Page 38 of Her Last Escape

But Aldridge fought with the desperate strength of a cornered animal. He absorbed the punishment and came back swinging, the pipe creating deadly arcs through the air. Rachel had to constantly give ground, using the limited space to her advantage when she could. Her back hit the vending machine, and she barely managed to slide along it as the pipe struck where her head had been, leaving a deep dent in the metal. The clang of metal on metal rang in her ears like a tiny explosion.

He was also stronger than she'd anticipated. Despite his age and illness, desperation lent him power. It took a fifth solid punch to finally rock him—a solid, stifled uppercut that clocked him just below the nose. The punch rocked Aldridge back, blood instantly spilling from his upper lip. He collapsed against the ice machine, his eyes suddenly unfocused. Rachel saw her opening and moved in, reaching for her cuffs.

But it was a trap – he'd been playing hurt, waiting for her to get close. The pipe was already in motion as she realized her mistake.

When Rachel tried to transition to cuffing him again, he twisted away, the pipe already drawing back for another swing. Her injured arm screamed in protest as she prepared to defend herself. The pipe began its deadly arc toward her head. She staggered back, fighting to maintain her balance and bring the gun up…not wanting to kill the man but wondering if she may not have a choice.

The door burst open from the hallway with enough force to crack the wall. Novak's solid frame filled the doorway for a split second before he launched himself at Aldridge. With the man already on the ground and having taken several punches, there wasn’t much fight left in him. He threw out a single, feeble punch that barely clipped Novak’s shoulder. But after that, Novak essentially fell onto him in a move that was part tackle and part restraint. From there, Novak was easily able to wrangle him into a modified chokehold. Rachel immediately dropped her knee into Aldridge's back, using her weight to pin him while wrestling the pipe from his grip. It was only then that she noticed several streaks and splatters of what appeared to be dried blood.

Novak had already slapped one cuff around Aldridge's wrist and was securing the second. "You good, Gift?" he asked, his voice tight with exertion. She could see the concern in his eyes – the same look Jack used to give her during their partnership.

Rachel rotated her injured shoulder, wincing at the movement. It was going to be sore as hell. There may be some muscle damage, but nothing serious. "I'll live," she replied, watching as Novak hauled their suspect to his feet. "Though I might need some ice." She glanced at the machine they'd nearly destroyed in their fight and allowed herself a small smile. "Convenient location, at least."

Aldridge said nothing, but his eyes burned with a hatred Rachel recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who'd believed himself untouchable, finally brought low. She'd seen it countless times before and would likely see it countless times again. But she also saw a sadness in there…something that almost looked like sickness.

As Novak read him his rights, Rachel felt her shoulder throbbing in time with her heartbeat, but the pain felt almost righteous. Another killer caught, another case closed. Jonathan Maxwell saved.

It wasn't a cure for death itself, but it was its own form of justice. And sometimes that had to be enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

An hour later, Rachel found herself returning to yet another familiar building—not the New Horizons building again, but the small police precinct where they'd interrogated Jason Dewalt. Rachel and Novak led Richard Aldridge through the entryway doors with Rachel doing her best to pretend that her shoulder wasn’t hurting immensely. And just like the time before, Deputy Dunphy met them at the entrance, his round face brightening with recognition.

"Agents Gift and Novak," he said, nodding to each in turn. Rachel had called ahead once again and Dunphy had been all too eager to help. "Same room as before is all yours."

"Thanks, Deputy," Rachel said. Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, the weight of what they'd discovered pressing down on her chest.

Novak pulled the car keys from his pocket. "There's evidence in the trunk that needs processing," he told Dunphy, his tone deliberately neutral. "A lead pipe wrapped in an evidence bag. We need a forensics unit to run tests to see who the dried blood belongs to."

Dunphy's eyebrows shot up, but to his credit, he simply took the keys with a quick "No problem," he said and hurried off. A few other officers within earshot watched him go. Several others seemed to be more interested in the two federal agents and the suspect they’d brought into their quiet precinct.

Rachel watched Aldridge as they entered the interrogation room. His composed exterior was beginning to crack. His hands—which were surprisingly well manicured, she noted—trembled slightly as he lowered himself into the metal chair. The room was unchanged from their earlier visit: same drab walls, same water-stained ceiling tiles, same two-way mirror reflecting their faces back at them. The only difference was the man sitting on the other side of the table.

"Mr. Aldridge," Rachel began, settling into the chair across from him. "You've been silent since we found you in that hotel room. You refused to answer our questions on the ride over. So let's start over here, okay? Why were you hiding on the second floor with a lead pipe in your possession?"

Aldridge's jaw worked silently, but his eyes—those were speaking volumes. Rachel watched as emotions flickered across them like shadows: fear, resignation, and something deeper. Something that made her own chest tighten with recognition.

"Nothing to say?" she pressed. "Then let me tell you what Deputy Dunphy is doing right now. He's processing that pipe you swung at me. The one with dried blood all over it." She leaned forward slightly. "Want to guess whose blood we'll find? Maybe it’s blood from Peter Wells? Thomas Whitman? Diana Foxworth?"

The change in Aldridge’s face was subtle but unmistakable. Aldridge's shoulders sagged by a fraction of an inch, and his carefully maintained facade cracked. A tear welled up in his right eye, then tracked slowly down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away.

Rachel felt her throat constrict. She'd seen that look before—in her own mirror, during those dark days when her diagnosis felt like a death sentence. The desperation, the rage against fate's cruel lottery. The man looked trapped.

"We know about the cancer," she said softly, surprised by the tremor in her voice. Novak shifted beside her, probably sensing her emotional investment. He may also have been shocked at the sudden change in direction of the conversation.

But she pressed on. "Terminal diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer, right? But what I don't understand—" She had to pause, gather herself. "What was your endgame? Even if New Horizons had fast-tracked you, even if you'd eliminated every other client ahead of you... what if they never find a cure for what is killing you? Were you planning to just stay frozen indefinitely?"

Aldridge's composure shattered completely. More tears fell, and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on the table, jangling the cuff chains. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with emotion.

"At least it would have been a chance." The words came out in a broken whisper. "These people—these rich, entitled people—they were banking spots for some hypothetical future need. Just throwing money down because they could. Meanwhile, I'm dying now." His voice rose, cracking with desperation. "NOW! And I…I just wanted a chance. One chance. Is that so much to ask?"

Rachel's vision blurred. The familiar smell of antiseptic cleaner, so much like a hospital, brought memories flooding back: the cold examination tables, the endless scans, the moment she'd had to tell Paige about her diagnosis. She remembered lying awake at night, trying to imagine a world that would go on without her in it. The knowledge that there was a very good chance she was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it. The swelling of emotions surprised her, catching her completely off guard.

"Agent Gift?" Novak's voice seemed to come from far away.

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Finish the interrogation, please," she managed, already moving toward the door. "I need a minute."

She exited the room as quickly as she could without seeming distraught. The hallway felt too narrow, the air too thick. Rachel found the women's restroom at the end of the hallway and darted inside. There, she gripped the edges of the sink, staring at her reflection in the spotted mirror. Her hands were shaking. She took one deep breath, then another, trying to center herself.

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