by Blake Pierce
And Shirley would be alive today.
She also kept flashing back to her conversation with Jennifer Roston that morning.
Interrogation was more like it, Riley thought, taking another gulp of whiskey.
Roston had treated her like a common criminal.
And Riley couldn’t help wondering if that was all she was—a common criminal.
If so, maybe it was time to admit the truth and face the consequences.
Did she dare come clean about her whole relationship with Hatcher—to Roston, or perhaps to Meredith?
That surely would be the end of her career—at the very least.
And Riley wouldn’t be the only person to suffer the consequences. She had two daughters who depended on her. She couldn’t let them fall victim to her own terrible judgment.
She finished her glass of bourbon. As she poured herself some more, she noticed the gold chain on her wrist.
Why was she still wearing it?
Why couldn’t she bring herself to take it off?
What kind of spell did Hatcher have over her?
Fingering the bracelet, she again noticed the one special link with its tiny inscription …
“face8ecaf”
She’d long since deciphered the inscription’s meaning. It meant “face to face,” and it was suggestive of a mirror. For that was what Hatcher considered himself to be—a sort of mirror in which Riley couldn’t help but see the darkest parts of her own heart.
But the inscription was also something else. It was the video address she’d sometimes used to get in touch with Hatcher.
Should she call him now? Should she confront him once and for all?
She couldn’t imagine what she’d say that could free her from his clutches.
But she felt that she had to try.
She flipped open her laptop computer and opened the video chat program. Then she typed in those characters …
“face8ecaf”
She let the call ring for a whole minute.
Nobody answered.
Riley didn’t know whether she felt crushed or relieved.
The truth was, she wasn’t feeling much of anything at all. The bourbon was starting to bring on its welcome numbness. And of course, that was exactly what she wanted.
She poured herself another glass and drank it down quickly.
She was also feeling tired, and the couch felt very comfortable.
She lay down and started to doze. But as consciousness faded, a thought crept upon her …
Something’s happening. Right now. Something bad.
She fell into a restless, uneasy sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Shortly before dawn, the wolf was carrying his weapon higher up into the hills than usual. When he heard the helicopter circling, he scuttled deep beneath an overhanging ledge. He lay perfectly still beneath it. Despite the impending danger, his breathing scarcely changed. Neither did his pulse.
He was a true wolf, after all, and fully in control of his physical reactions.
The helicopter switched on a searchlight to scour the immediate area.
The light didn’t especially worry the wolf. But he knew that the searchers could also be using thermal imaging to locate any warm body, especially any that was moving. The heat-seeking technology was ideal for night, when the terrain was cool enough to pick out the heat of a living form. Maybe they’d picked up his body heat and were now checking to find out what was there.
But as long as he stayed under this ledge, he felt sure that he’d be completely invisible to all their devices. The rock formation above him was easily thick enough to mask his body heat.
He was glad it was a helicopter. He knew that the CID agents had also been using drones, and those would be harder to hear and to avoid. They could hunt lower to the ground and might even be able to pick him out beneath this ledge, since he radiated more heat than the rocks did at this time of day.
But even drones had never spotted him. At night he only went into hills he’d hiked by day. He knew every nook and cranny and potential hiding place by heart. He could dodge to safety at any second.
Now that he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen any drones out today at all. In fact, the search seemed to be less intense. He’d heard a rumor that someone had been arrested, but he didn’t know whether they thought they had the nighttime shooter or not.
Of course, they didn’t.
Soon the searchlight clicked off and the helicopter swooped away.
The wolf smiled. It had just been a routine check of the area. If the pilots had even detected a heat signature, they’d have thought it was from a coyote or a rabbit.
Even so, the wolf didn’t move from the sheltering stones right away. The helicopter could easily circle back. But instead, the sound gradually faded away.
He slid out from under the rock formation and climbed farther up the hill. The terrain grew more risky the higher he went. The closer he got to the top, the fewer places there were to hide.
Finally he reached the promontory he’d been headed for.
For a moment, he basked in the view. This spot was far away from where he’d killed the others. He’d looked down upon Fort Nash Mowat from this particular spot by day, but the base looked especially striking by night. And he could see all that he needed to see perfectly.
He lay down on the rough ground and snapped the night-vision scope to his sniper rifle. Then he stretched prone and peered through the scope down at the open field, looking for the path where he expected Private Kyle Barton to appear.
He found the path easily.
The path wasn’t lighted, and the view through the scope was grainy, but that was just how he wanted it. A few nights ago, the wolf inside him had balked at pulling the trigger when Barton had been in the tennis court. The lights there had been too bright, the shot too easy.
But tonight the challenge would be just right.
Soon he glimpsed Private Barton jogging far away on the trail—too far away just yet to take the shot, but coming closer by the second.
The wolf felt his anger surge at the sight of the young man—the same anger he had felt toward Sergeants Rolsky, Fraser, and Worthing.
The wolf couldn’t allow any of them to live.
But the wolf knew that his anger was his adversary. His pulse was quickening just a little, and his breathing was slightly unsteady.
He breathed long and slow, relaxing his entire body, assessing his own readiness.
He’d killed the others with clean shots to the head.
Could he do that again tonight?
The air was still, but it was going to be a longer shot than the others, and he felt a little less steady. He wasn’t confident about a shot to the head, and he knew better than to risk it.
Tonight he’d aim at the center of the young man’s chest.
He’ll be just as dead in any case, the wolf thought with satisfaction as he followed Barton through his night scope.
*
Private Kyle Barton slowed from a vigorous jog to a steady walk. His lungs were burning from the exertion, his heart was pounding, and he felt thoroughly invigorated. The pre-dawn air felt cool on his face as he wiped away the sweat.
He liked jogging around the open field at the foot of the hills while most of the base was still asleep. It woke him up and got him ready for the day better than coffee would. He would be awake and limber and ready for his day.
His jog also gave him some private time to think about his future.
He had finished basic training, and now there weren’t many more days left in his Advanced Individual Training. Soon he would graduate from combat training, and he would be a full-fledged infantry rifleman.
But then what? he wondered.
That question was a matter of some friction between him and his wife, Ellen.
Ever since Kyle had begun basic training many months ago, Ellen and their little daughter, Sian, had been living with Ellen’s mother in the near
by town of Alton. Living separately had taken a toll on his relationship with Ellen. So had the single-mindedness he had shown toward his new career.
And now, as soon as he finished AIT and graduated once and for all, he would be transferred—but he still had no idea where. That information only came after graduation.
Ellen openly resented having such an unclear future.
And the truth was, Kyle resented Ellen for not understanding him better.
Couldn’t she appreciate his deepening commitment to the Army—a commitment that was turning into a passion?
No, of course not, he thought with a sigh.
It was a well-known dilemma among his fellow recruits who had wives and children.
Ellen wanted a house full of kids. She wanted them to grow up in a secure community and to have friends who would always live nearby.
Ellen certainly had no idea what Kyle’s life was really like or how he felt. Even he was just beginning to realize what he valued most—and that was his standing among men he respected.
Unfortunately, the fresh air and exercise had brought him no solutions to those problems.
Others in Kyle’s platoon had warned him against being out here while it was still dark. After all, there had been three murders. But he was sure he was in no danger. The other killings had taken place much farther away on the base. And whoever had killed those men seemed to have a vendetta against sergeants. The shooter would never target a private like Kyle.
But the deaths had troubled him deeply. He had known them. They had all been good men
Kyle was about to break into a jog again when some mysterious force pushed him sharply backward, almost knocking him down.
Then he felt a terrible burning in the center of his chest.
The world started to lose focus.
I’ve been shot, he thought.
As his consciousness faded, he couldn’t help but admire the marksmanship.
The shot must have come from far away—too far away for him to even hear it.
What kind of man had that kind of skill?
With his last ebb of awareness he caught a glimpse of the answer …
… but it came too late to save him.
He fell dead to the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Riley found herself in a vast, dimly lit expanse. On all sides, the space faded away into darkness.
Where am I? she wondered. What is this place?
She looked down and saw that she was standing on a well-worn floor made of broad oak boards.
She knew this floor from somewhere.
Then she realized—it was the floor of her father’s cabin.
But why was the cabin now so huge?
She looked around again and a familiar sight caught her eye. Now a rugged man was sitting on a stool facing away from her, skinning a dead squirrel that he was about to toss onto a pile of naked squirrel carcasses.
She’d seen her father do this many times.
“Daddy?” Riley asked.
The man turned to look at her.
But it wasn’t her father.
Instead, she saw the darker visage of Shane Hatcher.
He smiled at her wickedly and said …
“We’re joined at the brain, Riley Paige.”
Riley shuddered at the familiar words.
Hatcher had told her that in the past. She hated to hear it.
Now the space around her shifted.
“Look behind you,” Hatcher said, skinning yet another squirrel.
Riley turned and gasped at what she saw.
It was a young man hanging from a rope tied to tree branch.
This, too, was a familiar sight.
This young man was a killer. Riley had hunted him down. But when she cornered him at last, she hadn’t arrested him. She’d stood by and watched with grim curiosity as he slowly strangled to death.
Just as she was now watching him strangle to death again.
She heard Hatcher ask, “Are you going to help him?”
Riley felt paralyzed.
She had no desire to help the young man.
She was too fascinated by how his body writhed its life away.
The space around her was smaller now, and dark. The walls of the cabin were closing in around her.
She couldn’t see Hatcher, but she heard him laugh.
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “You’re becoming.”
Riley shuddered again.
She knew exactly what Hatcher meant.
He’d asked her a question in the past …
“Are you already, or are you becoming?”
And now, once again, he answered that question …
“You’re becoming what you’ve always been deep down. Call it a monster or whatever you want. And it won’t be long before you are that person.”
Riley wished with all her heart that it wasn’t true.
She wanted to turn away from the monster she was becoming.
But when she forced herself to turn away from the young man’s body, she saw the broken body of Shirley Redding lying on the floor.
Then that image was gone and there were just the cabin walls closing in ever more tightly, and the space was becoming claustrophobically small.
There was no place to escape.
Soon she would be squeezed down forever to what she truly was deep inside—and hopelessly bound to Shane Hatcher forever.
As if he could read her thoughts, Hatcher laughed and said again …
“We’re joined at the brain, Riley Paige.”
Riley was awakened by the sound of her cell phone ringing.
She drew a breath of gratitude to be out of that vanishing dream, to hear something other than Hatcher’s voice.
She reached toward the ringing sound and realized that her hand was fumbling around on the coffee table. She saw an empty glass and a mostly empty bottle of bourbon.
Riley tried to clear her head. She was groggy and achy.
She realized that she had slept on the sofa all night. She didn’t like to think about the times she had done that before. Those had always been times of despair.
The phone quit ringing just as Riley’s hand touched it.
Then it started ringing again, and Riley took the call.
The caller was Brent Meredith.
“Your vacation’s over, Agent Paige,” the team chief said with his usual bluntness.
Riley stifled a groan.
“What’s the matter?” Riley asked.
“There’s been another killing at Fort Mowat.”
“Like the others?”
“Yes, a sniper. I’m getting the plane ready for you and your team. Get out here as fast as you can. At least this time you’ll get there while the crime scene is still fresh.”
Riley struggled to put her thoughts in order.
She said, “Tell Larson and the CID people not to move anything—not even the body. And tell them not to tramp all over the area.”
“I’ll do that,” Meredith said.
They ended the call, and Riley rose unsteadily to her feet.
Her head was splitting, and the images of her dream still haunted her.
But now was no time to let that trouble her. She had a case to solve. And maybe that was exactly what she needed to escape her demons.
*
The trip back to Fort Mowat was mostly a blur to Riley. She, Bill, and Lucy boarded the plane in a mad rush, running across the tarmac with their go-bags. They were all a bit disoriented by the early-morning change in plans.
Larson had sent no information to speak of about the murder, so there was little for them to discuss. The flight seemed interminable, and Riley struggled to keep thoughts about Shirley Redding’s death and her grim bond with Shane Hatcher at bay.
She was relieved when a CID vehicle picked them up at the airport and rushed them to Fort Mowat, right to the spot where the soldier had been killed. It was on a large open field facing a high, rocky area.
&
nbsp; Col. Dana Larson and her CID team were waiting under a canvas shelter that had been placed over the body. The white cloth fluttered in the breeze and kept the corpse in the shade. The dead young soldier lay on his side on the ground, dressed in a jogging outfit. His eyes stared in what appeared to be an expression of surprise.
Larson nodded to Riley and her colleagues.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said. She hesitated a little, then added, “We need your help.”
Riley wasn’t surprised that Larson didn’t seem at all happy to admit it. After all, they had hardly parted on the best of terms.
She said, “The victim this time is Private Kyle Barton. He was shot while taking a pre-dawn jog. His body wasn’t found until after sunrise.”
Riley was a bit surprised.
“Not a sergeant this time?” she said.
“No, but not a new recruit either,” Larson said. “Private Barton was days away from completing his Advanced Individual Training.”
Larson shook her head bitterly.
“He had a lot of potential,” she said. “What a goddamn waste.”
Lucy said, “At least we can rule out the killer being someone who has a thing about authority figures.”
Riley stooped down to look at the body. She saw that the bullet wound was directly in the center of the private’s chest.
“The others were shot in the head,” Riley said.
“Do you think the difference is significant?” Larson asked.
Riley didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure. But her gut told her that the shooter was the same person who had killed the others.
Riley looked up at Larson and asked, “Is Omar Shaheed still in custody?”
Larson winced a little at the sound of Shaheed’s name.
“Absolutely,” she said. “But somebody else in his cell might have done this.”
Larson was looking her in the eye now, and Riley braced herself for some friction. It seemed that Larson still wasn’t ready to let go of her Islamic extremist theory.
“Do you have any reason to think that’s true?” Riley asked, meeting her gaze steadily.
“Not yet,” Larson said. “Shaheed has rolled over on several cell members, and we’ve brought four of them in. But there could be others he hasn’t told us about. Or maybe he doesn’t even know about. And this might be their revenge for Shaheed’s capture.”