Page 29 of Once Hidden
“She took off this morning before I got a chance to ask.”April shrugged, though the casual gesture didn’t match the pride she felt.
Molly looked impressed.“Must be weird having an FBI agent for a mom.”
“You get used to it,” April said, though that wasn’t entirely true.She’d never quite gotten used to the worry that accompanied her mother’s job – the knowledge that each case might be the one where luck ran out.
She glanced at the clock on the wall – one more hour until her shift ended.Her mother would be deep into her investigation by now, analyzing evidence, interviewing witnesses, piecing together the puzzle of whatever crime she was trying to solve.April tried to imagine her mother in that moment – focused, determined, unflappable.
She certainly wouldn’t be standing around moping about a boy.
“You know what?”April said suddenly.“You’re right.I’m going to his place after work.”
Molly grinned.“That’s my girl.No use waiting around for answers when you can go get them yourself.”
The bell above the door jingled again as another customer entered.April turned toward the sound with renewed purpose.Whatever was happening with Ethan – whether he was hiding something sinister or just dealing with his own personal issues – she would face it head-on.
Just like Mom would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the rural landscape blurred past the car window, Riley’s mind sorted through the fragments they’d gathered so far about the disappearance of a delivery driver in Bundydale—Cable Morris, twenty-seven, gone without a trace two nights ago.Two delivery drivers.Two abandoned vehicles.Two carefully orchestrated traps.One unsub, she was certain, methodically selecting his victims like a hunter choosing his prey.
“You’re quiet,” Ann Marie said from the passenger seat.
“Just thinking.”
“About the patterns?”Ann Marie asked, turning slightly toward her.“I’ve been making notes.The timing is identical—both disappearances around 6:30 p.m., both drivers nearing the end of their routes.”
“Routine,” Riley murmured.“That means he studies them, learns their patterns.Nothing impulsive about it.”
The GPS chirped, instructing them to turn onto a narrower road.As they rounded the bend, Bundydale came into view—a small town nestled in a shallow valley, with a mix of older brick buildings and newer structures sprawled along its main thoroughfare.A hardware store, a grocery market, and a couple of fast-food chains lined the main street.A few faded American flags hung from lampposts, limp in the still summer air.
“Smaller than I expected,” Ann Marie observed as they passed a sign that read “Welcome to Bundydale, Est.1892.”
“Makes his hunting ground that much more interesting.Two small towns, within thirty miles of each other.He knows this area well.”
The police station sat at the edge of what passed for downtown—a single-story brick building with a small parking lot where three patrol cars were neatly aligned.As Riley pulled into a visitor spot, she noticed Hodge’s unmarked vehicle already parked nearby.
“Perfect timing,” she said, killing the engine.
They stepped out into the heavy afternoon heat.Captain Hodge approached them, his expression grave beneath the brim of his regulation hat.
“Agents,” he greeted them.“Chief Peckham’s expecting us.”
The three of them walked toward the station entrance, their footsteps crunching on the gravelly asphalt.Riley studied the building, noting the well-positioned security cameras and the freshly painted blue stripe that ran along the building’s façade—a small town’s gesture of support for its police force.
They entered into a small lobby cooled by an aggressive air conditioning system.A middle-aged civilian receptionist glanced up from her computer, but before she could speak, a door to the left swung open, revealing Chief Abel Peckham.
“Captain Hodge.FBI.I saw your cars come in.Right on time.”
Peckham was a solid presence in a crisp uniform.In his mid-fifties, Riley guessed, with steel gray hair cropped close to his scalp and skin toughened by years of outdoor work.His eyes—keen and assessing—moved over each of them before settling on Riley.There was intelligence there, she noted, and a wariness that came from decades in law enforcement.
“Chief,” Hodge said, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand.“This is Special Agent Riley Paige and Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer from the BAU.”
Peckham’s handshake was firm but not aggressive.“Wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” he said, his voice carrying a slight drawl that spoke of local roots.“Had a feeling this must be connected to your Talomaska case the minute I heard the details.Too similar to be coincidence.”
Riley appreciated the lack of territorial posturing.Too often, local law enforcement viewed FBI involvement as an intrusion rather than assistance.
“Follow me,” Peckham said, gesturing them through the door he’d emerged from.“Got everything set up in our briefing room.”
