Page 26 of Her Last Escape

"What do you think?" Novak asked as they pulled away from the curb.

Rachel watched the Manning house recede in the side mirror. "I think we need to look more closely at the clients. The living ones, though. Not the ones already on ice."

“How do we do that?”

“We pay another visit to New Horizons.” She sighed, looking out into the darkness. “But I suppose that will have to wait until tomorrow. I doubt anyone on staff right now, at this time of day, is only in the realm of security.”

“I can call and make sure,” Novak offered.

“Sure.”

But as they headed for the car, she knew how it would play out. If they wanted to speak to Fenway in any real capacity and hope for any real information, they’d need to be at the office. She supposed they could call Fenway and demand that she meet them at New Horizons but with the woman already being a bit difficult, Rachel didn’t see the point in pissing her off. So they’d have to wait until the morning.

Which meant the killer would have the entire night to scheme and plan…which made Rachel feel far too uneasy and uncertain.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rachel's eyes snapped open at 5:15 AM, her body clock refusing to grant her the luxury of sleeping in. The generic hotel room greeted her with its muted beige walls and heavy blackout curtains. She lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the heating system, before accepting that additional sleep wasn't coming. It occurred to her that this was only the second time since returning back to work on a full-time basis that she'd stayed overnight in a city. She and Novak had talked about it last night, wondering if they should just drive home, as it was less than a two-hour drive. But in the end, they wanted to be in Charlottesville as soon as New Horizons opened its doors, so it made more sense to stay behind.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the perfectly made other side – a habit from sharing a bed with Jack that persisted even when she traveled alone. The carpet felt rough beneath her feet as she padded to the bathroom, going through her morning routine with mechanical efficiency: brushing her teeth, combing her hair, getting dressed with a speed she’d long ago gotten down to a science.

Dressed in a charcoal pantsuit that had spent the night hanging in the bathroom to release its wrinkles, Rachel approached the room's diminutive coffee maker. The thing looked like it had been designed for a dollhouse, but it would have to do. She loaded the provided packet of house blend, wincing at the artificial hazelnut smell that wafted up as hot water began trickling through.

While the coffee maker wheezed and sputtered, she spread the case files across the room's small desk. The autopsy reports for their three victims stared back at her, full of clinical details that failed to paint the bigger picture she was searching for. The coffee finished brewing, and she took a sip of the weak result, grimacing. No hidden clues emerged from the files, just the same frustrating dead ends they'd been chasing.

By 6:20, restlessness drove her from the room. It was one of those instances where she knew that if she chose to do so, she could commit the information to memory and still find absolutely nothing. So she exited the room and made her way downstairs. The hotel's breakfast lounge occupied a corner of the lobby, all gleaming tile and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a parking lot still dark with pre-dawn shadows. The space smelled of discount coffee and microwaved bacon. A tired-looking businessman in a rumpled suit occupied one table, mechanically scrolling through his phone while picking at a waffle.

Rachel walked over to the meager variety of selections and picked out a slightly stale blueberry bagel, an orange that was about two days away from being over-ripe, and a yogurt cup from the breakfast spread. She chose a seat in the far corner, positioning herself to keep both exits in view – another habit she couldn't shake. The businessman didn't look up as she passed.

She sat down and spread cream cheese on the bagel and was pleased to find that it wasn’t as stale as she’d thought. She had taken three bites of it and had peeled the lid off of her yogurt when her phone's vibration startled her. Jack's name on the screen brought an involuntary smile to her face. She accepted the FaceTime call, his familiar features filling her screen. She saw that he hadn’t shaved last night, giving him that five o'clock shadow she found so sexy—which was a shame because it was far too prickly whenever he kissed her.

"Hey, stranger," he said, his voice warm even through the tinny phone speaker. The soft light in their kitchen at home illuminated him from behind, and she could see their coffee maker in the background – the good one, that actually produced something worth drinking.

“Hey yourself. Good morning.”

"Sorry I missed your call last night," he continued. "That damn Boston meeting ran late."

"Don't worry about it," Rachel said, meaning it. "How are things at home?"

"Good. Talked to Paige for a while before she went to bed last night." He paused, and Rachel recognized his expression – the one he wore when choosing his words carefully. "She's worried about you. Says you're starting to sound guilty again when you call."

Rachel sighed, picking at her bagel. "I know better than to feel that way, but..."

"But you do anyway," Jack finished. "I know. But there's no need, Rachel. You know that."

"I do. It's just..." She struggled to put the feeling into words. "I can remember the way she used to look at me when she was little…how she used to look at me like I could do anything. Fix anything."

Jack's expression softened. "She still does, you know. These days, she just has trouble finding joy or awe in much of anything. Typical teenage stuff, maybe." He groaned a bit and added: “Sorry. Not trying to talk smack about your child. She’s wonderful. You know that.”

Rachel chuckled. “If that’s what you consider ‘smack talk,’ you’re perfectly fine. "But I think it’s maybe just everything she's been through. Everything I put her through."

"Rachel..." Jack leaned closer to the camera, his face filling more of the screen. "You didn't put her through anything. The cancer, Alex Lynch, Alice – none of that was your fault. You fought through all of it, showed her what real strength looks like."

"I just miss her smile," Rachel said quietly. "The real one, not the one she puts on to make us feel better."

"She smiled yesterday," Jack offered. "Actually laughed. We were watching Brooklyn 99, and she let out a big ol' belly laugh."

Rachel felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "I still think she’s too young for that show.”

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