Special Agent Riley Paige froze in place, staring in shock. The handful of pebbles on her bed shouldn't have been there. Someone had broken into her home and placed them—someone who meant her harm.
She knew immediately the pebbles were a message, and that the message was from an old enemy. He was telling her that she had not killed him after all.
Peterson is alive.
She felt her body tremble at the thought.
She'd long suspected it, and now she was absolutely sure. Worse, he'd been inside her house. The thought made her want to throw up. Was he still here now?
Her breathing became short with fear. Riley knew that her physical resources were limited. Just that day she had survived a deadly encounter with a sadistic killer, and her head was still bandaged and her body bruised all over. Would she be ready to face him if he were inside her house?
Riley immediately drew her gun from its holster. Hands trembling, she went to her closet and opened it. Nobody was in there. She checked under her bed. Nobody there either.
Riley stood there and forced herself to think clearly. Had she been in the bedroom since she had gotten home? Yes, she had, because she had put her gun holster on top of the dresser next to the door. But she hadn't turned on the light and hadn't even looked into the room. She had simply stepped into the doorway and deposited her weapon on the dresser top, then left. She'd changed into her nightgown in the bathroom.
Could her nemesis have been in the house this whole time? After she and April got home, the two of them had talked and watched TV late into the night. Then April had gone to bed. In a tiny house like hers, staying hidden would require amazing stealth. But she couldn't discount the possibility.
Then she was seized by a new fear.
April!
Riley snatched the flashlight that she kept on the side table. With her gun in her right hand and the flashlight in her left, she stepped out of her bedroom and switched on the hall light. When she heard nothing awry, she quickly made her way to April's bedroom and threw open the door. The room was pitch dark. Riley turned on the overhead light.
Her daughter was already in bed.
"What is it, Mom?" April asked, squinting with surprise.
Riley stepped into the bedroom.
"Don't get out of bed," she said. "Stay right where you are."
"Mom, you're scaring me," April said, her voice trembling.
That was just fine as far as Riley was concerned. She was plenty scared herself, and her daughter had every reason to be as scared as she was. She went to April's closet, shined her flashlight around inside, and saw that no one was there. No one was under April's bed either.
What should she do next? She had to check every nook and corner in the rest of the house.
Riley knew what her one-time partner Bill Jeffreys would say.
Damn it, Riley, call for help.
Her longstanding tendency to go things alone had always infuriated Bill. But this time, she was going to heed his advice. With April in the house, Riley wasn't going to take any chances.
"Put on a bathrobe and some shoes," she said to her daughter. "But don't leave this room—not yet."
Riley went back into her bedroom and picked up her phone from the side table. She punched autodial for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. As soon as she heard a voice on the line, she hissed, "This is Special Agent Riley Paige. There's been an intruder in my home. He might still be here. I need someone here fast." She thought for a second, then added, "And send an evidence team."
"We'll get right on it," came the reply.
Riley ended the phone call and stepped out into the hall again. Except for the two bedrooms and the hallway, the house was still dark. He could be anywhere, lurking, waiting to attack. This man had caught her off guard once before, and she had nearly died at his hands.
Switching lights on as she went and keeping her gun at the ready, Riley moved efficiently through the house. She aimed her flashlight into every closet and unlit corner.
Finally, she glanced up at the hallway ceiling. The door above her led to the attic, with a pull-down ladder tucked away inside. Did she dare climb up there for a look?
At that moment Riley heard police sirens. She breathed a huge sigh of relief at the sound. She realized that the agency had called in the local police, because BAU headquarters was more than half an hour away.
She went to her bedroom and pulled on a pair of shoes and her bathrobe, then returned to April's room.
"Come with me," she said. "Stay close."
Still holding her gun, Riley wrapped her left arm around April's shoulders. The poor girl was trembling with fear. Riley led April to the front door and opened it just as several uniformed police officers came dashing up the sidewalk.
The male officer in charge came into the house, his gun drawn.
"What's the problem?" he asked.
"Someone was in the house," Riley said. "He might still be here."
The officer eyed the gun in her hand uneasily.
"I'm FBI," Riley said. "BAU agents will be here soon. I've already searched the house, except the attic." She pointed. "There's a door in the ceiling over in the hall."
The officer called out, "Bowers, Wright, get in here and check the attic. The rest of you search outside, back and front."
Bowers and Wright went straight to the hallway and pulled down the ladder. Both drew their weapons. One waited at the bottom of the ladder while the other climbed upward and flashed a light around. In a few moments, the man disappeared into the attic.
Soon a voice called out, "No one here."
Riley wanted to feel relieved. But the truth was, she more than half wished that Peterson had been up there. He could be arrested right here and now—or better yet, shot. She was all but sure that he wasn't going to turn up in the front yard or the back.
"Have you got a basement?" the lead officer asked.
"No, just a crawl space," Riley said.
The officer called outside, "Benson, Pratt, check under the house."
April was still holding onto her mother for dear life.
"What's going on, Mom?" she asked.
Riley hesitated. For years she'd avoided telling April much of the ugly truth about her work. But she had recently realized that she'd been overly protective. So she'd told April about her traumatic captivity at Peterson's hands—or at least as much as she thought she could handle. She'd also confided her doubts that the man was really dead.
But what should she tell April now? She wasn't sure.
Before Riley could make up her mind, April said, "It's Peterson, isn't it?"
Riley hugged her daughter tightly. She nodded back, trying to hide the shiver that ran through her whole body.
"He's still alive."
