Блейк Пирс - Once Trapped

Stiles looked up at her from his paperwork with a suspicious expression.

“Did you find out what you needed to know?” he asked Riley.

For a moment, Riley didn’t know what to say.

She wanted to keep open the possibility of talking to Morgan again.

She was tempted to say …

“No, and I’ll need to come back and talk to her some more.”

But that might trigger Stiles skepticism to a breaking point, and he might end up calling Quantico after all.

Instead she said …

“Thanks for your cooperation, sir. I’ll show myself out.”

As she headed out of the station, she recalled the strange conversation she’d just had with Morgan about the knife, and how defensive the woman had gotten about it …

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

Riley was sure of one thing. Morgan had no idea where the knife had been kept in the kitchen. And if she’d had to go to the trouble of finding it, she’d have been able to tell Riley where she’d found it.

She also remembered what Morgan had told her on the phone …

“The knife is lying right next to him.”

At that moment, Morgan surely hadn’t known where it had come from.

She’s not guilty, Riley realized as she climbed into her rented car.

She knew it in her gut, even if Morgan herself didn’t believe it.

And no one else was going to question her guilt. They were all happy to have the matter settled.

It was up to Riley to set things right.

As she took a sip of coffee, Riley wondered …

What do I do now?

Her head buzzing with questions, she’d driven to a fast food restaurant and ordered a hamburger and coffee. She had found a place to sit away from the other customers so she could think about her next move.

Riley was used to bending rules and working in strange circumstances. But this situation was new even to her. She was in uncharted territory.

She wished she could call Bill, her longtime partner. Or that she could talk things over with Jenn Roston, the young agent who’d also partnered with her on recent cases. But that would mean getting them involved in a situation that even she wasn’t supposed to be working on.

Was there anyone she could talk to locally?

I can’t very well ask Chief Stiles anything, Riley thought.

Of course there were a few people in other places that she sometimes turned to in unconventional situations. One was Mike Nevins, a forensic psychologist in DC who worked as an independent consultant on some FBI cases. Riley had asked Mike for help on many cases, including a few that she hadn’t exactly handled by the book. He’d also helped both her and Bill through bouts with PTSD. Mike had always been discreet, and he was also a good friend.

She flipped open her laptop, put in her earpieces, opened her video chat program, and called Mike’s office. Right away he appeared on her screen—a dapper, rather fussy-looking man wearing an expensive shirt with a vest.

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