Page 18 of Once Marked (Riley Paige #19)

The clang of the café door announced their arrival, and the four of them – Riley, Ann Marie, Chief Thorne, and Sheriff Beeler – moved into the warmth of the simple establishment.

It was a small place that had survived the years on the basic meals it provided.

The wooden tables bore the marks of countless conversations.

Riley reminded herself that a late afternoon snack seemed normal, even though nothing else about this day had been normal.

This small town was a tight-knit community where the presence of two FBI agents was obviously attracting attention, and not the good kind.

As Riley glanced around, the patrons returned her gaze with curious eyes, but at least she didn’t see the kind of hostility they had encountered at Callahan’s Boat Repair or at the bar where they had arrested him.

Their sandwiches arrived on everyday plates, some of them chipped around the edges in evidence of their long service.

The food was good and brought about a few minutes of quiet, although Riley picked at her sandwich without much appetite.

When the conversation started again, it inevitably circled back to Marcus Callahan.

Riley noted the way Chief Thorne’s jaw clenched each time he mentioned Callahan and how Thorne’s frown also accompanied that name. The conviction in Thorne’s voice was strong.

“I always hoped I’d nail Callahan good someday. And now that day is finally here. It feels damn good.”

“It looks like we’ve got him dead to rights,” Sheriff Beeler said.

“That’s an understatement,” Thorne replied. “It’s open and shut. Everything points to Callahan's guilt. He’s got a history of harassing women. He sent those creepy emails to both victims. He lied about his whereabouts on the night of Billie Shearer’s murder. What more do we need?”

Sheriff Beeler’s sharp nod came like a punctuation mark, solidifying the alliance between the two officers.

“Not to mention his reaction when we brought him in,” Beeler added. “That’s not the behavior of an innocent man.”

Riley felt a pang of unease. The evidence was circumstantial at best, yet their belief in Callahan’s guilt was unshakable.

As for his behavior at the time of his arrest, that was far from proof of guilt.

It was like a cornered animal lashing out in self-defense.

Callahan was a suspect, certainly, but he could still be innocent of murder, no matter how obnoxious his personality.

“We appreciate all your help, Agents,” Beeler said, his tone softening a little. “But I think we can take it from here. We know these people, this community. We’ll get Callahan to crack, and it all will be over, tied up tight.”

Riley caught Ann Marie’s eye, seeing her own hesitation reflected there. They were outsiders here, swimming against a current of local belief and long-forged bonds. Any objections could be easily dismissed.

Then Ann Marie spoke up for both of them. “Sheriff, Chief, I understand where you’re coming from,” she began, her blue eyes steady on Beeler and Thorne. “But maybe there’s more to this than we’re seeing right now.”

Riley registered the minute shift in Beeler’s posture, the slight crease in Thorne’s brow. These men were rooted in their convictions, but Ann Marie’s composed challenge stirred something, a ripple of consideration perhaps.

“Look, we’ve come this far together,” Ann Marie continued, her politeness unwavering even as she stood her ground. “Wouldn’t it be prudent to explore every possibility? For the sake of thoroughness?”

“Thoroughness,” Beeler repeated, rolling the word around as if tasting something unfamiliar.

He considered Ann Marie, then Riley, his expression caught between annoyance and respect.

Riley felt a flicker of pride at Ann Marie’s poise.

She was young, yes, but beneath her carefully styled hair and polished appearance was a sharp and agile mind.

“Chief Thorne, Sheriff Beeler,” Ann Marie continued, “I think we might be jumping to conclusions. Callahan’s behavior is certainly suspicious, but it doesn’t necessarily make him a killer.”

Riley watched Thorne’s reaction, the man leaning back, arms crossing over his broad chest like a barrier. “So what are you suggesting? That we just let him go?” he challenged, his tone edged with frustration.

“No,” Riley interjected quickly, seizing the opening. “But maybe we should go ahead and explore all angles before we close the case.”

“Such as?” Thorne grumbled.

Wheels turned in Riley’s head as she tried to think of any plausible reason for her and Ann Marie to stay on the case.

“There’s at least one loose end we haven’t tied up yet,” Riley said, and the eyes of the others turned towards her in expectation.

“After Julie Sternan’s murder, you said you visited a vintage swimwear store called Tidal Beauties, right?

To see if they might have sold the 1920s-style swimsuit the killer dressed her in? ”

Beeler’s nod came with a hint of impatience, his voice carrying the weariness of long days tethered to this case.

“Yeah, and the owner, Steven Walsh, assured us he’d never carried anything like it.

And I didn’t see anything like it in his catalogue, so I believed him.

” His eyes met Riley’s, demanding an explanation for her thinking.

“What about the second swimsuit, the one from the ‘80s?” Riley asked. “Have you checked back with Walsh since Billie Shearer was found?”

The sheriff shook his head, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Nope. Yesterday was a whirlwind, and there was no time. Besides, I can’t see much need for that.

If one of the killer didn’t bother to buy one of the swimsuits there, there’s no reason to suspect differently for the other one. What’s your point?”

“My point is that it’s a lead. And it’s our job to follow leads, no matter how unlikely they seem. We owe it to the victims. Since you haven’t gone back there since Billie Shearer was found in that 1980s-style suit, wouldn’t it be worth checking if they might have sold that one?”

Beeler just looked at Riley skeptically as she plunged ahead.

“Maybe Walsh missed something, or maybe...” She paused, trying to solidify her thoughts into words that would resonate with the local lawmen.

“Or maybe,” she continued, finding strength in her reasoning, “he lied. And we’ve only got his word to go by, right?”

“That’s right,” Ann Marie chimed in, offering support.

Beeler scoffed, the sound rough and dismissive.

He shook his head, clearly unimpressed by their line of inquiry.

“Like I said, if the suit on the first victim wasn’t bought there, what reason do we have to think the second one was?

” His question sounded like a challenge, daring them to come up with a better argument.

“We won’t know unless we ask,” Riley said firmly. “I’m still assigned to this case by the FBI, and I think we’ll have to pay Mr. Walsh another visit. Something isn’t adding up, and I want to look him in the eye when he tells me he doesn’t know where those bathing suits came from.”

When Beeler made no immediate reply, she added, “If that’s not convenient for you, my partner and I can drive there after we get back to our company car, or even rent some other vehicle along the way if necessary. But we are going to make that stop one way or the other.”

Beeler and Thorne exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them.

Riley held her breath, aware that this could be the turning point—or the end—of the local law enforcement’s cooperation.

That would make their investigation difficult, and it could lead to the end of FBI involvement in the case.

But she wasn’t going to walk away quietly from a situation like this if she could help it.

She and her partner had been called into the case at the request of the Sheriff, and he needed to realize that the FBI wasn’t to be so casually dismissed.

On the other hand, an open conflict over a local case would leave no one happy.

Riley waited while a moment of tense silence enveloped the table.

Ann Marie held up her phone, displaying her research, “If we get started soon, the shop will still be open.”

“Well, we have to drive that way anyway on our way north back to Teomoc,” Beeler grumbled, his voice carrying the gravelly texture of compromise, “We’ll drive right through Scudmore.

I guess we can stop by Tidal Beauties on the way” He nodded, then added, “But after that, I think it’s time for you two to head back to Quantico.

And I will notify your superior that you’ve done fine work here. ”

Riley offered no protest—her mind already mapping out the next steps.

“No need for me to drive up there with the three of you,” the police chief added. “I’ve got all I need to deal with right here in town.”

Riley stood and said, “We’d better get going.

” She turned to Thorne and added, “Chief, thank you for showing us around Sandhaven. The man you’re holding is guilty harassment and stalking at the very least, and also resisting arrest. I’m sure you’ll make some of those charges stick.

I’m glad we could help you bring him in. It’s a good arrest.”

As they all stood to go, Riley felt a surge of relief—a fleeting victory against doubt.

This visit to Tidal Beauties was a gamble, her instincts propelling her forward when logic offered little reassurance.

She just wasn’t ready to give up on this case, and this would serve as the next—and possibly last—item on their checklist.

They filed out of the café, Riley and Ann Marie trailed behind Beeler and Thorne, giving the veteran lawmen space to lead while exchanging a glance that spoke volumes.

Both women understood what lay ahead: they needed something solid to indicate that the killer they sought wasn’t already in jail.

But with so little to go on, this long shot at Tidal Beauties could very well determine whether their involvement in the case ended or not—unless they came up with another line of investigation.

Ann Marie leaned toward Riley, her expression earnest beneath the waning light. “Riley, you know this is a Hail Mary, right? What if this doesn’t pan out? We can’t keep grasping at straws.”

Riley nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the uneven pavement ahead.

“I know,” she admitted, the admission tasting bitter. “But something about this case doesn’t feel right.” Her intuition, that elusive sixth sense honed by years of profiling, nagged at her like a splinter she couldn’t remove.

“So what are we missing?” Ann Marie asked.

Riley exhaled slowly, her breath carrying the weight of uncertainty.

“That’s what we’ve got to figure out.” The admission was a reluctant confession from a woman who built her career on chasing down the obscure. But she knew that admitting doubt was sometimes the first step toward uncovering the overlooked.

She looked at Ann Marie, seeing the reflection of her own turmoil mirrored in the younger agent’s earnest gaze.

Their questions went unanswered as they continued to follow the receding figures of Beeler and Thorne.

Riley knew her answers to those questions would shape more than just the immediate future—it would ripple through her conscience, through sleepless nights and the echoes of victims’ voices.

“Ann Marie,” Riley said, “I keep thinking about them—the victims.” Her gaze lingered on a family passing by, laughter trailing behind them like a lifeline. “They deserve answers, and they deserve justice. We still haven’t given them that.”

Ann Marie nodded, her youthful face set in a grim line that seemed out of place amidst her usually vibrant demeanor. “We’ll do that Riley.”

“I hope so,” Riley said. “But what if we’re just chasing ghosts?

“Maybe we are,” Ann Marie responded, her voice tinged with the wisdom of someone who’d seen more than her years should allow. “But sometimes, ghosts do lead us to facts.”

Riley considered that—the idea that the intangible could guide them to something concrete. It was a sliver of hope, thin and fragile, yet it was there.

She thought of the victims again, their lives snuffed out too soon, leaving ripples of grief and questions. Of their families, who waited with bated breath for any word that might bring solace. And somewhere, possibly, a killer watching, waiting, confident in their obscurity.

It was a heavy burden, the weight of unknown lives resting on their shoulders, the threat of more bloodshed a silent clock ticking away in the background. Riley turned to Ann Marie, her partner’s eyes reflecting the fading light, earnest and filled with an intensity that belied her experience.

Ann Marie said, “But we have to face the possibility that we might be wrong. If this visit doesn’t yield anything, are you prepared to go back to Quantico?”

The question was a good one.

Was she ready to abandon the chase, to return to the sanctuary of her office at the BAU?

We need a break, Riley thought. Something that tells us there’s a solution to be found, a clue that we’re on the right track.