When Riley didn’t answer, another silence followed.Then Bill asked gruffly, “What did the note say?”
Riley recited the highlights from memory—Leo’s accurate prediction of how she’d handle this situation, written and posted before she had yet taken those very same steps.
When she finished, there was another long silence on the other end of the line.
“We’ll need to send it to Quantico,” Bill finally said.“Have the lab analyze it, see if they can pull anything useful.”
“I already bagged it.I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning.”She didn’t add that she had stood there for nearly twenty minutes after finding it, scanning every shadow, every corner of the bridge and surrounding paths, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of Leo watching her.The thought that he could be that close, observing her without her knowledge, made her skin crawl.
“Good.Though we both know what they’re going to find.”Bill’s tone was resigned.
“Nothing,” Riley agreed.“He’s too careful.The paper will be common stock, available at any craft store.No prints, no DNA, no trace evidence leading back to him.I also called in a forensics team to examine the scene, but only as a matter of procedure.It’s a public place, and I’m sure they won’t find anything either.”
Bill sighed, and she heard the creak of a chair as he shifted.“He’s playing with us, Riley.With you specifically.”
“I know.”The words came out sharper than she intended.“Sorry.I just...”She trailed off, unsure how to articulate her frustration and unease.
“Don’t apologize.This case is getting to all of us,” Bill said.“Especially you.But we’ll catch him.Every time he reaches out, he risks making a mistake.And when he does—”
“We’ll be there,” she finished.
The conversation lulled into a companionable silence.Riley listened to Bill’s breathing, finding comfort in the simple reminder that he existed, that she wasn’t facing this alone.He had long ago become the support she most counted on, steady when everything else seemed to shift and crumble.
“I’ll be home tomorrow morning,” he said eventually.“Flight gets in at eight-thirty.I should be at home by ten.”
“Good.”The word felt inadequate.She wanted to tell him how much she needed his steady presence, his unwavering support.How the thought of seeing him tomorrow was the brightest spot in an otherwise dark landscape.
Instead, she said, “I wish you were here now.”
The admission was vulnerable and honest.
“Me too,” he replied, his voice softer.“These hotel rooms get lonely.”
Riley glanced around her living room, a pleasant place that was often filled with life.Yet in that moment, it felt just as empty as Bill’s hotel room.
“Maybe when this is over, we could take some time,” she suggested, the words coming unbidden.“Just a weekend.Somewhere quiet.”
“I’d like that.”The warmth in his tone made her smile despite everything.“Get some rest, Riley.We’ll tackle this together tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Bill.”
“Goodnight.”
Riley ended the call but kept the phone clutched in her hand, a tether to Bill and the promise of tomorrow.Somewhere outside in the darkness, she knew, Leo Dillard was planning his next move.Watching.Waiting.Playing his twisted game.
She set the phone down and rubbed her temples, willing away the headache that had been building since Echo Bridge.Tomorrow would come soon enough, bringing Bill and, hopefully, some clarity.For now, she needed to rest, to rebuild her defenses against whatever Leo had planned next.
But as Riley made her way upstairs to her bedroom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the game was only beginning, and that Leo Dillard was already one step ahead.
*
Patricia Walsh’s running shoes whispered against the asphalt path that wound through Liberty Meadows Park.The night air, cool and dense with the scent of freshly mown grass, filled her lungs as she maintained her steady pace.This late-night ritual—this solitary jog beneath the amber glow of park lamps—had become her sanctuary, a precious hour carved from her life, a place where her mind could finally untangle from the day’s complexities.
Tonight, the park was especially quiet.Most evenings, she encountered at least a few other dedicated night runners or dog walkers, but now the paths stretched empty before her, the stillness broken only by the rhythm of her breathing and the distant hum of city traffic.Patricia welcomed the solitude.After a day of organizing depositions and managing the demands of attorneys who treated deadlines as suggestions, the emptiness felt like a gift.
Her thoughts drifted to the origami meeting scheduled for tomorrow evening.Patricia had spent her lunch break practicing basic folds in preparation.The meditative movements of folding paper had become a counterbalance to her professional life, where one misplaced comma in a legal document could change entire meanings and outcomes—an especially stressful job for a person who suffered from a diagnosed case of generalized anxiety disorder, as she did.In origami, each crease was deliberate, each fold a step toward creation rather than complication.And with every crease, she felt her chronic anxiety loosen its grip on her.
She rounded the curve where the path skirted the small pond, now a black mirror reflecting fragmented moonlight.The water’s edge was her halfway point—from here, she would loop back toward the southern entrance where her car waited.Patricia checked her fitness tracker: twenty-two minutes in, heart rate steady.Perfect.
