Page 19 of Once Marked
“Riley, how do you make these intuitive leaps?”Ann Marie’s voice was low, threaded with a reverence that Riley wasn’t sure she deserved.“I’ve heard rumors about your...gift, but I’ve never understood how it works.”
Riley glanced at the lonely beach chair.How did she explain something so intrinsic, so woven into the fabric of her being?
“There’s nothing supernatural or paranormal about it,” she began, her tone level as she met Ann Marie’s gaze.She took a deep breath as she searched for words.“Insights come to me differently than they do to most other agents, but just because something is intuitive doesn’t mean it isn’t based on logic.”
It was true; her gut instincts were often a patchwork of observation and experience, stitched together by an unspoken understanding of human nature.But explaining that to someone without the same internal compass was like describing color to the blind.
“Think of it as a different kind of processing,” Riley continued, watching Ann Marie absorb her words.“My mind connects dots that aren’t always immediately obvious.”She gestured vaguely towards the scene around them.“The patterns here, they evoke a certain...sentimentality.It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
Ann Marie nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she digested Riley’s explanation.Silence enveloped them once more, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the shore.Riley knew the young agent had a keen mind and hoped she’d come to see that intuition was merely another tool in their investigative arsenal—one that, like any other, required fine-tuning and careful application.
“Does that make sense?”Riley asked, breaking the quiet between them.She hoped it did.She hoped Ann Marie could understand that what some called a gift was, in reality, the product of years spent walking a tightrope over the abyss of human depravity.
“Intuition is like muscle memory,” she added with a half-smile, “honed by years of practice and too many encounters with darkness.”
Ann Marie seemed to consider this, her eyes still fixed on Riley, searching for the hidden threads that wove her partner’s hunches into a coherent tapestry.There was a hunger there, a desire to grasp the elusive nature of Riley’s talent.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Riley,” Ann Marie said finally, her voice sincere.
“Sometimes we arrive at logical conclusions through unconscious processes,” Riley said, her voice steady against the drone of the wind outside the tent.“Keep in mind,” she added, “I’m by no means sure that I’m right in thinking the killer is a woman, but I feel that way pretty strongly right now.It’s just a theory we need to consider alongside others.”
Their contemplation was shattered by the insistent buzzing of Riley’s phone.She plucked it from her pocket with practiced ease, her heart rate quickening at the sight of Sam Flores’ name on the screen.The BAU tech was methodical and precise—his call would not be without reason.
“Sam,” she said, her tone sharpening with anticipation, the rustle of the tent flaps momentarily forgotten.“What have you got?”
“Riley,” came the reply, tinged with a note of breakthrough.“I’ve got something for you on those emails to Luther Shearer’s wife.”
“What have you found, Sam?”
“I’ve traced the sender,” Sam replied, his triumph ringing clear.
CHAPTER NINE
“That’s great,” Riley told Sam.“Hang on a minute, I want the Sheriff to hear this too.”
Holding her phone, Riley stepped out of the tent with Ann Marie following close behind her.She beckoned Sheriff Beeler over.
“Sam’s got something on those emails and photos Luther Shearer said his wife received,” Riley told Beeler.As he moved closer to listen, she said into the phone, “Go ahead, Sam.”
Sunlight glinted off the ocean in the distance as Sam’s voice crackled through the speaker.“I’ve traced the sender of those emails to Billie Shearer,” he declared.“It’s a man named Marcus Callahan.He’s the owner of a boat repair business in Sandhaven.”
Sheriff Beeler’s reaction was immediate; his eyes widened in a rare display of surprise.“Callahan,” he muttered, the word heavy with unspoken history.
“Sounds like you’ve heard of him,” Riley prompted, her tone carefully neutral.“What can you tell us about him, Sheriff?”
“Marcus Callahan’s been a thorn in our side for years,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.“His business, Callahan’s Boat Repair, operates all along the Upper Banks.He’s got a reputation for being...difficult, especially with women.”
Ann Marie leaned forward, “Difficult how?”she prodded, mirroring Riley’s own need for details.
“Well,” Sheriff Beeler began, “we actually arrested him once on stalking charges.More than one woman has complained about him.One filed a legal complaint after he wouldn’t stop harassing her.But the justice system failed us that time.He got off with a fine and mandatory counseling.If he’s behind those emails to Billie Shearer, I’d bet my badge he’s the one who sent those similar emails to Julie Sternan too.”
There wasn’t a doubt in Riley’s mind that Beeler was right, but it was necessary to make sure.
“Sam, we need you to dig into Julie Sternan’s emails as well,” Riley said.
“Got it,” Sam said with a technician’s calm.“Her info is in the case file that you sent me.I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks, Sam.We need everything you can find,” Riley replied.
