Page 27 of Her Last Escape

"Oh, me, too. But she said you’d okayed it.”

“Well, mister…you’ve been played.”

They shared a laugh together, but movement caught her eye. Novak had entered the breakfast area, already dressed in a crisp navy suit.

"I should go," she said. "Novak’s here….and we’re starting early today."

"Be safe," Jack said, their usual goodbye. "Love you."

"Love you too."

She ended the call just as Novak reached her table, a plate loaded with scrambled eggs and toast in his hand. He sat down across from her, checking his watch.

"Another hour and fifteen before New Horizons opens for the day," he said, reaching for the salt. "Do you think Margaret Fenway will be happy to see us?"

Rachel thought of their three victims – Thomas Whitman, Diana Foxworth, and Peter Wells. All connected to New Horizons, all dead. All brutalized.

Popping another piece of bagel into her mouth, Rachel said: "I honestly don't care if she is or not."

***

The morning sun cast long shadows across the New Horizons parking lot as Rachel and Novak approached the building. As they came to the guard shack, Rachel saw evidence of yesterday's protest lingering in the form of discarded signs and pamphlets that the morning wind scattered across the asphalt. For a group of so-called Christians, they apparently didn’t give much of a crap about other people’s property.

After parking, they headed inside and Rachel did her best to remain in control, keeping her pace to a steady walk rather than a march. The lobby's automatic doors whispered open, releasing a burst of climate-controlled air that carried the faint antiseptic smell Rachel had noticed yesterday. The same receptionist from their previous visit sat behind the curved desk, her professional smile faltering slightly when she recognized them. Rachel noticed her hands still on the keyboard mid-type, like a pianist caught between notes.

"We need to speak with Ms. Fenway," Rachel said, her tone leaving no room for deflection. She watched the receptionist's throat work as she swallowed and wondered if her mounting frustration was visible on her face, like storm clouds gathering before lightning strikes. She kept her voice as professional as possible, but with a tone that indicated she really didn’t have the patience for an argument.

The receptionist's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her phone and punched in the numbers for an extension within the building. Rachel listened to the one-sided conversation, reading volumes into each "yes" and "of course." When the girl hung up, she seemed almost relieved to deliver good news.

"Ms. Fenway will see you in her office," she said, smoothing her skirt as she stood to guide them. "Second floor, end of the hall."

They found the elevators at the end of a wide, short hallway. The entire back wall was made of reinforced glass that looked out onto a patio that was covered in a variety of plants—most of which looked rather dead and sad, given the recent cold weather.

The elevator ride was silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint click of floor numbers changing. Rachel used the time to study their reflection in the polished steel doors – herself, tension visible in the set of her shoulders, and Novak, maintaining his usual calm demeanor but with a glint in his eye that made it look like he was always ready for the unexpected.

The doors opened onto a floor that struck a careful balance between professional and futuristic. The sci-fi elements of the lobby were muted here, replaced by tasteful abstract art and warm wood accents, but hints of the building's purpose remained in the sleek chrome fixtures and glowing LED strips that lined the hallway. Their footsteps were muffled by thick carpeting as they made their way to Fenway's office.

The CEO's corner office commanded impressive views through floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around two walls. The open expanse of the land around the building spread out below, the morning sun beginning to paint the grass in a golden light. Fenway stood as they entered, her trepidation evident in her stiff posture as she gestured for them to sit in the leather chairs facing her desk.

"Something else I can do for you?" she asked, her carefully maintained smile not reaching her eyes. There was a tone hidden in her voice, barely there but there all the same, that indicated she was not at all happy to see them again. A half-empty cup of coffee sat cooling on her desk, the surface marked with countless rings from previous cups – small imperfections in her otherwise perfect workspace.

Rachel leaned forward, abandoning any pretense of social niceties. "There's been a third murder, Ms. Fenway. Peter Wells, a man that has visited this facility and spoken to either you or someone else about cryopreservation. That makes three victims, Ms. Fenway, all connected to New Horizons. Given this obvious link…well, I'm beyond trying to be nice or by-the-book. We need information."

Fenway's perfect posture faltered slightly as she sank back into her chair. "Agent Gift, I understand your position, but I can't simply—"

"Can't give out client information?" Rachel finished. "Fine. Let's talk about prospective clients instead. People who couldn't afford your services and maybe got angry when they were rejected. People with a reason to lash out."

"That's not how we operate," Fenway said, her own frustration beginning to show as she shifted files on her desk, straightening already straight edges. "We're very upfront about the costs involved. It's often the first thing discussed before anyone even tours the facility. We don't waste anyone's time."

Novak cleared his throat. "Even if that were the motive, eliminating current clients wouldn't guarantee entry for someone who couldn't afford it."

"I'm sorry, agents." Fenway spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness that Rachel didn't buy for a second. "I can't just hand over that sort of information...even for potential clients. Surely you understand the confidences I'd be breaking."

Rachel felt her jaw tighten, but before she could respond, Fenway continued.

"It's not just me and New Horizons," she said, gesturing toward her window. Her voice was softer now, almost sad. "You saw the protest yesterday, right? If I give out names and information and it gets to people like those religious zealots..." She shook her head, causing a strand of perfectly styled hair to fall out of place. She tucked it back with practiced precision. "Tormenting us and protesting outside the building is one thing, but I fear people like that would start going to these people's homes. Anyone interested in cryopreservation could become a target."

Rachel almost dismissed the comment outright – it felt like a convenient excuse to stonewall them. But something about it nagged at her, like a loose thread that could unravel the whole case if pulled properly. The religious zealots…targeting. It flipped a switch in her mind as she sat in Fenway’s office.

---