Once Stalked (A Riley Paige Mystery—Book 9)

by Blake Pierce

  Much more than her father ever did, Hatcher had some kind of manipulative power over her.

  He could make her do things that she’d never imagined she’d do.

  “Go away,” Riley said.

  “Oh, no,” Hatcher said. “We’ve got a deal.”

  Riley shuddered.

  We’ve got a deal, all right, she thought.

  Hatcher had helped her find her mother’s killer. In return, she allowed him to live in her father’s old cabin.

  Besides, she knew she owed him. He’d helped her solve cases—but he’d done much more.

  He’d even saved her daughter’s life along with that of her ex-husband.

  Riley opened her mouth to speak, to protest.

  But no words came out.

  Instead, it was Hatcher who spoke.

  “We’re joined at the brain, Riley Paige.”

  Riley was awakened by a sharp jolt.

  The plane had landed in the San Diego International Airport.

  The morning sun was rising beyond the runway.

  The pilot spoke over the intercom, announcing their arrival and apologizing for the bumpy landing.

  The other passengers were gathering their belongings and preparing to leave.

  As Riley groggily got up and pulled down her bag from the overhead luggage compartment, she remembered her disturbing dream.

  Riley was hardly superstitious—but even so she couldn’t help but wonder …

  Were the dream and the rough landing somehow portents of things to come?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was a bright, clear morning by the time Riley got into her rental car and drove out of the airport. The weather really was wonderful, with a temperature in the comfortable sixties. She realized that it would make most people think of enjoying the beach or at least lying beside a pool somewhere.

  But Riley felt a lurking apprehension.

  She wondered wistfully if she could ever come to California just to enjoy the weather—or go to any other place to relax.

  It seemed that evil awaited her wherever she went.

  The story of my life, she thought.

  She knew she owed it to herself and her family to break out of this pattern—to take some time off and take the girls somewhere just for the sheer joy of it.

  But when was that ever going to happen?

  She let out a sad, tired sigh.

  Maybe never, she thought.

  She hadn’t gotten much sleep on the plane, and she was feeling the jet lag from the three-hour time difference between here and Virginia.

  Nevertheless, she was eager to get started on this new case.

  As she headed north on the San Diego Freeway, she passed modern buildings punctuated by palm trees and other greenery. Soon she was out of the city, but the traffic on the multi-laned freeway didn’t diminish. The fast-moving procession of closely crowded vehicles wound among rough hills where the early sunlight accentuated a steep, brush landscape.

  The scenery notwithstanding, Southern California struck her as less easygoing than she had expected. Like her, everyone in the crush of cars seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere important.

  She took an exit marked “Fort Nash Mowat.” After a few minutes, she pulled up to the camp gate, showed her badge, and was allowed to enter.

  She had messaged ahead to let Bill and Lucy know she was on her way, so they were waiting by a car. Bill introduced the uniformed woman standing with them as Colonel Dana Larson, the commander of the Fort Mowat CID office.

  Riley was instantly impressed by Larson. She was a strong, sturdy woman with intense dark eyes. Her handshake immediately conveyed to Riley a feeling of confidence and professionalism.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Agent Paige,” Col. Larson said in a crisp, vigorous voice. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  Riley’s eyes widened.

  “I’m surprised,” she said.

  Larson chuckled a little.

  “Don’t be,” she said. “I’m in law enforcement too, and I keep up with everything the BAU does. We’re honored to have you here at Fort Mowat.”

  Riley felt herself blush a little as she thanked Col. Larson.

  Larson called to a nearby soldier, who stepped briskly toward her and saluted.

  She said, “Corporal Salerno, I want you to drive Agent Paige’s car back to the rental station at the airport. She won’t be needing it here.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the corporal said, “right away.” He got into Riley’s car and drove out of the base.

  Riley, Bill, and Lucy got into the other car.

  As Col. Larson drove, Riley asked, “What have I missed so far?”

  “Not much,” Bill said. “Col. Larson met us here last night and showed us to our quarters.”

  “We still haven’t met the CO of the base,” Lucy added.

  Col. Larson told them, “We’re on our way to meet Col. Dutch Adams right now.”

  Then with a chuckle, she added, “Don’t expect a warm welcome. Agents Paige and Vargas, that means you especially.”

  Riley wasn’t sure what Larson meant. Was Col. Adams going to be unhappy that the BAU was sending two women? Riley couldn’t imagine why. Everywhere Riley looked, she saw men and women in uniform mixing freely together. And with Col. Larson on the base, surely Adams was used to dealing with a woman in authority.

  Col. Larson parked in front of a clean, modern administrative building and led the agents inside. As they approached, three young men jumped to attention and saluted Col. Larson. Riley saw that their CID jackets were similar to the ones worn by FBI field agents.

  Col. Larson introduced the three men as Sergeant Matthews and his team members, Special Agents Goodwin and Shores. Then they all entered a conference room, where they were awaited by Col. Dutch Adams himself.

  Matthews and his agents saluted Adams, but Col. Larson did not. Riley realized that it was because she was Adams’s equal in rank. She soon found the tension between the two colonels to be palpable, almost painful.

  And as predicted, Adams did look distinctly displeased to see Riley and Lucy.

  Now Riley was getting the picture.

  Col. Dutch Adams was an old-school career officer who wasn’t at all used to having men and women serve together. And judging from his age, Riley felt pretty sure that he wasn’t ever going to get used to it. He would probably retire with his prejudices intact.

  She was sure that Adams must especially resent the presence of Col. Larson on his base—a female officer over whom he had no authority.

  As the group sat down, Riley felt an eerie chill of familiarity as she studied Adams’s face. It was broad and long, severely sculpted like the faces of many other military officers she’d known during her life—including her father.

  In fact, Riley found Col. Adams’s resemblance to her father to be downright disturbing.

  He spoke to Riley and her colleagues in an excessively official tone.

  “Welcome to Fort Nash Mowat. This base has been in operation since 1942. It extends for seventy-five thousand acres, has fifteen hundred buildings, and three hundred fifty miles of roads. You’ll find about sixty thousand people here on any given day. I’m proud to call it the finest Army training base in the country.”

  At that point, Col. Adams seemed to be trying to suppress a sneer. He wasn’t quite succeeding.

  He added, “And for that reason, I ask that you not make nuisances of yourselves as long as you’re here. This place runs like a finely tuned machine. Outsiders have an unfortunate tendency to gum up the works. If you do so, I promise that there will be hell to pay. Do I make myself clear?”

  He was making eye contact with Riley, obviously trying to intimidate her.

  She heard Bill and Lucy say, “Yes, sir.”

  But she said nothing.

  He’s not my CO, she thought.

  She simply held his gaze and nodded.

  He then shifted his eyes to the others in the room. He spoke again with cold an
ger in his voice.

  “Three good men are dead. The situation at Fort Mowat is unacceptable. Fix it. Immediately. Preferably sooner.”

  He paused for a moment. Then he said, “There will be a funeral for Sergeant Clifford Worthing at eleven hundred hours. I expect all of you to be in attendance.”

  Without another word, he got up from his chair. The CID agents stood and saluted, and Col. Adams left the room.

  Riley was dumbfounded. Hadn’t they all come here to discuss the case and what to do next?

  Obviously noticing Riley’s surprise, Col. Larson grinned at her.

  “He’s not normally so talkative,” she said. “Maybe he likes you.”

  Everybody laughed at her bit of sarcasm.

  Riley knew that a little humor was a good thing right now.

  Things were going to get plenty grim soon enough.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The laughter subsided, and Larson was still looking at Riley, Bill, and Lucy. Her expression was penetrating and powerful, as if she were assessing them somehow. Riley wondered if the CID commander was about to make some dire announcement.

  Instead, Larson asked, “Have any of you had breakfast?”

  They all said no.

  “Well, that situation is unacceptable,” Larson said with a chuckle. “Let’s fix it before you waste away. Come with me, and I’ll show you some Fort Mowat hospitality.”

  Larson then left her team behind and proceeded to guide the three FBI agents into the officers’ club. Riley could see right away that the colonel wasn’t kidding about hospitality. The dining facility was like an upscale restaurant, and Larson wouldn’t let them pay for their own meals.

  Over a delicious breakfast, they discussed the case. Riley realized that she had definitely needed coffee. The meal was welcome too.

  Col. Larson gave them her take on the case. “The most salient features of these murders are the method of killing and the ranks of the victims. Rolsky, Fraser, and Worthing were all drill sergeants. They were all shot from a long distance with a high-powered rifle. And the victims were all shot at night.”

  Bill asked, “What else did they have in common?”

  “Not much. Two were white and one was black, so it isn’t a racial issue. They were in command of separate units, so they had no recruits in common.”

  Riley added, “You’ve probably already pulled the files of soldiers reprimanded for disciplinary or psychological issues. AWOLs? Dishonorable discharges?”

  “We have,” Larson replied. “It’s a very long list and we have been through it. But I’ll send it to you and you can see what you think.”

  “I’d like to talk to the men in each unit.”

  Larson nodded. “Of course. You can catch some of them after the funeral today, and I’ll set up any additional meetings that you want.”

  Riley noticed that Lucy was taking notes. She nodded to the young agent to ask her own questions.

  Lucy asked, “What caliber were the bullets?”

  “NATO-caliber,” Col. Larson said. “7.62 millimeter.”

  Lucy looked at Col. Larson with interest. She said, “It sounds like the weapon might be an M110 sniper rifle. Or possibly a Heckler and Koch G28.”

  Col. Larson smiled a little, obviously impressed by Lucy’s knowledge.

  “Due to the range, we’re guessing the M110,” Larson said. “The bullets all seem to have been from the same weapon.”

  Riley was pleased to see that Lucy was so fully engaged. Riley liked to think of Lucy as her protégé, and she knew that Lucy thought of her as a mentor.

  She’s learning fast, Riley thought proudly.

  Riley glanced at Bill. She could tell by his expression that he was pleased with Lucy as well.

  Riley had questions of her own, but she decided not to interrupt.

  Lucy said to Larson, “You’re guessing someone with military training, I assume. A soldier on the base?”

  “Possibly,” Larson said. “Or an ex-soldier. Someone with excellent training, at any rate. Not just an average shooter.”

  Lucy drummed her pencil eraser against the table.

  She suggested, “Someone who has it in for authority figures? Drill sergeants especially?”

  Larson scratched her chin thoughtfully.

  “I’ve been considering it,” she said.

  Lucy said, “I’m sure you’re also considering Islamic terrorism.”

  Larson nodded.

  “These days, that simply has to be our default theory.”

  “A lone wolf?” Lucy asked.

  “Maybe,” Larson said. “But it could be that he’s acting on behalf of some group—either a small cell near here, or something international, like ISIS or Al-Qaeda.”

  Lucy thought for a moment.

  “How many Muslim recruits have you currently got at Fort Mowat?” Lucy asked.

  “Right now, three hundred forty-three. That’s obviously a very small percentage of our recruits. But we’ve got to be careful about profiling. In general, our Muslim recruits have been exceptionally dedicated. We’ve never had any problems with extremism—if that’s what this is.”

  Larson looked at Riley and Bill and smiled.

  “But you two are being very quiet. How would you like to proceed?”

  Riley glanced at Bill. As usual, she could tell that he was thinking the same thing as she was.

  “Let’s go have a look at the murder scenes,” Bill said.

  *

  A few minutes later, Col. Larson was driving Riley, Bill, and Lucy through Fort Mowat.

  “Which of the locations do you want to see first?” Larson asked.

  “Let’s see them in the order they happened,” Riley said.

  As Larson drove, Riley noticed soldiers drilling, running obstacle courses, and practicing marksmanship with various weapons. She could see that it was rigorous, demanding work.

  Riley asked Larson, “How far along in their training is this round of recruits?”

  “The second phase—the White Phase,” Larson said. “We’ve got three phases—red, white, and blue. The first two, red and white, are three weeks each, and these recruits are in their fifth week overall. Their last four weeks will be the Blue Phase. That’s about as tough as tough can get. That’s when the recruits find out if they’ve got what it takes to be an Army soldier.”

  Riley heard a note of pride in Larson’s voice—the same pride she’d often heard in her father’s voice when he talked about his military service.

  She loves what she does, Riley thought.

  She also had no doubt that Col. Larson was excellent at what she did.

  Larson parked near a footpath that led through the camp. They got out of the car, and Larson led them to a spot on the path. It was in an open area, free of trees that might block a view.

  “Sergeant Rolsky was killed right here,” Larson said. “Nobody saw or heard it happen. We couldn’t tell from the wound or the position of his body where the shot came from—except that it must have been a considerable distance.”

  Riley looked all around her, studying the scene.

  “What time was Rolsky killed?” she asked.

  “At about twenty-two hundred hours,” Larson said.

  Riley mentally converted that to civilian time—10:00 p.m.

  She imagined what this place would look like at that time of night. There were a couple of lamps standing within thirty feet of the spot. Even so, the light here would have been pretty dim. The shooter must have used a night scope.

  She turned slowly around, trying to guess where the shot came from.

  There were buildings to the south and north. It was unlikely a sniper would have the opportunity to fire from within any of those places.

  To the west, she could see across camp to the Pacific Ocean, faint in a hazy distance.

  There were rough hills to the east.

  Riley pointed to the hills and said, “My guess is that the shooter positioned himself somewhere up there.”
<
br />   “That’s a good guess,” Larson said, pointing to another spot on the ground. “We found the bullet right here, so that indicates the shot must have come from somewhere up in those hills. Judging from the wound, the shot was fired from between two hundred fifty and three hundred feet. We’ve scoured the area, but he didn’t leave any evidence behind.”

  Riley thought for a moment.

  Then she asked Larson, “Is hunting allowed on Fort Mowat grounds?”

  “In season, with permits,” Larson replied. “Right now it’s wild turkey season. Shooting crows by day is also allowed.”

  Of course, Riley knew that these deaths were anything but hunting accidents. As the daughter of a man who had been both a Marine and a hunter, she knew that no one would use a sniper rifle to kill crows and turkeys and such. A shotgun was the more likely hunting weapon of choice around Fort Mowat at this time of year.

  She asked Larson to take them to the next location. The colonel drove them up into some low hills at the edge of a hiking trail. When they all got out of their vehicle again, Larson pointed to the spot on a trail that wound its way uphill.

  “Sergeant Fraser was killed right here,” she said. “He was taking an after-hours hike. The shot seems to have been about the same distance as before. Again, no one heard or saw it happen. But our best guess is that he was killed at about twenty-three hundred hours.”

  Eleven o’clock at night, Riley thought.

  Pointing to another spot, Larson added, “We found the bullet over here.”

  Riley then looked in the opposite direction, toward where the shooter must have been. She saw more scrubby hills—and countless places where a shooter might have hidden. She was sure that Larson and her team had combed the area thoroughly.

  Finally they drove down to the area where the recruits’ living quarters were. Larson took them behind one of the barracks. The first thing Riley saw was an enormous dark splotch on the wall near the back door.

  Larson said, “This is where Sergeant Worthing was killed. He seems to have come out here for a cigarette before his platoon’s morning formation. The shot was so clean that the cigarette never fell from his lips.”