Page 19 of Her Last Escape

Rich chuckled as Peter made his way out. The employee entrance was around back, where Peter's Range Rover sat alone in the reserved parking space. The evening was still bright, golden sunlight glinting off the endless rows of cars in the lot. He paused to admire a particularly striking Audi R8, its Daytona Gray paint catching the light like liquid metal. Maybe for his fiftieth birthday, he thought. Michelle would roll her eyes, but she'd love it too – she had as much of a speed demon streak as he did, though she tried to hide it.

He came to his car—a basic Tesla, which he planned to drive until the wheels fell off. He reached for the door handle, but that’s as far as he made it.

The first blow caught him completely by surprise – something hard striking the back of his knee, buckling his leg with shocking force. He felt something snap and loosen completely as he went to the ground. He opened his mouth to yell, but then the second blow came. This one struck him hard in the side of the head with a sharp, ringing crack against the base of his skull.

The sound was oddly musical, like a bell being struck underwater. Peter had a fraction of a second to register the strange thought before darkness rushed in from all sides. His last conscious image was of Chloe in her Belle costume, twirling in their living room with Max at her heels, singing about a tale as old as time.

Then, nothing at all.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Copper Bean sat wedged between a yoga studio and a vintage clothing store, its weathered brick facade a testament to its previous life as a bookbindery in the 1920s. Inside, Edison bulbs cast a warm glow over exposed beams and the original hardwood floors, now worn smooth by decades of foot traffic. Rachel followed Novak through the evening crowd, weaving past college students with their laptops and young professionals ending their workday with carefully crafted lattes.

"Back corner," Novak said, nodding toward a quiet nook partially hidden behind a towering potted fiddle leaf fig. Two oversized leather armchairs flanked a reclaimed wood table, offering both comfort and privacy.

Rachel checked her watch—6:25 PM. "Dinner time, and we're getting coffee. Jack would say we're hopeless."

"Some of us actually appreciate good coffee," Novak replied, setting up his laptop. "And yes, even this late. Besides, when was the last time you had a decent cup at a precinct?"

"Point taken." Rachel settled into one of the chairs, the leather butter-soft with age. She pulled her iPad from her shoulder bag while Novak set his laptop up. The playlist overhead shifted from Iron & Wine to what sounded suspiciously like a folk version of "Sweet Child O' Mine." "Though the music's debatable."

A barista approached their corner, her dark hair pulled back in a neat braid, tattoos of constellations dotting her forearms. "Welcome to the Bean. Can I get you started with anything?"

"Large dark roast, black," Rachel said, spreading the first batch of files across the table.

"Make that two," Novak added, "but add cream to mine. And we'll take a couple of the prosciutto and fig sandwiches."

The barista nodded. "Good choice. I'll have those right out."

As she walked away, Rachel raised an eyebrow at Novak. "Fancy sandwich guy now, are we?"

"Trust me on this one." He typed in his FBI credentials into his laptop, the blue glow of the database login screen reflecting off his features. "Better than the vending machine dinner we'd be having at a station. Speaking of which—" he gestured around at the cafe's warm ambiance, "—not bad for an office, right?"

Rachel had to admit he had a point. The Copper Bean hummed with quiet energy, but it was worlds away from the harsh fluorescent lighting and stale coffee of their usual workspace. The aroma of freshly ground beans mingled with the savory scent of warming sandwiches and the subtle earthiness of the potted plants scattered throughout the space. Through the front windows, she could see the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in shades of amber and rose—colors she thought always looked faded in the sky during cold weather like this.

"I could get used to this," she conceded, pulling Margaret Fenway's list closer. "Though maybe with different music."

"What, you're not feeling the acoustic cover of Soundgarden?"

"Is that what this is? I couldn't tell under all the banjo."

Their coffee and sandwiches arrived as Rachel began sorting through the personnel files. The sandwich, she had to admit, was exceptional—the fig jam adding an unexpected sweetness that balanced perfectly with the prosciutto and sharp cheese.

"Okay," she said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. "Let's see what kind of people New Horizons attracts." She began methodically opening the files and then scrolling through them on her screen, through the stack of personnel files, creating neat digital piles based on department and specialization. "First up, their research division. Dr. Paula Greene—double PhD from MIT, biomedical engineering and molecular biology. Three patents in cryopreservation techniques, specifically in neural tissue preservation." She whistled softly. "Turned down department chair positions at both Johns Hopkins and Mayo Clinic for this place. Published over forty papers in the last decade alone."

"Impressive," Novak said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "What's her specialty?"

"According to this, she's developed a new method for preserving synaptic connections during the freezing process. Previous attempts resulted in significant degradation, but her technique..." Rachel scanned the technical documentation. "Well, I can't understand half these terms, but the results speak for themselves. She's revolutionizing the field."

Rachel moved to the next file. "Here's Dr. James Morrison. Former chief of neurosurgery at Mass General, pioneering work in hypothermic surgery techniques. Was making seven figures, had a staff of thirty under him." She scrolled through more pages. "Walking away from that to join a startup? That's a hell of a career move."

"Maybe he really believed in the mission," Novak suggested.

"Maybe. But look at this pattern." Rachel spread out more files. "Dr. Elena Rodriguez—left her position as head of cellular regeneration research at Stanford. Dr. Marcus Wong—abandoned a tenure-track position at Harvard Medical to join New Horizons. Dr. Brian Carter—walked away from a prestigious research grant at Johns Hopkins."

She pulled out another stack. "And it's not just the medical staff. Their engineering team is just as impressive. It’s filled with mechanical engineering folks, PhDs all over the place, researchers from CalTech, MIT, you name it. Dr. Kenneth Park, formerly part of the cryogenics team at CERN. Dr. Laura Hammond, who literally wrote the textbook on biomedical preservation systems.” She stopped and let out a laugh even though a small chill raced up her spine. “Christ, I had to study her work during my forensics training."

Novak leaned forward, interested. "They're building quite a brain trust."

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