Stalking Page 8

  “What’s with that guy?” she murmured to Crivaro. “What does he have against us?”

  “It’s something you’re liable to run into from time to time,” Crivaro said. “We federal agents aren’t always welcome guests—especially in rural areas like this.”

  “But he asked for the BAU’s help,” Riley said.

  “Yeah, because he knew he really needed it,” Crivaro said. “And that irritates him all the more. We represent everything these small town folks fear and mistrust and downright loathe. We’re big city, big government, big law enforcement—big everything. They don’t like us. They like life to stay small.”

  Crivaro shrugged and added, “Sometimes it’s almost like these local cops blame us for the cases we’re here to solve—as if we’re accomplices somehow. It’s not fair, and it might even seem kind of stupid, but there it is.”

  Riley shook her head and said, “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot about this job that takes getting used to,” Crivaro said.

  Riley noticed an odd note of irritably in his voice, as if he was leaving something unpleasant unsaid.

  Crivaro stared out the window for a moment.

  Then he said, “What do you think about the kid we just talked to?”

  “I don’t know,” Riley said. “I had trouble reading him. Something about his face.”

  “I know what you mean,” Crivaro said. “He’s got one of those expressions that are kind of hard to read. You’ll run into those from time to time.”

  Riley chuckled and said, “Well, you sure shook him up when he tried to lie to you about his relationship with the girl. You really went all papa bear on him, like a dad reading a teenage kid the riot act. I’ve never seen you get into that mode before.”

  Crivaro growled under his breath.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve had some experience along those lines. I raised a son, remember? Getting him through adolescence was murder. It toughened me up more than a lot of murder cases. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

  As they walked toward the counter, Riley was surprised at what Crivaro had just said. The only other time he’d ever mentioned having a son was once when he’d warned her about the havoc being a BAU agent could wreak on her personal life.

  “It gets hard to just be a human being,” he’d told her.

  She knew that his divorce and his estranged son were sensitive subjects that he didn’t like to talk about.

  At the counter she and Crivaro ordered some burgers from a girl who looked extremely curious about them. Riley could understand why. It wasn’t every day when a Tobin’s employee got questioned by the authorities. Riley could see Jay peeking warily at them through some shelves that separated the kitchen from the front counter. She wished she had a better idea of what to think of him.

  When they got their burgers and went back to their table, Riley knew it was time to bring up a subject she’d much rather put behind her.

  She said, “Agent Crivaro, about what happened earlier, back at the station—”

  Crivaro interrupted, “It can’t happen again, Riley.”

  Riley was startled by the sharpness in his voice.

  He took a bite of his burger and said, “Look, I get it. We’ve got two teenage victims—sweet-faced, innocent-looking girls. They remind you of Heidi Wright. Their photos triggered your trauma. But I can’t have you running out on meetings like that—especially when we’re working with a guy as prickly as Sheriff Quayle. It just can’t happen.”

  Riley sat staring at him for a moment.

  Crivaro said, “We talked about all this earlier. You can’t expect me to understand what you’re going through. My own first experience with deadly force wasn’t anything like yours. I can’t be your therapist and your partner at the same time. In fact, I’ve got no business being your therapist at all.”

  “I understand,” Riley whispered.

  “Do you?” Crivaro said.

  He held her gaze for a long moment.

  Then he said, “We’ve both got a decision to make, right here and now. If you don’t think you can do this, that’s fine, I won’t hold it against you, and no one else will either. I can ask for another partner for this case, or I can work it on my own. It’s no problem for me either way. Meanwhile, you can see that therapist, and after you get your head straight, I’ll be glad to work with you again. Is that what you want?”

  Riley felt positively stricken.

  She remembered her own doubts of a little while ago.

  “Are you okay, Riley?” Crivaro had asked when they’d been walking here.

  Again she wondered …

  Am I okay?

  Am I going to be okay?

  Riley felt a lump of emotion in her throat.

  Don’t cry, she told herself.

  That would be the worst thing she could do right now.

  It might even be the end of her BAU career.

  “I can do this,” she finally said in as firm a voice as she could muster.

  “Are you sure?” Crivaro asked.

  “I’m sure,” Riley said.

  “Okay,” Crivaro said, taking another bite of his burger.

  The truth was, Riley didn’t feel sure of it at all. She only knew that she couldn’t bring herself to give up on a case right now. She especially didn’t want to fail because her emotions were getting the best of her.

  I want to be better than that, she thought.

  I’ve got to be better than that.

  Just as they were finishing their burgers, Crivaro’s phone rang. As Riley listened to Crivaro’s monosyllabic replies, she realized the call was from Sheriff Quayle.

  Crivaro ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

  He frowned and said, “Jay Napier’s alibi holds up. Quayle called the house where Jay and his pals were supposed to be jamming that night. The parents there confirmed it. So did some of Jay’s friends when he called them.”

  “Should we tell Jay?” Riley said.

  “No, the sheriff’s going to call him here and tell him personally.”

  Riley fought down a discouraged sigh. She’d really hoped that Jay would prove to be their killer, and they could put an end to these murders once and for all.

  Just then a car pulled up and parked in the restaurant parking lot. A uniformed cop got out and came inside.

  He called out to Riley and Crivaro, “I’ve got a car you guys can use. I’ll tell you how to get to your motel.”

  Riley and Crivaro put their paper cups and wrappers in the trash. Before they followed the cop out the door, Riley glanced back toward the counter. Once again, she could see Jay’s face among the shelves, peeking out from the kitchen area. She couldn’t see his lips, but she felt pretty sure that half-smile was there.

  Just habitual, I guess, she thought.

  It bothered her that she hadn’t been able to read him at all, despite the instincts she’d gotten so much praise and attention for.

  Some instincts, she thought as she and Crivaro walked outside to the waiting vehicle and started to drive to their motel.

  *

  An eerie feeling of déjà vu came over Riley when she opened her motel room door and walked inside. She wondered—what was it about this room that seemed so familiar to her?

  Then it dawned on her.

  Everything about it seems familiar.

  She’d stayed in several motels since she’d started working on murder cases with Jake Crivaro last year. It hadn’t occurred to her until just now that they were all strangely identical.

  The decor was different, of course. This room had a divider and wallpaper with star motifs, while the room she had stayed in during their case in Maryland was leaf-themed, and an earlier room in West Virginia had diamond patterns everywhere.

  But all the rooms had been about the same size, with two twin beds, a table between them, the same number of lamps, and the same number of paintings of similar sizes hanging in nearly the same
positions on the walls.

  It was as if somebody kept moving the same room around wherever Riley went, applying different decor in order to fool her into thinking she was actually in different places.

  She didn’t believe it, of course. But she was tired, and her mind was playing tricks on her. Today had been a long, difficult day, and just yesterday she had killed another human being for the first time. But what was it about the similarities among the motel rooms that troubled her?

  As she stretched out on one of the beds, a word popped into her mind.

  Monotony.

  Was that it? Was she maybe getting a hint that her life as a BAU agent was going to become monotonous, even achingly repetitious?

  How could that be possible? she wondered.

  In just a few short months, she’d helped to thwart a bizarre assortment of killers—a twisted college professor who murdered students in the interest of “research,” a crazed clown who injected his victims with fatal doses of amphetamine, a monster who wrapped his victims in barbed wire, another who slashed women’s throats and left their bodies to the elements …

  Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder—might all evil be the same deep down? Were the very killers she pursued somehow as much alike as these motel rooms? If so, would she someday become numb to the horrors she would face time and time again?

  She shuddered at the thought.

  Maybe it was better to feel traumatized than to feel numb.

  She sighed and tried to persuade herself to get up from the bed, get out of the clothes she’d been wearing all day, and climb under the covers for a serious night’s sleep.

  But she felt too tired to move.

  She took her cellphone out of her pocket and checked it for messages. There were none—not even from Ryan, who was probably getting ready for bed himself right about now.

  She wondered how his day had been. What had he been doing at the law firm today? What time had he gotten back to their apartment? What had he eaten for dinner in her absence? And most of all—did he miss her?

  I should call him, she thought.

  But somehow, she couldn’t make herself do it.

  She remembered their difficult phone conversation this morning.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he’d said.

  And she couldn’t blame him for his disappointment. He’d had a romantic evening planned at their favorite restaurant. And after it was over, he’d hoped to come home and restore some of the intimacy they seemed to have lost since she’d become involved with the FBI.

  She remembered the sad tone in his voice when he’d broached the subject.

  “It’s been a long time since we … you know.”

  She thought about how different things would be right now if she’d simply told Crivaro that she couldn’t take this case. He’d given her every opportunity to say no. If she had, she and Ryan might be making love right now.

  Wouldn’t that be better than lying here alone?

  Why had she chosen as she did? Was it possible that she was trying to push Ryan away? Was she actually trying to avoid restoring the intimacy that had been slipping away between them? Did she somehow feel more at home in bland, indistinguishable motel rooms like this than she did in the apartment where they were trying to make a life together?

  She didn’t know, but she felt pretty sure of one thing.

  I’ve got to talk to that therapist.

  She forced herself to get up and go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. When she lay back down under the covers, she wondered—what was this new case going to be like? How was it going to feel to track down a new killer?

  And was she going to have to take another life?

  As she faded off to sleep, she remembered the photos of those innocent, murdered girls. If she had to kill the monster who had taken their lives, surely she wouldn’t feel bad about it this time.

  Maybe I’ll even like it, she thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The only thing Sandra knew at first was that everything was dark. Then the pain set in—the worst headache she could ever remember. She dimly realized that she was lying on a hard, cold surface in total darkness.

  But where am I? she wondered.

  She tried to move, to sit up, but something was restraining her arms. Her wrists were bound together. Then she tried to move her legs, but her ankles were held fast.

  Sandra forced down the panic she felt rising. She struggled to think calmly and clearly.

  How did I get here?

  She realized she must have been unconscious and was just starting to come to again. Then she gasped as a vague memory surfaced …

  She’d been struck. She’d been knocked out. She strained to remember how and when, but it was hard to think over the pounding pain in her head.

  I’ve got to remember, she told herself.

  The only thing Sandra felt sure of was that she was in terrible danger. How could she get out of this situation if she had no idea what had happened in the first place?

  Slowly, bits and pieces began to come back to her.

  She’d been out walking on the school grounds as she often did at night when she had trouble sleeping. She vaguely remembered Sister Agnes putting out some kind of warning for everybody to stay indoors that night, but Sandra had ignored it. The idea that there could be any danger on those grounds had seemed silly to her. It had been cold outside, but she enjoyed the bracing chill in the air.

  Then she’d seen a vehicle of some sort.

  Yes, a van.

  It had been parked ahead on the wide campus sidewalk where she was walking. She remembered feeling angry for a moment. The school was constantly trying to keep people from parking or standing their cars on those pavements. But she’d told herself not to be angry.

  I mustn’t judge, lest I be judged, she’d thought.

  Whoever had parked there at this time of night probably didn’t know the campus rules. The van’s engine had been running, so the driver must have stopped there for some understandable reason—engine trouble, perhaps or to look at a map for directions.

  Maybe I can help, she’d thought.

  She’d walked to the side of the van and seen that its door was open.

  And then …

  What happened then?

  All she could remember was being struck in the head by something very hard.

  And now she was here, bound hand and foot.

  With every passing moment, her dazed confusion was turning into fear.

  “Where am I?” she said hoarsely.

  No one answered.

  “Where am I?” she repeated more loudly.

  Again there was no answer.

  Am I all alone? she wondered.

  Had she been bound and abandoned in this dark place, never to be found or rescued?

  As adrenaline surged through her body, she let out a scream of rage and terror.

  “Answer me! Where am I? What do you want with me?”

  When no reply came again, she continued to scream wildly and wordlessly. When she finished, her very panting sounded deafening.

  Then a possibility occurred to her.

  It’s a test of some sort.

  A test of faith.

  If so, she mustn’t scream, mustn’t lose heart. She began to murmur aloud.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”

  She wished she could reach her rosary, which she could feel hanging around her neck.

  Even so, she continued, “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

  Before she could say the next words, she heard a quiet, gentle, male voice.

  “Don’t worry. I’m here to save you.”

  She almost fainted from relief at what seemed like a miracle.

  My prayer was answered!

  The seemingly disembodied voice continued.

  “But first … I have to know for certain … that you’ll keep your promise.”

  “Promise?�
� she echoed.

  “You know what promise I mean. And I know you’re planning to break it. You mustn’t break it.”

  She lay there trying to grasp what he might mean. She also realized that she recognized that voice from somewhere. Where had she heard it before? Was it someone she knew?

  The man said, “Tell me about it, Sandra. Why do you want to do it?”

  Do what? she wondered.

  Then it began to dawn on her …

  Oh, my God.

  My promise.

  My vow.

  “It was a mistake,” she said desperately. “I was wrong. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll keep my promise.”

  She heard the man sigh in the dark.

  “Now, Sandra, you mustn’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying.”

  Sandra could barely breathe. For some reason she believed him, felt sure that he could tell that she was uttering the slightest falsehood.

  But how could she be truthful? Right now, she felt willing to do or say anything, true or not, to get free, to put a stop to whatever was going on right now.

  “Talk to me, Sandra,” the man said with a voice full of concern. “Tell me why. Tell me so I can help you.”

  At last she recognized that voice. She knew who it was. The man had seemed kindly enough at the time, but somehow she’d felt afraid of him even then.

  And now she knew she’d been right to feel afraid.

  In a trembling voice, she continued …

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners …”

  She choked on the last words, and for a moment couldn’t say them aloud.

  But I’ve got to say them.

  She forced the words through her lips

  “… now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

  She knew in her heart that the hour of her death had arrived.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Riley was already out of bed and getting herself ready to meet Agent Crivaro for breakfast when she heard a sharp knock on her motel room door.

  When she opened the door, Crivaro was standing there looking worried and agitated.

  “We’re needed, Riley,” he said. “Right away. Let’s grab something to eat while we’re driving.”