This could be an opportunity.If Leo was reaching out to her, trying to use her to get to Mom, maybe she could turn the tables.Maybe she could help them catch him.
It wasn’t just bravado or teenage recklessness driving the thought.Jilly had spent enough time around Mom and Dad to understand how investigations worked, how predators operated.She’d overheard countless discussions about psychology and profiling, about setting traps and controlled encounters.If she played along just enough, gave Mom a chance to prepare...
Her phone buzzed again.
Are you there, Jilly?I promise I’m not a stranger.We’ve never talked directly, but you know who I am.
Jilly took a deep breath, steadying herself.She needed to respond carefully—not so eagerly that he’d become suspicious, but not with outright rejection that might make him disappear again.Mom needed to know about this immediately, but first, Jilly needed to keep the conversation going.
Sorry, was walking to class,she typed.I’m not sure about meeting tonight.My mom keeps pretty close tabs on me.
The response came quickly:I know she does.Riley is very protective of you.But I also know she’s working a case today.You could slip out for a little while.No one would have to know.
There it was—the mention of her mother by name.The knowledge of Mom’s whereabouts.This was definitely Leo Dillard, and he was watching them, tracking their movements.The realization should have terrified her, but instead, Jilly felt an unexpected rush of something like power.He’d made a mistake by contacting her.He’d given them a way to find him.
She typed her reply:What do you have in mind?
CHAPTER TEN
Riley’s mind was cycling through connections as she drove through DC’s midday traffic.They’d been on this case less than seven hours, yet part of the pattern was clear: two women dead, both patients of Marcus Berridge, both finding peace through carefully folding paper only to have their lives brutally ended.Riley and Ann Marie were headed toward Mae Simmons’s home, where they might find their next potential victim.
In the passenger seat, Ann Marie was studying her notes.She looked up and asked, “Did Flores seem optimistic about tracking down our mystery woman?This Fawn Waller?”
“Not exactly.Sam thinks it might be challenging.Someone who was careful enough to disguise her voice and appearance during video sessions might have been equally careful about hiding her digital footprint.”
“But there must be something,” Ann Marie protested.“IP addresses, login credentials, payment information.Everyone leaves digital breadcrumbs these days.”
“You’d think so,” Riley agreed.“But Sam pointed out several ways she could have covered her tracks—using proxy servers to mask her real location, logging in from different public Wi-Fi hotspots like cafés or hotels, never using the same connection twice.”
Ann Marie’s face fell slightly.“So we might not be able to find her?”
“I didn’t say that,” Riley corrected.“Sam’s team is very good.But it’s not going to be quick or easy, and time isn’t on our side.It’s good that we’ve identified a likely next target.Mae Simmons is possibly in danger—but unlike our first two victims, we can protect her.”
They traveled the next few blocks in silence, each processing the implications of what they’d learned.The neighborhood where Mae Simmons lived was upscale without being ostentatious—well-maintained townhouses with tasteful landscaping, the kind of place that spoke of comfortable professional success rather than extravagant wealth.
As they approached the address, Riley spotted the unmarked police car positioned at the curb, two plainclothes officers visible inside.She nodded with approval; Brookman’s team had responded promptly to her request for protection.
“Looks like local PD is already in place,” she noted, pulling up behind their vehicle.
The Simmons residence was a three-story brick townhouse with large windows and a small, meticulously maintained front garden.Riley and Ann Marie got out of their car and approached the front door, credentials ready.Ann Marie pressed the doorbell, and they heard its chime echo inside.Moments later, the door opened to reveal a man in his late thirties with rumpled brown hair.His business-casual attire—dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie—suggested he’d come from an office environment in a hurry.
“Derek Simmons?”Riley inquired, holding up her badge.“I’m Special Agent Riley Paige, and this is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer, FBI.”
The man nodded, tension evident in the lines around his mouth.“Yes, that’s me.Please, come in.”He stepped aside to let them enter a spacious foyer decorated with an eclectic mix of modern and antique pieces.“I came home as soon as Mae called.She said the FBI had contacted her about some kind of danger, but wouldn’t give details over the phone.”His voice dropped slightly.“What exactly is going on?”
“We’ll explain everything,” Riley assured him, “but first, we’d like to speak with your wife.”
“She’s in her office, working as if nothing’s wrong.”A flash of frustration crossed his features.“I’m taking this more seriously than she is, to be honest.When she mentioned the FBI called, I dropped everything and rushed home from my IT consulting job.”
He led them through a tastefully decorated living room into a hallway.“Mae’s office is just down here.She’s an interior designer,” he added, as if that explained something about her reaction.“She works right here at home.”
Derek knocked softly on a half-open door.“Mae?The FBI agents are here.”
The door swung wider to reveal a bright, airy room dominated by a large drafting table covered with fabric swatches, paint chips, and sketches.A collection of exquisitely folded origami figures were perched on the desk and nearby tables—a crane with wings poised mid-flight, a multi-pointed star with perfect symmetry, and what appeared to be a complex geometric rose.
A woman with dark, curly hair looked up from her computer.Mae Simmons had the quick, alert eyes of someone who noticed details.She was dressed in a flowing tunic over slim pants, several chunky bangles adorning one wrist.
“Finally,” she said, standing and extending her hand.“Maybe now someone can explain why there are police officers parked outside my house and why I’ve been told not to leave.”
