by Blake Pierce
All it took was a boyfriend to change her mind.
“It sounds like fun,” Riley said.
“Yeah, it was. It really was. It’s just that …”
April’s voice trailed off.
“What?” Riley asked.
“Well, Liam’s got this thing about languages. He’s already fluent in Spanish, and he knows a little French and German. He’s also dabbled a little with Russian. He’s just got a knack for it, and sounded like a native speaker no matter what we tried. As for me—well, I’m still struggling with Spanish. I had a hard time keeping up.”
Riley smiled.
First chess, now languages!
She was liking Liam more and more all the time. All the same, she was worried that April was feeling a little intimidated. Riley was glad that Liam was challenging her. But she didn’t want April to start thinking she was inferior to her boyfriend.
“Is there anything Liam’s not good at?” Riley asked.
April giggled a little.
“He’s pretty clumsy,” she said. “He’s not nearly as athletic as I am.”
Riley said, “Well, why don’t you teach him how to play tennis? That might even things out between you.”
April giggled some more.
“Hey, that’s a great idea! Thanks, Mom. I’ll be sure to do that.”
Then as her laughter waned, April added, “Oh, I almost forgot. Crystal called to tell me that Blaine says hello. He’s wondering when you’re going to be back. Crystal and I are sure he wants to get together with you.”
Riley smiled. It was encouraging to hear.
“Tell Crystal to let Blaine know that I’ll tell him as soon as I find out when we can return,” she said.
Riley and April ended the call.
Riley realized that she had walked quite some distance. She was approaching the rocks below the cliff where she’d almost fallen that day.
She shuddered at the memory.
What next? she wondered.
As if in reply, her cell phone rang. Riley saw that her sister, Wendy, was requesting a video chat. Riley was surprised. After almost a lifetime of estrangement, Riley and her sister had only spoken a few times after their father’s death and had never met in person. They’d talked about getting together sometime. But since Wendy lived in Des Moines, a visit never materialized.
Riley accepted the call, and Wendy’s face appeared on her cell phone. Riley was instantly reminded of her dream about her mother. While Riley herself looked like their father, Wendy looked startlingly like their mother—or at least how their mother would have looked if she lived to be in her early fifties.
“I’m surprised to hear from you,” Riley said.
Wendy shrugged and smiled.
“I’m a little surprised myself,” Wendy said. “How are you?”
Riley felt uneasy. Something seemed to be wrong. She wished Wendy would just come to the point.
“I’m fine,” Riley said. “I’m in California working on a case.”
“And your daughters?”
“They’re fine too. How are you and your husband?”
“Loren and I are both well, thank you.”
Wendy seemed to hesitate a little.
Then she said, “Riley, I need to talk to you about the house.”
Riley’s heart jumped up in her throat. She’d offered the cabin to Wendy soon after their father died—and before Shane Hatcher had laid claim to it.
Wendy hadn’t wanted the property. Had she changed her mind?
Wendy said, “I keep getting calls from your real estate agent, Shirley Redding. She’s saying kind of weird things about you.”
Riley sighed as she remembered her last phone conversation with Shirley. The Realtor had just gotten a high offer on her father’s cabin—an offer that Riley knew that Shane Hatcher himself had made just to test Riley. Riley had told Shirley that she didn’t want to sell the cabin after all, and she instructed her to take it off the market.
Of course, Riley hadn’t been able to give Shirley a good reason. And Shirley hadn’t taken it very well.
“What’s Shirley saying?” Riley asked.
“Well, she says she advertised the cabin in good faith and keeps getting great offers, and that you’re being completely unreasonable in taking it off the market. She wants me to talk some sense into you. I told her it was none of my business, and that I respect your decision.”
Riley stifled a groan.
“I’m sorry about this, Wendy,” she said. “Just ignore her.”
“I wish I could, but she keeps calling and leaving messages. She says she’s thinking about taking potential buyers up there for a look.”
Riley felt a jolt of alarm.
“I’ll take care of this, Wendy,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Riley ended the call. Then she dialed Shirley’s number, but got an answering machine.
After the beep, Riley said, “Shirley, this is Riley Paige. I just got a call from Wendy. I want you to stop pestering her. In fact, you’re fired.”
When Riley ended the call, she realized that she was shaking. And she knew that it was from more than anger at Shirley.
It was the idea of anyone taking potential buyers to the cabin that alarmed her.
If they found Hatcher there, what might happen?
Of course, Hatcher could probably evade surprise visitors if he chose to.
Riley didn’t even try to imagine what might happen if Shane Hatcher didn’t choose to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Early the next morning, Riley stepped in front of fifty soldiers seated in a meeting room. As she looked out at her audience, she sensed a range of emotions there.
The strongest of all was fear.
These were the recruits in Sergeant Richard Fraser’s platoon, and they’d been assembled so Riley could talk with them about his murder. At this moment Bill and Lucy were in a room elsewhere talking with the members of Sergeant Guy Rolsky’s platoon.
The atmosphere here was very different from yesterday’s funeral. Riley had sensed little emotion among most of Sergeant Worthing’s recruits—not even grief.
Now she understood why.
Worthing’s recruits hadn’t had time to process what had happened.
These men and women had.
They’ve had time to get scared, Riley thought.
But she also sensed something else that she hadn’t sensed yesterday.
It was actual grief. And it was shared by almost everybody here.
Riley cleared her throat and spoke.
“First of all, I understand how hard this is for all of you. Rest assured that my colleagues and the CID agents on this base are doing everything we can to stop this from ever happening again.”
A glance over their young faces showed her that they weren’t at all reassured.
Riley continued, “I’m asking for your help. Would anybody care to tell me how your platoon as a whole felt about Sergeant Fraser?”
Hands shot up all over the place.
Riley called on an African-American male.
He said, “Sergeant Fraser was a good man. He trusted us. He cared for us. He was tough, but that was his job.”
There was a note of pride in the young man’s voice. Perhaps he had taken special pleasure in training under an African-American drill sergeant.
Then he added, “I don’t think there’s anybody here who doesn’t feel the same way.”
As he sat down, there were nods and murmurs of what seemed like near-unanimous agreement. Again, the contrast to yesterday was striking.
Another soldier called out, “They don’t make many Americans like Fraser anymore.”
That approving chorus of murmurs grew louder this time.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Riley said. “I know it’s painful and I know you must have already considered this, but I want you to spend some time thinking hard about who might have wanted Sergeant Fraser dead. Not only him, but Sergeants Rolsky a
nd Worthing as well. We need to find out what the link is among their murders. If anything comes to mind, please contact me or any of my colleagues, including Col. Larson and her CID agents.”
She looked out over the soldiers again, seeing no change in their faces, sensing no change in their feelings.
Finally she said, “That’s all for now.”
As the recruits dispersed, their current drill sergeant pushed among them toward Riley. She already knew that his name was Chad Shoemaker.
Shoemaker said, “Agent Paige, I just got a call from the CO. He wants to see you immediately.”
Riley stifled a sigh. She, Bill, and Lucy were due for a meeting with Col. Larson. This wasn’t a good time to be harassed by Col. Adams.
As she left the meeting room and headed outside, the sergeant kept walking alongside her.
Finally, in a nervous voice, he said, “Agent Paige …”
Riley stopped and looked at him.
The sergeant glanced away and said, “It’s nothing. I beg your pardon, ma’am.”
But Riley knew it wasn’t nothing. He’d just taken over for a slain drill sergeant. He couldn’t help but worry that he might be next. He was too proud to say so out loud.
They were standing outdoors, and it was almost impossible not to wonder if someone might be targeting them right now. With the kind of weapon the killer was using, few places on base could be considered safe.
But so far, no one had been shot in a central area of the base. For the time being, drills weren’t being conducted on the outskirts of the base and soldiers had been warned away from peripheral areas.
Besides that, so far the shooter had used the cover of darkness for stalking and killing his victims. The daylight was strong right now and might offer some protection.
Even so, Riley couldn’t say anything very reassuring. She couldn’t guarantee that this killer’s MO would stay exactly the same.
She told Shoemaker, “Sergeant, my colleagues and I are doing everything we can to make sure that this never happens again.”
Shoemaker nodded, then turned around to rejoin his platoon.
Riley continued on her way to the administration building.
As she neared the building, her heart sank at what she saw.
The reporters who had been held in check yesterday at the funeral were now swarming at the entrance.
Maybe I can just pass for an ordinary civilian, she thought.
But as she approached, the whole mass of reporters moved toward her with cameras, microphones, and notebooks.
“Are you Special Agent Riley Paige?” several of them asked, almost in unison.
Riley groaned aloud. The reporters had been doing their homework, and they knew that the BAU had been brought in. They even knew that Riley was part of the team—and she had a reputation for success.
“Yes,” Riley said, pushing through them. “But I have no comment to make at this time.”
Bodies pressed hard around her, along with a cacophony of questions. Riley kept shouting “no comment, no comment,” as she pushed her way through. Finally, she managed to make it through the door. The media gang knew they wouldn’t be allowed to follow her there, and she drew a breath of relief when the door closed behind her.
She showed her credentials to the guard, who let her continue on into the building. He directed her to take the elevator to the top floor.
Riley used the brief solitary trip to collect her thoughts. When she got off and approached Col. Adams’s office, she saw that Bill and Lucy were already waiting there.
She said, “I take it the two of you also had to run that gauntlet out there.”
Bill said, “I’m afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
Lucy said, “We were just waiting for you to get here. What do you think the colonel wants?”
“Anyone want to bet it’s not a hug?” Bill replied.
They all laughed quietly.
Riley was anxious to ask them about their own meeting with the other platoon. But there wasn’t time for that right now.
The three agents entered an outer office and announced themselves to the secretary. The woman nodded briskly, then stepped into the colonel’s office. She soon came out again.
“The colonel will see you now,” she said.
Riley hoped they could get this command appearance over quickly so they could keep the meeting they had set up with Col. Larson.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The secretary ushered the agents inside and closed the door behind them.
Col. Adams’s office was not at all what Riley had expected. She remembered visiting her own father’s Marine office once or twice when she’d been a little girl. His workplace had been small and Spartan, with a few pieces of sturdy old furniture and a cluttered desk. Her father had wanted it that way. As far as he’d been concerned, he was a simple soldier.
By comparison, this one was large and opulent. Its location in the upper corner of the building provided a terrific view of the base and the ocean beyond. Tall shelves were filled with leather-bound military histories that looked old and valuable. The big desk was polished wood with very little clutter, just a lamp, a blotter, family photos, and a pen set in an elegant marble base.
The colonel was standing behind the desk. He was in full uniform just as he had been yesterday. His appearance made a marked contrast to the more comfortable camouflage combat dress most of the other people on the base were wearing.
Although he wasn’t at attention, the colonel’s body looked rigid.
“Be seated,” he said, as if commanding a group of soldiers.
Riley and her colleagues sat down in nearby chairs, and Adams took his place in the big swivel chair behind his desk.
Adams glanced disapprovingly at Riley and Lucy, then locked eyes with Bill.
“Agent Jeffreys, give me a full report on your work so far.”
Riley hid her amusement that he directed his question to the male among the three agents.
Bill said, “We all talked to the soldiers in Worthing’s platoon yesterday. Just now Agent Paige met with Fraser’s platoon, and Agent Vargas and I met with Rolsky’s recruits.”
While Bill continued, Riley let her attention wander around the carpeted office. It told her a lot about Adams’s personality—that he was egotistical and self-aggrandizing.
Portraits and certificates hung on the walls in what looked like expensive frames. She also noticed an old print from some battle scene, a mounted army charging with swords held high.
On one table was an image she’d seen in photographs—a metal sculpture of a cowboy on a rearing horse. She wondered whether it was an original Frederic Remington.
Adams apparently noticed her interest. He interrupted Bill and said to her, “It’s real. One of the original castings Remington had made. My father bought it for me when I graduated from West Point with honors.”
Riley looked at him.
“Was your father an Army man?” she asked.
Adams nodded proudly. “And my grandfather and great-grandfather before him.”
Riley felt as though she were starting to understand Adams better.
Even so, she was liking him less and less.
She asked, “What rank did your father achieve?”
Adams’s face twitched sharply.
“Captain,” he said.
Riley nodded with approval.
“My father was a captain,” she said. “In the Marines.”
But she could see that the colonel didn’t appreciate the comparison. He clearly thought his father should have reached a considerably higher rank.
He was disappointed in his father, she thought. Now he outranked him and was determined to do a lot better. Perhaps Adams could make brigadier general if his record was good enough. And of course, the current situation wasn’t doing anything positive for the colonel’s record.
Riley was on the verge of asking him how far away he was from retirement. But she realized that
that would only be twisting the knife. Adams obviously disliked her enough already, and there was no point in making things worse.
Now that Bill had finished filling him in on their activities, Adams was visibly angry.
“What the hell do you three think you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re out there badgering perfectly good recruits, and this is an open and shut case of Islamic terrorism. You ought to have cracked it by now.”
Riley hid her anger at the colonel telling the agents how to do their job.
She asked, “If it’s terrorism, why hasn’t anybody taken credit? Usually in cases of Islamic radicals, some group is anxious to take credit—ISIS or Al-Qaeda, say. Nobody has done so at this point.”
Adams’s eyes snapped from Bill to her. The colonel’s lips twisted into a grimace.
He said, “Do you propose that we all sit on our hands until more soldiers get killed, and somebody’s proud enough of the casualty rate to take credit?”
Riley bristled a little.
She said, “You’ve got three hundred forty-three Muslims on this base. Col. Larson and her CID team are doing their best to screen them. Do you want us to personally profile all of them?”
“Why the hell not?” Adams said with a snarl.
Riley’s mind boggled at the idea. The logistics would be staggering—to say nothing of the disastrous PR implications. It wouldn’t take long for the reporters outside to get wind of what they were doing. Then there would be hell to pay.
Nevertheless, she knew that Adams had a point. Although her gut told her otherwise, Riley knew that Islamic terrorism was the most obvious theory they had to work on at this point.
She could see anger building up in the colonel.
“This whole thing is a PR disaster,” he snapped. “I can’t control the reporters anymore. The three of you got here just yesterday, and already you’ve made things even worse.”
Riley was dumbfounded by the accusation.
Bill said what she was thinking.
“With due respect, Colonel, what are you talking about? Do you think we’re responsible for all those damned reporters? We’re just out here doing our job. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re wasting our time right now.”