Page 16 of Once Broken
Leo Dillard remained perfectly still in the shade of a massive oak tree, his body angled behind the trunk just enough to obscure his presence from casual observation.A navy baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a nondescript gray hoodie completed his anonymity.From this position, he had a view of the student union’s entrance without exposing himself to the security cameras mounted above the building’s doors.At this distance and with the flow of students between himself and the building, he could remain unseen.
He’d been waiting for forty-three minutes when April Paige finally emerged from the building.But she wasn’t alone.The sight of the man accompanying her sent a jolt of recognition through Leo’s system: Bill Jeffreys.Riley Paige’s partner.Her lover.The man who had everything Leo deserved.
Leo’s leaned against the rough bark of a tree.He knew Jeffreys’ face well—had studied photographs of him with Riley at Bureau events, had dissected their body language in every image he could find online.Exactly as Leo had imagined, the man looked solid, self-assured, unremarkable except for a certain easy confidence.
“So she sent her attack dog,” Leo whispered to himself, watching as Jeffreys positioned himself slightly behind April, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.The protective stance was unmistakable—they knew.April had told her mother about meeting him, and Riley had dispatched Jeffreys to investigate.
Leo forced himself to breathe slowly, to think rationally.This was a setback, not a disaster.In truth, he’d been careless.Revealing his real name to April had been a mistake born of vanity, a desire for her to know who he really was.He’d wanted her to eventually understand the connection between them.
Their conversation in the cafeteria last week had gone perfectly until that moment.April had been friendly, open—clearly her mother’s daughter in both appearance and manner.The familiar hazel eyes, the dark hair, even the way she tilted her head slightly when considering a response—all echoes of Riley.Getting close to April had been surprisingly easy.
But then he’d slipped when he’d said his own name.The moment the words left his mouth, he’d known it was a tactical error.If April mentioned his name to her mother, the game would be over before it truly began.
Now Leo understood that his window of opportunity at Jefferson Bell had closed.They would be looking for him—campus security, perhaps even local police.He backed deeper into the shadow of the tree.
A group of students passed nearby, their laughter jarring against the intensity of his thoughts.One glanced curiously in his direction, and Leo casually pulled out his phone, adopting the posture of someone simply taking a break between classes.The student looked away, interest fading as quickly as it had appeared.
His original plan had been elegant in its simplicity.Get close to April.Gain her trust.Use that connection to orchestrate some sort of confrontation with Riley.The ultimate revenge—Riley Paige would come face to face with the man she’d dismissed as insignificant, only to find him in a position of power over what she valued most.
“I was your best student,” Leo muttered, the words barely audible.“I understood you better than anyone.”
It was true.He’d studied Riley Paige long before entering her classroom—read every article about her cases, watched every available interview, researched her methods and insights until he could anticipate her thoughts.She had a gift for understanding killers’ minds, and he had a gift for understanding hers.They were intellectual equals, spiritual counterparts.She should have recognized that special connection between them.
Instead, she’d rejected him.Embarrassed him.Destroyed his future at the FBI.
Leo watched as April and Jeffreys disappeared into Hamilton Hall.Time to go.
He pushed away from the tree and walked unhurriedly in the opposite direction from Hamilton Hall, keeping his pace measured, his posture relaxed.Nothing to see here.Just another student going about his day.
This setback with April was unfortunate but not insurmountable.He’d simply need to adjust his approach.Riley Paige thought she’d banished him from her life with a simple complaint to authorities.But she was wrong.Their story wasn’t over; it was merely entering a new chapter.
“We’ll settle things soon, Riley,” he whispered as he reached his car in the visitor’s lot.“Sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER SIX
When Detective Hayes pulled his sedan to the curb in front of the Silver Screen Café, Riley saw that the place was an homage to old Hollywood glamor.Its vintage marquee-style sign glowed even in the afternoon sunlight, art deco elements framed the entrance, and movie poster reproductions lined the windows.
Inside, she hoped they might find the man whose disturbing shrine to Veronica Slate had made him a prime suspect.Malcolm Hartley
“Quite the Atlanta landmark,” Hayes commented as they left the vehicle.“Been around since the seventies.Owner’s obsessed with preserving the golden age of cinema.”
Riley’s attention remained fixed on the entrance.“How do you want to handle this?If he’s inside, we don’t want to spook him.”
“I’ll take point,” Hayes said, his voice dropping to a professional murmur.“You two flank me.No sudden movements, keep it casual until we confirm he’s there.”
Ann Marie nodded, her earlier enthusiasm tempered by the gravity of what they’d discovered in Hartley’s office.She placed herself slightly behind Riley, a position that offered both visibility and protection—the instinctive formation of experienced agents approaching an unpredictable situation.
The café’s heavy glass door swung open with a melodic chime, releasing a wave of air-conditioned coolness scented with coffee and something sweeter—caramel or vanilla, Riley couldn’t quite distinguish.The interior unfolded before them like a shrine to cinema history, more museum than eatery.
Every available wall space displayed framed movie posters, publicity stills, and signed photographs of stars from Hollywood’s golden era.Glass cases held artifacts that seemed almost sacred in their careful presentation—a pair of ruby slippers (replicas, surely), a fedora purportedly worn by Humphrey Bogart, vintage cameras and film reels arranged in artful displays.The lighting was deliberately theatrical—warm amber spots illuminating memorabilia while keeping the dining areas in a softer glow reminiscent of a darkened theater.
Ceiling fans rotated lazily overhead, their wooden blades adding to the atmosphere of timeless elegance.
The counter where baristas prepared elaborate coffee concoctions was designed to mimic an old-fashioned ticket booth, complete with art deco detailing and brass fittings.Behind it, the coffee menu was displayed on a board styled after a vintage cinema marquee, listing drinks named for famous films and actors.
“Impressive,” Ann Marie whispered, her eyes drawn to a display case containing what appeared to be original scripts with handwritten notes in the margins.
“Focus,” Riley reminded her gently.Her own gaze methodically scanned the occupied tables—a middle-aged couple sharing a dessert, three college students hunched over laptops, a solitary woman reading near the window.No sign of Malcolm Hartley yet.
