Page 20
As Riley stepped out of her unmarked car, she spotted the silent, parked vehicle where Detective Prendergast and his men lay in wait.
As she walked closer, she saw that Agent Putnam had joined them.
With Ann Marie beside her, she knew that they were ready to enter the last known refuge of a man who had eluded the law for too long.
She felt a familiar surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins as she surveyed the house where Van Roff had said their target was hiding.
It was a traditional two-story, standing larger and more imposing than most homes in the neighborhood.
It occupied the end of the street, solitary at the cul-de-sac, with an expanse of space surrounding it that set it apart from its neighbors.
The yard was slightly unkempt, but it was not the only property in the vicinity that could use some care.
The absence of parked cars supported Van’s assertion that it was supposedly vacant.
Riley assumed that the man hiding there still had electricity, but if he was careful how he used it so that he could escape notice.
“Prendergast, around back,” she instructed, her voice low and authoritative. “Take one of your men with you. Ann Marie, with me. The rest of you be ready to enter when needed.”
She noted Putnam’s skeptical expression.
“Appreciate your backup,” she told him. “We’re not announcing ourselves. This guy has slipped away too many times. We need to move in quietly and discreetly without tipping off the suspect.”
“If he’s paying attention at all, he’ll know we’re here soon enough,” Putnam muttered.
“Then let’s move,” Riley replied. She and Ann Marie walked up to the front door and tested the doorknob. It was locked.
“You want to do the honors this time?” Riley inquired, her voice barely above a whisper as she gestured towards the lock. “Just keep it quiet,” she added, drawing her Glock.
Ann Marie nodded and crouched down, studying the lock. As Ann Marie skillfully maneuvered her lock picks, Riley’s hand slipped into her jacket, drawing out her Glock, the cool metal a reassuring weight in her grasp.
Her thoughts narrowed to a singular focus: Catch the predator. Prevent the next tragedy.
After a few minutes of work, Ann Marie stood up and nodded. Riley pushed the door open, revealing an empty foyer. There was no furniture, no personal belongings of any kind in sight, merely a light layer of dust.
Suddenly, an explosive crash from the upper floor cut through the stillness. A brief silence followed, abruptly broken by the unmistakable sound of running footsteps and a door slamming shut somewhere above them.
“FBI!” Riley announced, her voice authoritative and commanding. “Derek Aldrich, you need to come with us.” Her call reverberated off barren walls, but there was no reply and no other sound. Ann Marie also drew her weapon and waited for Riley to make the next move.
Riley signaled Ann Marie with a firm nod, and they moved quickly toward the staircase. No need for silence now; they raced upward.
At the top of the stairs, Riley was met with a corridor of closed doors, each one a barrier to their progress, but also a potential hiding place for Derek Aldrich.
With a precise gesture, Riley directed Ann Marie to the left side of the hallway.
Trusting her partner’s competence, she turned right, her every sense alert for the faintest sound or movement.
She felt the familiar tension coil inside her, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
As Riley moved methodically from room to room. The silence was her ally, an invisible partner in this pursuit, until it was shattered by movement—a faint sound and a fleeting shadow at the far end of the corridor. It was him.
“FBI! Don’t move!”
But Aldrich was a blur of desperation trying to evade capture. He disappeared through a narrow door, and then she heard him clattering down a back stairway.
“He’s heading for the back!” Riley’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and commanding.
She expected Putnam to have positioned himself perfectly outside in case of this attempt at escape, and she heard Ann Marie’s voice over the radio, relaying their position to Prendergast. They couldn’t let this man get away this time.
As she plunged down the narrow stairway after Aldrich, the sound of her pursuit echoed through the empty house, the sound of law enforcement closing in on its prey.
She reached the back door just in time to see Aldrich vaulting over a fence with agility born from fear. His movements were swift and desperate.
Prendergast and another officer were on the other side of the backyard, investigating a small, dilapidated shed. Then, Putnam emerged from the side yard, moving fast as he followed Aldrich's path over the fence.
Riley, her heart pounding, holstered her weapon before propelling herself across the yard. With a burst of effort, she launched herself over the same obstacle, landing heavily on the other side with a thud that resonated painfully up her legs.
She heard Ann Marie close behind her reporting, “Prendergast, we’re in pursuit heading west.”
The clash of clattering trash lids and the metallic groans of patio furniture drew Riley’s attention to Derek Aldrich—just a few houses away, bulldozing through backyards in his frantic bid for freedom.
Putnam charged directly after Aldrich, and for a moment Riley ran alongside him.
Each obstacle the suspect scattered in his wake was meant to slow them, and one rolling table actually tripped Putnam up.
Better at anticipating the fleeing man’s desperate attempts at sabotage, Riley sidestepped the debris.
The chase threaded through decorative fences and gardens, an unwelcome intrusion into private yards. Riley could feel the eyes of families peering through windows, their afternoons interrupted by the pursuit.
As they emerged onto a side street, Riley’s mind raced ahead of her feet, calculating trajectories and possibilities. Up ahead, Aldrich, fueled by primal fear, took a turn and disappeared around another house.
Putnam was nowhere in sight. She thought he must have veered off in a different direction, hoping to cut the runner off somewhere up ahead. Then Ann Marie dashed past Riley and after the fleeing man.
Eyeing a space between two homes off to her right, Riley made a split-second decision.
The narrow passage was a shortcut, a risk that could either pay off or cost them precious time.
But Riley trusted her instincts, honed by years in the field.
With Ann Marie and Putnam continuing the direct pursuit, Riley darted into the alley.
This was the gamble—the chance to cut off Aldrich’s path and bring an end to the race.
As she emerged from the passageway, the world opened up before her, and there, not ten yards away, was Aldrich, his expression one of startled realization.
Riley had won this bet, and now the real work would begin.
The sun’s glare off the asphalt seems to mock Riley’s urgency as she positioned herself within striking distance of Aldrich. She drew her weapon again, authority in every line of her stance.
“FBI! Stop right there!” she commanded.
Aldrich hesitated, his silhouette quivering. His eyes darted back and forth, the whites stark against his grimy face. It’s that split second of indecision—the predator caught in headlights—that gave Riley a glimmer of hope. She readied herself for his surrender.
But then, Aldrich pivoted on his heel, his survival instinct propelling him forward once more. Riley’s fingers twitched towards the trigger, but her mind stayed her hand. She holstered her weapon, muscles coiling like a spring. This was no time for hesitation; this was the moment for action.
She launched herself forward, her body remembering the countless drills, the relentless training that had sculpted her over the years and still kept her in shape. Each stride ate up the distance between her and her quarry.
As Aldrich’s foot pounded onto the pavement, Riley closed in.
Her tackle was textbook precision—sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and desperation.
Aldrich thrashed beneath her, a wild animal ensnared, but Riley was an unyielding force.
The concrete bit into her skin, a stinging reminder of reality as she fought to maintain control over the flailing suspect.
“Got you,” she muttered under her breath, working to restrain his arms. She felt the vibration of his struggles all the way to her core, a chaotic energy that seeks to disrupt her calm. But Riley was nothing if not resilient, her past hardships forging a will of iron.
Her grip was an unyielding vise around the suspect’s flailing limbs, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.
“Stop resisting!” The command was not just a directive; it was a plea for sanity in an insane situation.
She could feel the grind of gravel against her knees, the heat of exertion flushing her skin.
Riley’s dark hair, streaked with strands of hard-earned gray, clung to her damp forehead as she wrestled with the human tempest beneath her.
The thud of running footsteps approached, and Ann Marie burst into view. In fluid motions, she helped pin Aldrich’s arms behind his back.
With a low growl, Aldrich gave up the battle.
Together, their movements synchronized, Riley and her young partner managed to snap the cold steel of handcuffs around his wrists. The click of the mechanism was a small sound of closure. There was an undeniable sense of satisfaction in sharing this moment.
With Aldrich now subdued, Riley took a moment to glance around the area. The quiet street buzzed with the aftermath of the chase. Neighbors emerged onto their porches, and other curious faces peeked from behind curtains and doors, drawn by the commotion.
Still panting, Riley looked up to see Putnam jogging toward them, his sharp features softened momentarily by what appeared to be respect—a rare sight that didn’t escape her notice. His suit, usually immaculate, actually bore the signs of the day’s exertions.
“Nice work, Paige,” Putnam said between labored breaths, his usual skepticism seemingly worn away by the chase.
Riley offered only a nod, her chest heaving as she fought to steady her breathing.
Her body felt every bit of the struggle, muscles protesting the sudden demand she had placed upon them. It was a familiar discomfort.
As Prendergast and his officers arrived on the scene, Riley forced her weary body upright, extending a hand to Aldrich to help him to his feet. The man’s eyes were wild, the fight drained from them but leaving behind a flicker of defiance.
“Derek Aldrich, you’re under arrest for cyberstalking and criminal libel,” she informed him, her voice firm despite the fatigue.
As she recited his Miranda rights, there was a mechanical nature to the words—necessary, practiced, an incantation of the law that bound them all.
She felt the weight of Derek’s defeat; his body no longer tensed in resistance but slumped, resigned to the handcuffs that bound his wrists.
Riley’s grip on Derek Aldrich’s arm was firm, a professional restraint that mirrored the calm that had begun to settle over her. The chaos of the chase dissipated as she turned him over to the arriving police officers.
For a moment, Riley allowed herself to be just another person on this street, her senses taking in the suburban scene coming alive with whispers and fleeting glances.
Neighbors, drawn by the commotion, still watched from their safe havens behind partially closed drapes, their curiosity piqued by the sight of an arrest unfolding at their doorsteps.
There was a rhythmic quality to the scene—the pulsating lights of the police car syncopated with the soft murmurs of the watching crowd—a domestic symphony set against the backdrop of an ordinary neighborhood disrupted.
She observed the faces peering out—their expressions a mix of concern, intrigue, and the undeniable thrill of witnessing the law at close quarters.
She knew these faces would forget all this by tomorrow, their lives resuming the steady beat of the everyday.
But for her, the detective, the mother, the teacher—this was the rhythm of a different reality that she hadn’t experienced for many months.
As Prendergast and his police team led Aldrich away, the last remnants of Riley’s adrenaline ebbed. “I’m too old for this,” she muttered.
“Wow, that was quite a chase!” Ann Marie exclaimed, her voice filled with exhilaration.
“From the moment we stepped foot in that house, my heart was pounding like a drum. Then, hearing him upstairs and giving chase... I’d never felt so alive!
And you, Riley,” she continued, her sparkling blue eyes beaming at her partner.
“The way you anticipated Aldrich’s path, cut through the alley and intercepted him - it was like watching a chess master predict their opponent’s moves. Truly impressive!”
But Riley felt certain that they hadn’t reached the end of this case. There were more pieces of this puzzle, and they were likely to be darker and more difficult than this one.