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Riley let herself into room number seven of the Wayside Motel and flicked on the light switch.
She set her bag down, surveying the space.
It was a perfectly ordinary motel room, the walls a nondescript beige and the carpet a faded shade of blue.
The crisp white sheets of its two queen-size beds were invitingly smooth.
The furnishings were functional, with a small wooden desk and a couple of sturdy chairs, a TV, and a small refrigerator.
A single framed print depicted a serene landscape.
She had spent nights in many similar places when she’d been traveling all over the country on BAU cases. In her recent months at home, she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a stranger in impersonal surroundings.
With a heavy sigh, Riley moved to the window, hesitating before parting the drapes just enough to glimpse a little bit of this town—Glencoe, Virginia.
The quiet street outside offered no cheer; instead, it served as a reminder of how far she was from her daughters and from Bill.
Closing the curtains, she turned back to the room, letting the reality settle in.
This was her base now—the launchpad for the investigation that awaited her, that she had insisted on undertaking.
She slipped off her shoes with reluctant acceptance, feeling the abrasive carpet fibers against her tired feet.
Collapsing onto the bed, she lay there motionless as the day’s events began to replay in her mind: the dense canopy of Blue Ridge Wilderness Park, the jarring sight of the grave hidden amid nature’s tranquility, the way her breath had caught at the sight of the desiccated bones that had been hidden beneath the forest floor, and finally, the jarring sight of crime scene tape left wrapped around trees.
Each recollection was like a puzzle piece, falling into place yet yielding no complete picture.
She closed her eyes, attempting to will away one tension that lingered—the friction between her and Agent Ivor Putnam.
They were professional adversaries, each driven by their own methods, their own determination to bring order to chaos.
Although they were both dedicated to their work with the BAU, their attitudes and methods were uncomfortably at odds.
She remembered how she and Putnam had combed through the leaf litter methodically, side by side yet worlds apart.
Their hands moved with practiced precision, disturbing the natural bed where secrets might lay buried.
Each scoop of dirt, each sifting of debris, was a silent plea for the victim to reveal her story.
She could still feel the grit under her nails, the residue of soil and decay that it would take intense scrubbing to get rid of.
The land had been reticent, holding its tongue as they searched for anything that might have been left by whoever had buried the dead woman—a fragment of clothing, a personal item, a strand of hair—that might serve as a clue.
And though the friction between Riley and Putnam had been strong, a shared urgency had propelled them forward.
Nevertheless, they had found nothing to shed light on the burial deep in the Blue Ridge Wilderness Park.
Of course, she hadn’t told anyone at the site about her internal glimpse of two figures—two distinct personalities—burying the body and marking the grave.
She was certain that nobody on the scene—especially Detective Putnam—would have approved of her methods, and her brief insight had presented no details that she could offer as solid clues.
She’d felt guiltily relieved when she and Putnam had finished their fruitless search, and they had parted—he to return to Roanoke, she to come here to this motel.
As Riley tried to get her body and mind to relax, her phone vibrated insistently against the nightstand. Sheriff Austin Hagen’s name lit up the screen, pulling her back into the immediacy of her duty.
She’d spoken to Hagen earlier over the phone.
He’d explained that he was absent from the crime scene because of his involvement with a rash of burglaries plaguing his jurisdiction in the nearby town of Kipford, but had promised to get back to her.
Riley reached for the phone, prepared to dive back into the fray.
“Agent Paige,” he greeted her, his tone carrying the warmth of southern hospitality that seemed to seep through the phone line. “Any updates on our Jane Doe?”
“Nothing substantial, Sheriff,” she responded. “We completed our initial examination of the scene, but didn’t turn up any additional evidence.” She paused, considering how much to divulge about Ivor Putnam’s departure. “Agent Putnam is headed back to Roanoke to continue his investigation there.”
“And you?” The sheriff asked with a note of curiosity in his voice.
“I’m staying in Glencoe tonight,” she explained, shifting her position on the bed. “Waiting for a BAU partner to arrive. We’ll be focusing on identifying our Jane Doe and trying to define the connection to the recent murders, where the map coordinates were found.”
Sheriff Hagen’s voice was tinged with the weariness that seemed part and parcel of law enforcement in rural towns.
“Good. I’ve just wrapped up here in Kipford, and I’m on my way back to Glencoe. Why don’t you and your partner come by my office first thing tomorrow morning? We can coordinate our efforts, plan out the next steps. Maybe the coroner will have made an identification by then.”
“Sounds like a plan, Sheriff.”
“Great. I appreciate this, Agent Paige. Your being on the case, I mean. I’ll see you in the morning then.”
“Looking forward to it,” she assured him, then their call ended with a soft click, silence returning to her motel room.
Riley found herself appreciating Hagen’s attitude.
His welcoming tone was soothing after the day’s less welcoming encounters—with park superintendent Bern Stewart’s brusque efficiency, Ivor Putnam’s cool detachment, and even coroner Fritz Jannings’ clinical indifference.
It was refreshing to hear a friendlier voice, possibly an ally, when her world felt full of adversaries.
Perhaps here, in these small towns where secrets often lay buried, she might find someone she could work with.
Resting the phone on the nightstand again, she remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the device as if it might ring again and dispel a fog of uncertainty that troubled her.
Meredith’s parting words earlier that day had planted a seed of suspense in her already crowded mind—a mystery partner was en route to join her in Glencoe.
The “someone” he’d promised could be anyone, but she knew with a certainty rooted in that day’s terse exchanges that Bill was out of the question.
If he were on his way to join her, he’d surely have said so.
As Riley contemplated the unknowns, she felt the need for connection, for something grounded and familiar.
She reached for her phone again, dialing the number that connected her to home—to normalcy.
As the call connected, she pictured the townhouse in Fredericksburg, its rooms filled with laughter and life, so distant from the impersonal confines of her current lodging.
“Mom! Are you coming home tonight?” April’s voice filtered through the line.
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” she said. The pang of guilt was sharp, familiar. “I’m staying in Glencoe tonight. How are things at home?”
“Everything’s fine,” April assured her, her voice expressing an independence that both comforted and concerned Riley. “Let me get Jilly.”
There was a shuffling sound as April put Jilly on speakerphone. Riley pictured them, a pair of silhouettes against the backdrop of their cozy family room where they often lingered in the evening.
Both girls were curious about the case and started asking probing questions.
Riley hesitated, torn between her instincts to protect and the knowledge that her daughters had already weathered storms many adults would never face.
April’s laughter trickled through the line—a gentle nudge reminding Riley that these were no ordinary girls.
“Come on, Mom,” April chided. “You can’t say anything to shock me. I’ve even been kidnapped, remember? I handled that; I can handle knowing whatever you’re doing.”
Jilly’s voice joined the chorus, roughened by a life that had demanded she grow up far too quickly. “Yeah, and you know the kind of stuff I’ve been through. We’re not kids anymore.”
Yes, you are, she almost said. But it was true that they were no ordinary kids.
Riley took a moment, the silence stretching out as she wrestled with the dual forces of her nature—the mother bear and the federal agent.
She’d heard in April’s voice a mix of maturity and a child reaching out to her mother.
But it was Jilly’s veneer of toughness, an armor forged from too many battles at too young an age, that convinced Riley to give them more details about her day.
They deserved to hear the true story—or at least as much of it as she could give without crossing lines of what had to be limited to agents alone.
“Alright,” she conceded. “But let’s keep it just between us, okay?”
She began carefully, navigating the narrow path between honesty and discretion, sharing the skeleton of the case while leaving the flesh of horrors safely unsaid.
“Those quiz sheets you girls helped me with,” she said, “as you know, they were coded messages, map coordinates. And I was assigned to check out the location they marked.”
“Way out there in the woods,” Jilly said. “Is Bill with you?”
I wish, Riley thought.
“No, he … well, he didn’t get assigned to work with me,” she said instead.
“Tell me you didn’t go off alone,” April protested.
April’s worried tone cautioned her against being too honest. She figured she could fudge on the truth just a little.
“No, of course not. There was another BAU agent and a park superintendent on the scene with me. Then some park rangers and other officials.”
“OK. What did you find?” Jilly demanded.
Riley paused, feeling the weight of their silence on the other end of the line. “We found human remains, an old grave buried deep in the woods. Don’t know what that means yet.”
“Alright, girls,” Riley’s voice softened after sharing a few more details. “That’s all for tonight. But remember, I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”
“We will, Mom,” April responded dutifully. “Stay safe out there.”
“And catch that bad guy!” Jilly chimed in, her tone playful yet sincere.
Riley chuckled lightly at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “I’ll do my best,” she promised.
“Love you, Mom,” they both said in unison.
“I love you too, girls. Goodnight,” Riley replied warmly before ending the call.
As the connection clicked off, Riley lay back against the pillows.
Her mind whirred, replaying the conversation, and she marveled at the young women her daughters were becoming.
April, with her hazel eyes so like Riley’s own, revealed an intellect and a spirit that outshone the darkness of her past. No longer a victim but a conqueror, April’s future was bright with promise as she prepared to enter Jefferson Bell University.
And Jilly—her Jilly—had come such a long way from the angry, frightened, vulnerable girl she had been. Once nearly lost to the streets, now thriving under their roof, her laughter was a daily reminder of life’s capacity for joy amid sorrow.
And then there was Bill. He had stepped into the role of father figure so naturally that it seemed he was always meant to fill that space. He offered guidance without expectation, his steady hand on the rudder helping to navigate the unpredictable waters of raising two strong-willed girls.
The way April and Jilly looked up to him, sought his approval—it was more than Riley could have hoped for. They were no longer just survivors; they were a family, knitted together by shared struggles and triumphs.
She closed her eyes, letting the feeling envelop her. In this moment, the weight of the investigation lifted slightly, and she breathed in the solace of her makeshift family’s invisible embrace.
What am I doing in the field again? She wondered.
She reminded herself that she’d been spurred back into action by Mrs. Whitfield’s murder. Even so, she couldn’t help wondering—had insisting on taking a case in the field been a mistake? She could be at home having a normal evening, just as she had done every night in recent years.
A knock shattered the stillness of the room. Riley’s eyes snapped open, her body tensing as years of instinct honed by danger and suspicion surged to the forefront. She rose from the bed, every sense heightened, the warmth of family thoughts receding into the corners of her mind.
She approached the door with her hand hovering over the sidearm still strapped to her shoulder—old habits died hard, even in the rural quiet of Glencoe.
Peering through the peephole, she was surprised by the face that she saw—unexpected but not unwelcome.
Riley unlocked the door and swung it open. There stood a familiar young agent, her bright blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, her blonde hair like a halo in the fading light.
“Hi, Agent Paige!” Ann Marie Esmer exclaimed, her smile wide and infectious. “I guess we’re partners!”