Sitting with Bill in the hotel bar that night, Riley couldn't get the image of the mangled man out of her head. Neither she nor Bill had been able to make sense of what had happened. She couldn't believe that Shane Hatcher had broken out of Sing Sing just to kill Smokey Moran. But there was no doubt that he had killed the man.
The bar's holiday lights seemed garish rather than a sign of celebration.
She held her empty glass out to a passing bartender. "I'll have another," she told her, handing over the glass.
Riley saw that Bill was looking at her uneasily. She understood why. This was Riley's second bourbon on the rocks. Bill knew that Riley's history with booze wasn't altogether pretty.
"Don't worry," she told him. "I'll make this my last for tonight."
She had no desire to get drunk tonight. All she wanted was to relax a little. The first glass hadn't helped, and she doubted that the second would either.
Riley and Bill had spent the rest of that day dealing with the aftermath of Smokey Moran's murder. While she and Bill had worked with local cops and the medical examiner's team at the crime scene, they'd sent Agents McGill and Newton back to the apartment building where Moran had lived. They were supposed to talk to the young gangbangers who had been standing guard in the foyer. But those young men were nowhere to be found. Moran's apartment remained unlocked and unprotected.
As the bartender set the fresh drink down in front of Riley, Riley remembered what the gangbangers had said in the foyer:
"Smokey said he thought you'd come."
"He told us to give you a message."
Then they'd told them where to find Smokey Moran.
Riley shook her head as she mentally replayed the moment.
"We should have talked to those punks when we had a chance," she told Bill. "We should have asked questions."
Bill shrugged.
"About what?" he asked. "What could they have told us?"
Riley didn't reply. The truth was, she didn't know. But the whole thing seemed strange. She remembered the gangbangers' expressions-stern, somber, even sad. It was almost as if they understood that their leader had gone to his death, and they were mourning already. The fact that they had now left their posts, apparently for good, seemed to confirm that.
So what had Moran told them before he'd left? That he wouldn't be coming back? Riley was puzzled by that possibility. Why wouldn't a smart, hardened career thug like Moran have steered clear of danger? Why did he go to that warehouse at all, if he had any idea of what awaited him there?
Interrupting Riley's thoughts, Bill asked, "What do you think will be Hatcher's next move?"
"I don't know," Riley said.
It was hard to admit, but it was true. Seasoned FBI agents were now guarding Kelsey Sprigge's house in case she was Hatcher's next target. But Riley didn't think she would be. Kelsey was right. Hatcher wouldn't kill the woman for just having done her job all those years ago, especially since she'd actually saved his life.
"Do you think he might come for you next?" Bill said.
"I wish he would," Riley said.
Bill looked a little shocked.
"You don't mean that," he said.
"I do mean that," Riley said. "If he'd only show himself, maybe I could do something. This is like playing a chess game blindfolded. How can I make my own move if I don't know his moves?"
Bill and Riley sipped on their drinks in silence for a few moments.
"You met him too, Bill," Riley said. "What's your take on him?"
Bill let out a long sigh.
"Well, he certainly seemed to figure me out in a hurry," he said. "He told me to forget about fixing things up with Maggie. I had no idea how right he was."
"How are things with Maggie these days?" Riley asked.
Bill rattled the ice around in his glass.
"Nowhere," he said. "I'm feeling stranded. Six months of separation, no chance of getting back together, but six months to go before the divorce becomes final. It feels like my life is standing still. At least she's easing up on custody of the boys. She's letting them spend time with me."
"That's good," Riley said.
She noticed that Bill was now gazing at her wistfully.
That's not good, she thought.
She and Bill had spent years struggling with their mutual attraction, sometimes very clumsily. Riley still winced as she remembered once drunkenly calling him and proposing that they have an affair. Their friendship and professional relationship had barely survived that miserable episode.
She didn't want to start down that road again, especially now that things were so confusing with both Ryan and Blaine. She gulped down the rest of her drink.
"It's time for me to turn in," she said.
"Yeah, me too," Bill said with a note of reluctance in his voice.
They paid the bill and left the bar. Bill headed straight toward his hotel room. In all the day's hectic confusion, Riley hadn't yet brought in her own travel bag and personal items from the car. She walked down a stairwell and through a door that led directly into the hotel's basement parking garage.
A cold blast of air hit her hard when she stepped into the concrete space. No one was in sight.
She headed straight toward the borrowed FBI SUV on the opposite side of the garage. The moment she got there and reached for the door handle, her peripheral vision caught a flash of movement somewhere to her left.
She turned her head to look. She saw nothing except parked cars, although she thought her ears detected an echo of movement. She was sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Someone else was in the garage.
"Hello," she called out.
Her voice resonated loudly through the garage, followed by the moaning sound of cold wind.
A rush of adrenaline shot through her. She was sure someone was here and avoiding her sight. Who could it possibly be except Shane Hatcher?
She drew her weapon, wondering whether he had a gun as well. If so, would he use it? No, simply shooting somebody hardly seemed Hatcher's style. She wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't even armed-but he'd be no less dangerous even so.
She walked cautiously toward where she thought she'd heard the sound. Now her own footsteps sounded positively deafening as they rang through the garage. Before she'd walked more than a few feet, she heard a noisy crack behind her, followed by a rattling sound.
She whirled around, her gun raised and ready. But at that very second, she heard a clatter of running footsteps from the opposite direction. She whirled again, but saw and heard nothing.
She instantly understood what had just happened. He'd thrown something-a pebble, maybe-across the way to distract her. Now he was moving among the parked cars somewhere. But where?
Turning around and around as she walked, she threaded her way among the parked cars, looking everywhere she possibly could.
Finally she reached the garage exit. Snow was falling outside. And there he was-unmistakably silhouetted in the open space against the glaring outdoor lights.
"Hatcher!" Riley yelled, pointing her gun. "Freeze!"
She heard a familiar, grim chuckle. Then he disappeared into the night.
Riley broke into a run and rushed through the wide exit. The wind and cold were much sharper outside the garage, and Riley wasn't warmly dressed. She shivered deeply and almost choked on the cold air. Snowflakes stuck to her face and stung her skin.
The driveway outside the garage wound a short way to the well-lighted street. Turning and turning, looking everywhere, Riley called out.
"Hatcher! Show yourself!"
Now the air was filled with the low rumble of nearby traffic. Looking around at the snow-covered shapes of trees and bushes, Riley found it hard to imagine that he was hidden among them.
"Hatcher!" she yelled again.
Finally she reached the street and looked up and down the cleared sidewalks along the street. She saw no sign of anyone.
He's gone, she decided.
Still watching all sides, Riley made her way back to the garage. Just as she stepped into the broad opening, she heard a flutter of movement.
Before she could react, she was seized violently from behind.
