Page 28 of Once Marked (Riley Paige #19)

Riley turned the key in the lock of her townhouse and pushed open the door, she heard the sounds of laughter and chatter. Her eyes lit up as she spotted April and Jilly sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by textbooks, animatedly discussing something that had both of them giggling.

“Mom’s home!” Jilly called out.

April looked up, her smile an echo of Riley’s own. “Hey, Mom,” she said, her expression relaxed, content. The whole family was back together, with April at home from college for the weekend.

In the kitchen, Gabriela was humming softly, the rich aromas of dinner wafting through the air. Riley shed her jacket, a symbolic gesture of leaving her other life at the door, and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the normalcy that had become such a rare luxury.

Stepping out onto the back porch, Riley found Bill settled into one of the wicker chairs, a glass of iced tea in his hand. The sight of him, so familiar yet still able to stir something deep within her, brought a sense of calm after the chaos of the case she and Ann Marie had closed the day before.

“Looks like we’ve got the whole gang here tonight,” Bill remarked, his voice tinged with a warmth that always seemed reserved just for her.

“Seems so,” Riley replied, accepting the glass of tea he offered her. She took a sip, relishing the coolness against her lips as she settled into the chair beside him. The porch became their sanctuary, a place where the weight of their shared past could be set aside, if only for a moment.

“How was your day?” Bill asked, his gaze steady on hers.

“Ordinary,” Riley admitted, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

There was comfort in the mundane routine of teaching, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled world of the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

She enjoyed giving her lectures and the eager faces of her students, but the simplicity of it all felt worlds away from the twisted mind of the murderer she’d faced alongside Ann Marie.

The conversation lulled, the clinking of ice against glass punctuating the quiet as they both leaned back, letting the serenity of the setting sun envelop them.

Riley watched a leaf break free from its branch, spiraling down to the earth, as if surrendering to the fact that it was turning fall now and colder days were coming. Although Riley’s day had indeed been ordinary, beneath the surface, something was bothering her.

“Bill,” she said, her voice a quiet, “today was... good. But there’s something I haven’t told you about the case.”

“Go on,” he encouraged softly, looking over at her in concern.

Riley took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “I made a mistake. A big one. For a moment, my instincts failed me. I almost let it cost someone their life.”

Bill set his drink aside, his attention undivided. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever known. We all make mistakes, Riley. I’ve made more than my share.”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s just that... this wasn’t like me, Bill. At least, not like the agent I used to be.”

The silence lingered, as if giving space to Riley’s troubled thoughts. She could feel Bill’s gaze, unwavering and filled with an understanding that only years of shared darkness could forge.

“I got the sense that the killer was a woman, and that part was right. But I suspected the wrong one.”

Bill made no comment, so she continued.

“She was so kind, so considerate, and she seemed as traumatized as anyone about the murders. I looked right into her eyes and missed it. I sympathized with her. I never even considered the possibility that she was our killer.”

She swallowed down a knot of anxiety.

“I thought it was a different woman. She seemed guilty. Everything seemed to point to her—until it didn’t.” She shook her head, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping her lips. “I was so sure, Bill. But I was letting the fact that I didn’t like her override my better instincts.”

The memory of it was sharp, the realization that she had pursued the wrong woman, that Rachel Brennan’s life had been in danger because of her error.

“The real killer, Grace Mitchell, was clever, hiding her true identity right there in plain sight, and with such convincing charm and goodwill. By the time I put the pieces together, it was almost too late.” Riley’s grip tightened on her glass; she could still feel the urgency of that moment, the fear that she wouldn’t reach Rachel in time.

“‘Almost’ doesn’t count, Riley,” Bill said, reaching out to place a reassuring hand over hers. “You did save her. That’s what matters.”

“But would I have missed it back in the days when I was still full-time in the field?” Riley mused aloud, her dark hair touched by gray swaying lightly in the evening breeze.

“Is this what happens when you step away? Do you lose your edge? I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m retired from field work, but even so … ”

Bill’s silence was an answer she wasn’t ready to hear. They sat there quietly together, but Riley’s mind was churning. Then Bill broke the silence with his steady voice.

“Maybe you do need to get back out there. You have this unique ability to see things others don’t, Riley. Even I don’t understand exactly how that works, but I do know that it’s too rare, too valuable, to risk losing.”

“Teaching has been my commitment for a year now,” she replied. “I’ve spent so much time and energy building that part of my life. And, of course, it has given me more time here at home.”

Bill leaned forward and gave her a look that was equal parts challenge and encouragement. “What did you lecture about today?”

The question caught her off guard. “The case,” she admitted, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks. “I used it as an example for my students—how investigations can take unexpected turns.”

“See?” Bill flashed a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s proof right there. Teaching and field work—they’re not mutually exclusive. One informs the other. Continuing to work cases will only sharpen your skills in the classroom.”

She spent a few moments considering Bill’s words. There was a quiet comfort in their shared understanding, in the way he always seemed to know just what to say to nudge her past her hesitations.

“You’re encouraging me to straddle both worlds,” she murmured.

“Isn’t that where you excel?” He reached for his drink, then continued.

“I don’t see any reason to confine your unusual insights to just one aspect of your life.

That kind of skill is also something that students need to see at work as it happens.

Who else can help them best develop their own potentials — whatever they might be? ”

She studied his face, seeing the unwavering belief he had in her range of abilities. It was a belief she sometimes struggled to share, but in moments like this, his support buoyed her.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said quietly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It felt good to be understood, to have someone in her corner who saw her potential as limitless.

“You’re right, I can handle both,” she announced with newfound resolve. “First thing next week, I’m going to ask Brent Meredith to keep assigning me to occasional field cases.”

*

Leo Dillard’s fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the surface of his desk, the only movement in the otherwise still room.

His apartment was shrouded in darkness except for the pale glow of a desk lamp pooling light onto the array of papers spread before him.

The quiet hum of the city outside his window did nothing to relieve his solitude.

As he went over each documented detail about Riley’s family, he imagined her in her own home, warm and filled with a family that he observed but could never be part of. He could, however, learn their movements, their habits, their weaknesses.

Leo’s eyes lingered on a printout detailing April’s college schedule at Jefferson Bell University, every class and professor noted with care. He had already established a presence there, one that offered a wide range of possibilities.

On another page, Bill’s routines were laid out in neat bullet points, the predictability fueling Leo’s sense of control. The young one, Jilly, was easy to track through the high school calendar, and now he just had to record her after-school activities.

These preliminary notes were just the beginning, a foundation upon which Leo intended to build his masterpiece. It wasn’t the schedules or the routines that enthralled him; it was the challenge of getting inside someone’s head, understanding the cogs and wheels of their inner workings.

Riley Paige had taught him well, especially her lectures on the human psyche.

Each family member had become a subject for Leo, a case study to dissect and analyze.

He pondered April’s youthful optimism, how it might be twisted by fear.

Jilly’s innocence, a canvas waiting to be stained.

And Bill, a pillar of strength that could be eroded with doubt.

These profiles were the keys to unraveling Riley’s life, thread by thread.

He lingered a moment on the edge of April’s file before he closed it with a decisive snap.

The dim light from the solitary desk lamp cast long shadows across his face, as if to underscore the duality of his intentions.

He pulled a fresh notebook towards him, the spine cracking faintly as he opened it to the first blank page.

This was more than a new chapter; it was a pivot point in his meticulous game.

The silence of the apartment wrapped around Leo like a cloak as he paused in his writing, reflecting on the path laid out before him.

His gaze drifted momentarily to the window, where the city’s pulse twinkled distantly, oblivious to the drama unfolding within these walls.

Then, back to the task at hand. He flipped through the notebook, reviewing the steps he’d delineated.

Leo’s plan was still a work in progress.

Just determining a course of action required patience, a slow build-up that would tighten the screws of tension without release.

He sketched out scenarios, branching possibilities that accounted for various reactions.

Each hypothetical situation was crafted to push and prod at Riley’s vulnerabilities, to exploit the cracks in her armor.

He imagined her trying to piece together the puzzle, always two steps behind, her instincts ensnared by the web he was weaving.

“Anticipation,” he murmured to himself, “is as potent a tool as action.” He savored the word, letting its meaning permeate his senses. For Leo, anticipation was the undercurrent that would erode Riley’s composure, an invisible force that would chip away at her family’s security.

Now was the time for subtlety, for planting seeds that would blossom into chaos at just the right moment. And then…

Leo felt a rush of pleasure at what he anticipated lay ahead.