Page 28 of Once Marked
Then the door swung open, an interruption that sliced through the charged atmosphere.A man in a rumpled suit barged into the interrogation room.Riley immediately recognized the gait and manner of a two-bit small-town lawyer—sleazy, to be sure, and possibly not entirely sober, but also too clever to dismiss lightly.
“Agent Paige,” Thorne said, gesturing to the newcomer, “meet Stuart Ludwig.”
Ludwig’s voice cut across the space, heavy with authority, unbothered by the creases in his attire or the skeptical glances thrown his way.
“This interview is over,” he declared.“My client won’t be answering any more questions.”
Callahan was led from the room, his smirk lingering like a bad aftertaste.
Then Riley got up and joined Ann Marie in the hallway.Sheriff Beeler and Chief Thorne followed, their faces looking grim.
“Next steps?”Thorne asked, glancing around the group.
Sheriff Beeler’s conviction was strong.“We’ve got him,” he stated, his stance solid as an oak tree in a storm.“Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned being in Teomoc?He’s definitely hiding something.”
Thorne gave a nod.“And that business about not knowing the victims were dead?Please.”
“He’s as guilty as sin,” Beeler said.
Sheriff Beeler's voice was a low rumble of certainty.Thorne stood beside him, his nod serving as silent punctuation to Beeler’s declarations.Thorne stood beside him, his squint serving as silent punctuation to Beeler’s declarations.They were too sure, too anchored in their conviction that Marcus Callahan was their man.
Riley was quiet for a moment, her arms folded across her chest.She heard the heavy door to the holding cell clang shut, closing off Callahan from further questioning, at least for now.
She finally said, “Maybe you’re right.But we mustn’t jump to conclusions.We’ve got to dot our i’s and cross our t’s.”
She could sense Beeler’s irritation at her hesitance, see it in the tight line of his jaw.Thorne’s eyes, ever analytical, searched hers for a sign of faltering.But she held firm, aware that the truth was a complex labyrinth, not a straight path.
“Let’s go over the evidence again,” she suggested, already turning back toward the dim light of the bullpen.Each step felt heavy, burdened with the knowledge that somewhere out there, the real killer was watching.Waiting.And they were running out of time.
“Something’s not right,” Ann Marie murmured to her.“Doesn’t it seem like he’s almost...too guilty?”Her gaze met Riley’s, a silent plea for guidance.
“I know,” she replied quietly.“We’re missing something.”
“Callahan knows how to push buttons, to get under our skin,” Ann Marie continued, her voice tinged with doubt.“He’s playing a part, but is it the part of a real killer?”
“Or just an angry man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time?”Riley finished, her mind racing through the profiles, the timelines, the alibis.“We need to dig deeper.”
The skepticism in Ann Marie’s tone mirrored Riley’s own thoughts.Too much about Marcus Callahan rang false, like a stage performance where the actor had learned his lines too well.She watched her partner, the afternoon light casting highlights in her blonde hair, her youthful face etched with concern.
Riley let out a slow breath, feeling the tight coil of anxiety unwind just a fraction.Ann Marie’s intuition, though less seasoned, was sharp, and Riley trusted it.They both knew the dance of deceit all too well, had seen innocence masquerade as guilt and vice versa.
Riley felt grateful that she and Ann Marie were on the same page about this.As partners, it was important for them to be in sync on such a vital question.Marcus Callahan wasn’t the killer.Whoever had murdered two women was still out there and not finished yet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As Rachel Brennan parked her sedan in the driveway of the beachfront rental, the mid-afternoon sun was generous with its golden glow.A seasoned agent for Mitchell Realtors, Rachel had done this job countless times, each property a new challenge, a fresh opportunity.A strong work ethic was etched into her very being—meticulous, relentless, dedicated.Her watch read 3:15 PM, precise as ever.
Rachel took a moment, her professional eye scanning the two-story structure with its wrap-around deck that blended the interior into a beautiful landscape.From here, the ocean sprawled out in a panorama that captured the essence of the Outer Banks—wild, untamed, and endlessly blue.This was not just another listing; it was a sanctuary waiting for those looking to escape the mundane.
Rachel knew that the housekeepers should have completed their rounds by now, their invisible hands setting the stage for her to showcase this coastal haven.She understood that the devil was in the details—a smudge on a window, a pillow askew—these were the minutiae that could make or break a deal.And deals were what kept the lights on, what fueled the town of Darnley, a place tethered to the ebb and flow of seasonal visitors.
Drawing in a deep breath, the scent of the ocean strong in her nostrils, Rachel prepared herself to step inside.This was where her prowess shone brightest, and she would ensure that the beachfront rental stood ready to welcome the next tide of guests with impeccable grace.
Rachel walked up the wide wooden stairs, then stepped across the deck of the beachfront rental.When she unlocked the door and went inside, familiar scent of cleaning products replaced the soft, persistent aroma of salt and sea.She locked the door behind her and continued on inside.
With tomorrow’s viewings looming on the horizon, Rachel’s gaze swept the interior with the precision of a seasoned hawk, her eyes checking out every detail.The cleanliness had to be beyond reproach; it was her guarantee to potential renters that they were stepping into not just a temporary abode but a slice of coastal paradise.
Rachel’s focus narrowed to spot any imperfections, each polished surface a reflection of her own professional standards.
