Page 14 of Once Marked (Riley Paige #19)

In the Sandhaven Police Station booking area, Callahan stood at the counter, his back rigid as the officer on duty processed his information.

Every so often, his head would turn, his gaze landing on Riley and Ann Marie with a venomous glare.

Riley knew that his defiance spoke more of desperation than strength—a caged animal baring its teeth.

The two agents stood in mutual contemplation, the rhythm of the police station surrounding them.

Occasionally, the sharp ring of a phone pierced the air, while the rapid clicks of keyboards created a staccato rhythm in the background.

Riley reflected that even this small-town police station had plenty of issues to keep their force busy.

“Riley?” Ann Marie’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “So, what do you think of our suspect?”

Riley hesitated. “Honestly? I’m not completely sure what to think,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, glancing at Callahan, she remarked with a laugh, “But he’d definitely kill the two of us if he got the chance.”

“Yeah, he sure didn’t like getting taken down by a couple of ‘girls’,” Ann Marie said with a laugh.

Neither woman was a stranger to the hostility that came with pinning down dangerous characters, especially men.

“But wanting to kill us doesn’t mean he killed those other two women,” she said. “We still don’t know.”

Ann Marie nodded, her gaze steady on Riley. “But if he’s capable of imagining our deaths so vividly...”

That was a possibility that neither could overlook — that the fury and misogyny reflected in Callahan’s eyes might have also driven him to kill.

As an officer rolled Callahan’s fingertips in ink and pressed them onto the paper, Riley saw Sheriff Smitty Beeler marching toward them with Chief Rick Thorne at his side.

“Something tells me they don’t bring good news,” Riley whispered to Ann Marie.

“Callahan’s called his lawyer,” Beeler grumbled. “Stuart Ludwig. Same ambulance-chasing creep who got him off on those stalking charges a while back.”

Thorne added grimly. “We’d better see if we can get anything out of him before Ludwig shows up. We’re putting him in the interrogation room now. You two ready?”

“Ready,” Riley responded. Ann Marie nodded confidently.

Without further comment, they walked together toward the interrogation room and stepped inside. Since the space was small, Ann Marie positioned herself outside, watching through the one-way mirror.

As Riley and the two lawmen stepped inside, her eyes fixed on Marcus Callahan, taking in the relaxed tilt of his body against the cold metal chair, the way his hands lay casually on the table despite the steel encircling his wrists.

His smirk was a red flag waving boldly in her mind.

No stranger to interrogations, she recognized the posture of a man unwilling to give ground.

Callahan’s contempt was visible. And it wasn’t just anger that Riley detected in him now; it was something colder, more calculating.

He feels like he’s in his element, she thought.

Riley settled into a hard-backed chair. Sheriff Beeler and Chief Thorne took chairs alongside hers, forming a united front that seemed to bounce off the invisible shield Callahan had erected around himself.

“Mr. Callahan,” Riley began calmly.

“Save it,” he cut her off, leaning back with a clatter of cuffs against the stark table.

“We all know I don’t have to say a damn thing, especially not before my lawyer gets here.

” He leaned back in his chair, the metal cuffs clinking against the table.

“But hey, I’m not against having a friendly little chat in the meantime. ”

“Then let’s chat,” Riley said, her tone light but her eyes sharp, probing. Callahan’s smirk never wavered, but Riley noticed a slight flicker—an involuntary twitch at the corner of his eye. It was the tiniest of tells, and she wasn’t sure how to read it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Callahan?” Riley asked. Beeler shifted uncomfortably next to her, his impatience a living presence, but Riley remained focused on the man in front of her.

“Always a pleasure to see the law’s finest in action,” Callahan drawled, his gaze flickering between the officers. He glanced up at the mirror, as though he knew Ann Marie was watching too.

“Is that so?” Thorne interjected, his voice low, a growl of contained anger. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re the one in the hot seat.”

“But maybe you can clear things up by answering a few questions,” Sheriff Beeler interrupted, leaning forward and resting his heavy arms on the table separating them from the suspect. “For example, where were you on the night of August 30th?”

“Right here in Sandhaven, where else?” Callahan’s reply came with a shrug so casual it seemed practiced.

“That’s a lie,” Beeler’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “I know for a fact, you spent that night in Teomoc. You were there repairing Kip Palmer’s sloop.”

For just a heartbeat, surprise flitted across Callahan’s features—a rare crack in his otherwise composed demeanor—as if the sheriff’s words had pried open a door he’d hoped to keep shut. But just as quickly, it was plastered over with an amused smile.

“Well, now that you mention it, I do remember being in Teomoc that night. Funny how memory works, isn’t it?” He leaned forward, a predator’s grin spreading across his lips.

“So tell me, Sheriff, if you already knew where I was, why’d you bother asking?”

“Mr. Callahan,” Riley asked, her voice betraying none of the frustration she felt, “did you have any contact with Billie Shearer while you were in Teomoc?”

“Billie who?” Callahan’s response came too quick, his feigned ignorance almost comical.

“There’s no point in denying that you knew her,” Riley pressed on. “We have firm evidence that you were sending Billie unwanted emails and photos. We also believe that you sent similar messages to Julie Sternan.”

Callahan merely leaned back in his chair, his smirk stretching wider as if he relished the challenge. “I’d like to see you prove that,” he taunted.

Sheriff Beeler’s patience snapped; his hand came down hard on the table, the sound reverberating off the walls. Callahan jolted. “Enough games, Callahan. Did you have anything to do with the deaths of Billie Shearer and Julie Sternan?”

Riley watched as the muscles in Callahan’s jaw tightened and then relaxed, his facade of indifference almost perfect. But for that fleeting moment—that a twitch, a mere ripple across his face—it was there again. Fear? Guilt? Riley wasn’t certain. His voice, however, betrayed none of it.

“They’re dead? That’s news to me,” he said, leaning back with calculated casualness. “Sorry to hear it. Such a shame.” He sounded as if they were discussing nothing more consequential than a change in the weather.

Riley caught the brief glances exchanged among her colleagues—Beeler’s frown, Thorne’s narrowed eyes.

They all knew it; the suspect’s claim was absurd.

The Outer Banks had become a tinderbox of rumors and whispers about those murders, a relentless undercurrent that pulsed through every corner of the tight-knit communities.

To suggest he hadn’t heard of those murders was a clumsy attempt at deception that only deepened her conviction that they were dealing with a man who thrived on manipulation.

Whether Callahan had blood on his hands or not, the lie was undeniable.

“News to you?” Beeler’s tone was incredulous, the vein at his temple pulsating with restrained anger. “You expect us to believe that?”

The room held its breath for a moment, waiting, but Callahan’s facade didn’t crack. He maintained his composure and the glimmer of defiance in his eyes seemed to burn a touch brighter.

Riley’s mind raced as she processed Callahan’s responses.

His arrogance was annoying, but it felt performative, like a mask worn to provoke rather than conceal.

Callahan’s behavior was not that of a cornered killer—it was too self-assured, too deliberate.

A true predator would be calculating, cautious, but Callahan was all bluster and baiting, like a stage actor relishing his role.

The man sitting across from them was undoubtedly hiding something—but what? Was it related to these murders at all?

She glanced at Beeler, whose demeanor reflected a bulldog mentality, relentless and determined. Yet Riley knew that kind of force alone wouldn’t break Callahan.

Despite being a suspect in custody and handcuffs, his confidence bordered on arrogance.

His responses were too smooth, his provocations too calculated.

In Riley’s experience, most real killers would either be sweating under the scrutiny or exhibiting some sign of remorse or fear.

There were exceptions among truly deadly characters, but they were rare.

Then Riley again caught that twitch in the corner of Callahan’s eye, and this time she knew how to read it.

Riley trusted her gut, and right now, it told her they were had the wrong man.

Callahan was a red herring—a distraction from the culprit lurking in the Outer Banks.

She glanced at the mirror, as though exchanging a glance with Ann Marie through the glass, a silent conversation passing between them: Callahan might enjoy this cat-and-mouse game, but he was not their killer.

It was a conclusion that both troubled and intrigued Riley. If Callahan wasn’t their man, then who was? And what was his angle in all this? Those questions loomed larger with each passing moment in the dimly lit room, unanswered.

Then the door swung open, an interruption that sliced through the charged atmosphere.

A man in a rumpled suit barged into the interrogation room.

Riley immediately recognized the gait and manner of a two-bit small-town lawyer—sleazy, to be sure, and possibly not entirely sober, but also too clever to dismiss lightly.

“Agent Paige,” Thorne said, gesturing to the newcomer, “meet Stuart Ludwig.”

Ludwig’s voice cut across the space, heavy with authority, unbothered by the creases in his attire or the skeptical glances thrown his way.

“This interview is over,” he declared. “My client won’t be answering any more questions.”

Callahan was led from the room, his smirk lingering like a bad aftertaste.

Then Riley got up and joined Ann Marie in the hallway. Sheriff Beeler and Chief Thorne followed, their faces looking grim.

“Next steps?” Thorne asked, glancing around the group.

Sheriff Beeler’s conviction was strong. “We’ve got him,” he stated, his stance solid as an oak tree in a storm. “Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned being in Teomoc? He’s definitely hiding something.”

Thorne gave a nod. “And that business about not knowing the victims were dead? Please.”

“He’s as guilty as sin,” Beeler said.

Sheriff Beeler's voice was a low rumble of certainty. Thorne stood beside him, his nod serving as silent punctuation to Beeler’s declarations.

Thorne stood beside him, his squint serving as silent punctuation to Beeler’s declarations.

They were too sure, too anchored in their conviction that Marcus Callahan was their man.

Riley was quiet for a moment, her arms folded across her chest. She heard the heavy door to the holding cell clang shut, closing off Callahan from further questioning, at least for now.

She finally said, “Maybe you’re right. But we mustn’t jump to conclusions. We’ve got to dot our i’s and cross our t’s.”

She could sense Beeler’s irritation at her hesitance, see it in the tight line of his jaw. Thorne’s eyes, ever analytical, searched hers for a sign of faltering. But she held firm, aware that the truth was a complex labyrinth, not a straight path.

“Let’s go over the evidence again,” she suggested, already turning back toward the dim light of the bullpen. Each step felt heavy, burdened with the knowledge that somewhere out there, the real killer was watching. Waiting. And they were running out of time.

“Something’s not right,” Ann Marie murmured to her. “Doesn’t it seem like he’s almost... too guilty?” Her gaze met Riley’s, a silent plea for guidance.

“I know,” she replied quietly. “We’re missing something.”

“Callahan knows how to push buttons, to get under our skin,” Ann Marie continued, her voice tinged with doubt. “He’s playing a part, but is it the part of a real killer?”

“Or just an angry man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Riley finished, her mind racing through the profiles, the timelines, the alibis. “We need to dig deeper.”

The skepticism in Ann Marie’s tone mirrored Riley’s own thoughts.

Too much about Marcus Callahan rang false, like a stage performance where the actor had learned his lines too well.

She watched her partner, the afternoon light casting highlights in her blonde hair, her youthful face etched with concern.

Riley let out a slow breath, feeling the tight coil of anxiety unwind just a fraction. Ann Marie’s intuition, though less seasoned, was sharp, and Riley trusted it. They both knew the dance of deceit all too well, had seen innocence masquerade as guilt and vice versa.

Riley felt grateful that she and Ann Marie were on the same page about this. As partners, it was important for them to be in sync on such a vital question. Marcus Callahan wasn’t the killer. Whoever had murdered two women was still out there and not finished yet.