Once Trapped

A silence fell. Riley sensed that Ruhl was struggling with what he wanted to say.

Finally he said, “Agent Paige, what do you know about Morgan Farrell?”

Riley squinted with concern. She said, “Officer Ruhl, I’m not sure it’s proper for me to comment. I really don’t know anything about what happened, and it’s not an FBI case.”

“I understand that. I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have called …”

His voice trailed off.

Then he added, “But Agent Paige, I don’t think Morgan Farrell did it. Murdered her husband, I mean. I’m kind of new to this job, and I know I’ve got a lot to learn … but I just don’t think she’s the type who could do that.”

Riley was startled at those words.

She certainly didn’t remember Morgan Farrell as being the “type” who might commit murder. But she had to be careful what she said to Ruhl. She wasn’t at all sure she ought to be having this conversation at all.

She asked Ruhl, “Has she confessed?”

“They tell me she has. And everybody believes her confession. My partner, the police chief, the DA—absolutely everybody. Except me. And I can’t help but wonder, do you …?”

He didn’t finish his question, but Riley knew what it was.

He wanted to know whether Riley believed Morgan to be capable of murder.

Slowly and cautiously, she said, “Officer Ruhl, I appreciate your concern. But it’s really not appropriate for me to speculate on any of this. I assume that it’s a local case, and unless the FBI is called in to help in the investigation, well … frankly, it’s none of my business.”

“Of course, my apologies,” said Ruhl politely. “I should have known better. Anyway, thanks for taking my call. I won’t bother you again.”

He ended the call, and Riley sat staring at the telephone, sipping from her drink.

The girls clattered past her, closely followed by the little dog. They were all on the way to the family room to play, and Darby was looking quite happy now.

Riley watched them go by, with a deep feeling of satisfaction. But then memories of Morgan Farrell began to intrude on her mind.

She and her partner, Bill Jeffreys, had gone to the Farrells’ mansion to interview Morgan’s husband regarding the death of his own son.

She remembered how Morgan had seemed almost too weak to stand, clinging to the banister of the huge staircase for support while her husband presided over her as if she were some sort of trophy.

She remembered the look of vacant terror in the woman’s eyes.

She also remembered what Andrew Farrell had said about her as soon as she was out of earshot …

“A rather famous model when I married her—perhaps you’ve seen her on magazine covers.”

And regarding how much younger Morgan had been than himself, he’d added …

“A stepmother should never be older than her husband’s oldest children. I’ve made sure of that with all my wives.”

Riley now felt the same chill she’d felt back then.

Morgan had obviously been nothing more than a costly trinket for Andrew Farrell to show off in public—not a human being at all.

Finally Riley remembered what had happened to Andrew Farrell’s wife before Morgan.

She had committed suicide.

When Riley had given Morgan her FBI card, she’d been worried that the woman might meet the same fate—or die under other sinister circumstances. The last thing she had imagined was that Morgan would kill her husband—or anybody else for that matter.

Riley began to feel a familiar tingle—the kind of tingle she got whenever her instincts told her that things were not what they seemed.

Normally, that tingle was a signal for her to probe the matter more deeply.

But now?

No, it’s really none of my business, she told herself.

Or was it?

While she was puzzling things over, her phone rang again. This time she saw that the call was from Bill. She’d texted him that everything was all right and she’d be home tonight.

“Hi, Riley,” he said when she answered. “Just checking in. So everything went all right in Phoenix?”

“Thanks for calling, Bill,” she replied. “Yes, the adoption is final now.”

“Everything was thoroughly uneventful, I hope,” Bill asked.

Riley couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not exactly,” she said. “In fact, far from it. There was, uh, some violence involved. And a dog.”

She heard Bill chuckle as well.

“Violence and a dog? I’m intrigued! Tell me more!”

“I will when we see each other,” Riley said. “It’ll be a better story if I can tell you face to face.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in Quantico, then.”

Riley fell silent for a moment as she felt on the brink of a strange decision.

She said to Bill, “I don’t think so. I think maybe I’ll take a couple more days off.”

“Well, you certainly deserve it. Congratulations again.”

They ended the call, and Riley headed upstairs to her room. She turned on her computer.

Then she booked a flight to Atlanta for tomorrow morning.

CHAPTER EIGHT