe that’s enough for now,” Riley said.

  Bill shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “We’ve got to try the next program.”

  “What’s that?”

  Bill gulped hard.

  “It’s a hostage situation. The civilian will be killed unless you and I take out two hostiles simultaneously.”

  Riley squinted at him doubtfully.

  “Bill, I don’t know …”

  “Come on,” Bill said. “It’s only a game. Let’s give it a try.”

  Riley shrugged and raised her weapon.

  Bill spoke into the microphone, “Hostage situation. Go.”

  The robots came back to life. The female figure stayed in the open, while the hostiles disappeared behind the barriers.

  Then two hostiles appeared from behind the barriers, hovering menacingly around the female figure, who wobbled back and forth with seeming anxiety.

  Bill knew that the trick was for him and Riley to fire at both hostiles as soon as they had a clear shot.

  It was up to him to call that moment.

  As he and Riley carefully aimed their weapons, Bill said …

  “I’ll take the one on the left, you the guy on the right. Fire when I say ‘Go.’”

  “Got it,” Riley said quietly.

  Bill carefully monitored the movements and positions of the two hostiles. He realized that this was going to be hard—much harder than he’d expected.

  The very second one of the hostiles drifted away, the other hostile placed himself dangerously close to the hostage.

  Are we ever going to get a clear shot? he wondered.

  Then, for just a fleeting moment, the two hostiles both drifted about a foot or so in opposite directions away from the hostage.

  “Go!” Bill barked.

  But before he could pull the trigger, he was seized by a rush of images …

  He was dashing toward an abandoned building when he heard a shot ring out.

  He drew his weapon and ran inside, where he saw Lucy lying prone on the floor.

  He saw a young man moving toward her.

  Instinctively, Bill fired at the man and hit him.

  The man spun around before he fell—and only then did Bill see that his hands were empty.

  He was unarmed.

  The man had only been trying to help Lucy.

  Mortally wounded, Lucy lifted herself up on her elbow and fired six rounds at her real attacker …

  … the man Bill should have shot.

  A shot rang out from Riley’s rifle, snapping Bill out of his flashback.

  The images had come and gone in a mere fraction of a second.

  One of the hostiles tilted over, dead from Riley’s shot.

  But Bill himself stood frozen. He couldn’t pull the trigger.

  The surviving hostile turned menacingly toward the woman, and a recorded shot rang out over a loudspeaker.

  The woman buckled over and stopped moving.

  Bill finally fired his weapon and hit the surviving hostile—but too late for the hostage, who was already dead.

  For a moment, the situation seemed horribly real.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Oh, Jesus, what did I let happen?”

  Bill stepped forward, almost as if he wanted to rush to the woman’s aid.

  Riley stepped in front of him to stop him.

  “Bill, it’s OK! It’s only a game! It’s not real!”

  Bill stopped in his tracks, shaking all over and trying to calm himself.

  “Riley, I’m sorry, it’s just that … it all came flooding back for a second and …”

  “I know,” Riley said comfortingly. “I understand.”

  Bill slumped over and shook his head.

  “Maybe I’m not ready for this,” he said. “Maybe we’d better quit for the day.”

  Riley patted him on the shoulder.

  “No,” she said. “I think you’d better see it through.”

  Bill took a few long, slow breaths. He knew that Riley was right.

  He and Riley resumed their positions, and Bill again said into the microphone …

  “Hostage situation. Go.”

  The same action resumed again, with two hostiles lurking dangerously close to the hostage.

  Bill breathed slowly, in and out, as he peered through his sight.

  It’s only a game, he told himself. It’s only a game.

  Finally, the moment he was waiting for arrived. Both of the hostiles had moved ever so slightly away from the hostage. It was still a dangerous shot, but Bill and Riley had to take it.

  “Go!” he said.

  This time he fired instantly, and he heard the sound of Riley’s shot a fraction of a second later.

  Both of the hostiles buckled over and stopped moving.

  Bill lowered his weapon.

  Riley patted him on the back.

  “You did it, Bill,” she said, smiling. “I’m enjoying this. What else can we do with these bots?”

  Bill said, “There’s a program where we can advance toward them as we shoot.”

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  Bill spoke into his microphone.

  “Close quarters.”

  All eight of the hostiles began to move, and Bill and Riley advanced toward them step by step, firing in small bursts. A couple of robots fell, and the others scurried about, becoming harder to hit.

  As Bill fired away, he realized that something was missing from this simulation.

  They don’t shoot back, he thought.

  Also, his relief at saving the hostage felt strangely hollow. After all, he and Riley had merely saved the life of a robot.

  It didn’t change the reality of what had happened last month.

  It certainly didn’t bring Lucy back to life.

  His guilt still haunted him. Was he ever going to be able to shake it off?

  And was he ever going to be able to get back to work?

  CHAPTER THREE

  After their target practice, Riley was still worried about Bill. True, he’d recovered quickly after freezing up that once. And he’d actually seemed to enjoy himself when they started firing at close quarters.

  He’d even seemed cheerful when he left Quantico to go back to his apartment. Still, he wasn’t the same old Bill who had been her partner for so many years—and who had long since become her best friend.

  She knew what he was most worried about.

  Bill was afraid that he might not ever be able to come back to work.

  She wished she could reassure him with kind, simple words—something like …

  “You’re just going through a rough stretch. Happens to all of us. You’ll be over it sooner than you think.”

  But glib reassurances weren’t what Bill needed right now. And the truth was, Riley didn’t really know whether it was true.

  She’d suffered her own spells of PTSD, and knew how hard recovery could be. She would just have to help Bill work through that awful process.

  Although Riley went back to her office, she actually had little to do at BAU today. She didn’t currently have an assignment, and these slow days had been welcome after the intensity of the last case in Iowa. She wrapped up the few details that needed her attention and left.

  As Riley drove home, she was feeling contented at the thought of dinner with her family. She was especially pleased that she had invited Blaine Hildreth and his daughter to join them tonight.

  Riley was delighted that Blaine was part of her life. He was a handsome, charming man. And like her, he was fairly recently divorced.

  He was also, as it turned out, remarkably brave.

  It was Blaine who had shot and badly wounded Shane Hatcher when he had threatened Riley’s family.

/>   Riley would always be grateful to him for that.

  She had spent one night with Blaine so far, at his home. They’d been fairly discreet about it—his daughter, Crystal, had been away visiting her cousins during spring break. Riley smiled at the memory of their passionate lovemaking.

  Was tonight going to end the same way?

  *

  Riley’s live-in housekeeper, Gabriela, had fixed a delicious meal of chiles rellenos from a family recipe that she’d brought from Guatemala. Everybody was thoroughly enjoying the steaming, lusciously stuffed bell peppers.

  Riley was feeling deep satisfaction with a very good dinner and wonderful company.

  “Not too picante?” Gabriela asked.

  It wasn’t too hot and spicy for American taste buds, of course, and Riley was sure that Gabriela knew it. Gabriela always exercised restraint with her original Central American recipes. She was obviously fishing for compliments, which came quickly and easily.

  “No, it’s perfect,” Riley’s fifteen-year-old daughter, April, said.

  “The best ever,” said Jilly, the thirteen-year-old girl that Riley was in the process of adopting.

  “Just amazing,” said Crystal, April’s best friend.

  Crystal’s father, Blaine Hildreth, didn’t say anything right away. But Riley could tell by his expression that he was enchanted by the dish. She also knew that Blaine’s appreciation was partly professional. Blaine owned an upscale but casual restaurant here in Fredericksburg.

  “How do you do it, Gabriela?” he asked after a few bites.

  “Es un secreto,” Gabriela said with a mischievous grin.

  “A secret, eh?” Blaine said. “What kind of cheese did you use? I can’t place it. I can tell it’s not Monterey Jack or Chihuahua. Manchego, maybe?”

  Gabriela shook her head.

  “I will never tell,” she said with a chuckle.

  As Blaine and Gabriela continued to banter about the recipe, partly in English and partly in Spanish, Riley caught herself wondering if she and Blaine might …

  She blushed a little at the idea.

  No, not going to happen tonight.

  There could hardly be any graceful, discreet segue with everybody here.

  Not that there was anything wrong with things as they were.