“But what?” Riley asked.
He breathed deeply, then said, “Maybe it would be different if you wanted to become a lawyer, like me. Or a doctor or a shrink. Or go into real estate. Or start your own business. Or become a college professor. I could relate to any of those things. I could deal with them. But this whole thing with going to the Academy—you’re going to be in Quantico for 18 weeks! How much are we going to see each other during that whole time? Do you thin any relationship can survive so much time apart? And besides …”
He held Riley’s gaze for a moment.
Then he said, “Riley, you’ve almost been killed twice since I’ve known you.”
Riley gulped hard.
He was right, of course. Her most recent brush with death had been at the hands of the Clown Killer. Before that, during their last semester in college, she’d almost been killed by a sociopathic psychology professor who still awaited trial for murdering two other coeds. Riley had known both of those girls. One had been her best friend and roommate.
Riley’s help in solving that awful murder case was how she’d gotten into the summer intern program, and it was one of the main reasons she was thinking about becoming an FBI agent.
In a choked voice, Riley said, “Do you want me to quit? Do you want me to not go to Quantico tomorrow?”
Ryan said, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
Riley was struggling not to cry now.
“Yes, it does, Ryan,” she said. “It matters a lot.”
Ryan locked gazes with her for what seemed like a long time.
Then he said, “I guess I do. Want you to quit, I mean. I know you’ve found it exciting. It’s been a great adventure for you. But it’s time for us both to settle down. It’s time for us to get on with our real lives.”
Riley suddenly felt as though this had to be a bad dream, but she couldn’t wake up.
Our real lives! she thought.
What did that mean?
And what did it say about her that she didn’t know what it meant?
She only knew one thing for certain …
He doesn’t want me to go to Quantico.
Then Ryan said, “Look, you can work at all kinds of jobs right here in DC. And you’ve got lots of time to think about what you want to do in the long run. Meanwhile, it doesn’t matter if you make a lot of money. We’re not rich on what I’m making at the firm, but we’re getting by, and I’ll eventually be doing really well.”
Ryan started eating again, looking oddly relieved, as if they’d just settled everything.
But had they settled anything at all? Riley had spent all summer dreaming about the FBI Academy. She couldn’t imagine giving it up right here and now.
No, she thought. I just can’t do that.
Now she felt anger swelling up inside her.
In a tense voice she said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m not changing my mind. I’m going to Quantico tomorrow.”
Ryan stared at her like he couldn’t believe his ears.
Riley got up from the table and said, “Enjoy the rest of your meal. There’s some cheesecake in the refrigerator. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
Before Ryan could reply, Riley hurried into the bathroom. She cried for a few minutes, then took a long, hot shower. When she put on her slippers and bathrobe and came back out of the bathroom, she saw Ryan sitting in the kitchen. He’d cleared the table and was working at his computer. He didn’t look up.
Riley went into the bedroom and climbed into bed and started crying again.
As she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, she wondered …
Why am so angry?
Is Ryan wrong?
Is any of this his fault?
Her thoughts were such a jumble, she couldn’t think things through. And a terrible memory started to creep up on her—of waking up in this bed with a sharp pain, then seeing that she was soaked in blood …
My miscarriage.
She found herself wondering—was that one of the reasons Ryan didn’t want her to go into the FBI? She’d been badly stressed by the Clown Killer case when it had happened. But the doctor in the hospital had assured her that stress had nothing to do with her miscarriage.
Instead, she’d said that it had been caused by “chromosomal abnormalities.”
Now that Riley thought about it again, that word disturbed her …
Abnormalities.
She wondered—was she somehow abnormal, deep down inside where it really mattered?
Was she incapable of having a lasting relationship, let alone a family?
As she drifted off to sleep, she felt as though she knew only one thing for sure …
I’m going to Quantico tomorrow.
She was asleep before she could think about what might happen after that.
CHAPTER TWO
The man was pleased to hear the woman’s soft moan. He knew she must be regaining consciousness. Yes, he could see that her eyes had opened a little.
She was lying on her side on a rough-hewn wooden table in the small room that had a dirt floor, cinderblock walls, and low timbered ceiling. She was bound up tightly in a curled up position, taped fast with duct tape. Her legs were sharply bent and tightly bound to her chest, and her hands were wrapped around her shins. Her head lay sideways on top of her knees.
She reminded him of pictures he’d seen of human fetuses—and also of embryos he sometimes found when he cracked a fresh egg from one of the chickens he kept. She looked so mild and innocent, it was somehow a rather touching sight.
Mostly, of course, she reminded him of the other woman—Alice had been her name, he believed. He’d once thought that Alice would be the only one he’d treat this way, but then he’d enjoyed it … and there were so few pleasures in his life … how could he stop?
“It hurts,” the woman murmured, as if out of a dream. “Why does it hurt?”
He knew that it was because she lay in a thick tangled bed of barbed wire. Blood was already trickling onto the table top, and it was going add to the stains in the unfinished wood. Not that it mattered. The table was older than he was, and he was the only person who ever saw it anyway.
He was hurting and bleeding some as well. He’d cut himself while getting her into the truck with the barbed wire. It was harder to do than he’d expected because she’d fought back more forcefully than the other one.
She had writhed and twisted while the homemade chloroform was starting to kick in. But her struggles had weakened and he’d finally subdued her completely.
Even so, he wasn’t much bothered to be hurt by the sharp barbs. He knew from hard experience that such cuts healed up pretty quickly, even if they did leave ghastly scars.
He stooped down and looked closely into her face.
Her eyes were opened almost impossibly wide now. Her irises twitched around as she looked back at him.
Still trying to avoid looking at me, he realized.
Everybody acted that way toward him, wherever he went. He didn’t blame people for trying to pretend he was invisible, or that he didn’t exist at all. Sometimes he’d look in the mirror and pretend that he could make himself disappear.
Then the woman murmured again …
“It hurts.”
In