Page 17 of Her Last Promise
“Please do.I’m sorry, I just…it’s been a day…”
“I get it,” he said.He kissed her shoulder and settled back, his breathing quickly evening out into the rhythm of sleep.
Rachel found her own sleep surprisingly fast.And at some point in the murky depths, she found herself dreaming.In it, she was in a brightly lit, white room that was filled with a sterile hospital smell, the steady beep of monitors.The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in a sickly green glow.But this time, when she opened her eyes, it wasn't doctors surrounding her bed.Alex Lynch stood at her head, his prison jumpsuit splattered with blood.Alice Denbrough to her right, smiling a terrible empty smile.And there, at the foot of the bed, she saw Cody Austin.He was holding a scalpel with surgical precision.His unremarkable face was transformed by a cold intelligence that she remembered all too well.
"Time for your treatment, Agent Gift," Lynch whispered, and all three raised their blades—
Her phone's shrill ring yanked her awake, heart pounding against her ribs.1:05 glowed on the bedside clock, the red numbers seeming to float in the darkness.She fumbled for the phone and brought it to her ear.Her voice was surprisingly clear when she said, “Hello?”
Director Anderson's voice was tight with urgency when she answered."We've got another one, Agent Gift.James Harrison, attorney, missing from his office.Signs of struggle.Given the timing after Judge Smith, it’s assumed they may be related somehow."
"I'll call Novak and head over."She was already sitting up on the side of the bed, her toes finding the floor.But the nightmare clung to her like cobwebs, making her skin crawl.“Can you text me the address?”
“As soon as we end this call.Thank, Gift.”
Jack stirred beside her."Everything okay?"His voice was sleepy and groggy.
"Yeah," she said.Adrenaline already pushing away the nightmare's shadows, replacing them with the familiar urgency of a break in the case.Of course, it was never agoodthing when such a break came in the form of another potential dead body."Duty calls."
She could feel the weight of her dream-ghosts watching as she dressed, their phantom scalpels gleaming in the darkness.But she had real monsters to chase now.She couldn't afford to be haunted by the old ones.
She leaned over and kissed Jack on the forehead before collecting her clothes in the darkness, ready to head back out to face those real monsters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The dark morning hours seemed to gently usher them inside as Rachel and Novak stepped into the lobby of James Harrison's law office.The space held that particular stillness unique to buildings after hours—a hollow quiet that made every footstep feel heavier than it actually was.Two uniformed officers stood near the entrance, speaking in hushed tones with a man in gray coveralls who kept wringing his hands—a janitor or a member of a cleaning crew from the looks of it.The lobby's wood-paneled walls absorbed what little warmth the overhead lighting provided, making the space feel more like a mausoleum than a place of business.
Rachel's gaze immediately went to the janitor.Years of experience had taught her to watch everyone, to suspect everyone.But the man's face was ashen, his eyes wide with the unmistakable shock of someone who'd stumbled onto something they’d never expected to see.His hands trembled as he gestured, describing what he'd found to the officers.A ring of keys jangled at his hip with each movement, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet space.
She noticed how his eyes kept darting to the hallway that led deeper into the building, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows.The cleaning cart stood abandoned near the wall, various bottles and supplies scattered across its surface, telling the story of a routine night suddenly interrupted.
"Excuse me?"Rachel approached, keeping her voice gentle.The janitor started at her voice, and the two cops nodded to her, as if giving her the floor."I'm Special Agent Gift with the FBI.Could you tell me exactly how you found the scene?"
The janitor swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing."I—I always start on the third floor, work my way down.Makes more sense, you know?But today I had to change my routine because they waxed up there today.Finishing off the floors after the new construction."His voice quavered, accent thickening with stress."So I started down here and saw the break room light was still on.Thought someone forgot to turn it off, but then I saw—" He gestured helplessly toward the hallway, his hand shaking so badly he had to lower it.
Rachel noticed a small cut on his right palm, fresh enough that it hadn't fully scabbed over."Your hand—did that happen tonight?"
"What?Oh, no," he said, shaking his head emphatically."Yesterday, fixing my car.I have receipts from the auto parts store if you need—"
"That won't be necessary," Rachel assured him, making a mental note to verify it anyway.Two decades of law enforcement had taught her that coincidences rarely existed in cases like these.
One of the officers, a heavyset black man with graying temples and laugh lines around his eyes that suggested a usually cheerful disposition, stepped forward.His badge caught the fluorescent light as he moved."Officer Jennings," he introduced himself.Despite his friendly face, his eyes were sharp and alert."If you'll follow me, I can show you what Mr.Rodriguez found."He glanced at Rachel."Dispatch mentioned something about connecting this to a judge's death?"
Rachel exchanged a look with Novak.Her new partner's expression was carefully neutral, but she caught the slight tension in his jaw."We'll need to confirm the connection, but yes, potentially.That’s why we’re here."
Jennings led them down a corridor where the overhead lights cast alternating pools of brightness and shadow.The carpet was industrial gray, newly installed as part of the recent renovations based on the look and smell of it.Old law books lined built-in shelves along one wall, their spines faded with age.Rachel noticed how the books were organized by topic and year; someone in this office was meticulous about organization.
The air grew noticeably cooler as they walked deeper into the building.Rachel's nose caught the artificial lemon scent of cleaning products, probably from Rodriguez's cart, mixed with the musty smell of old paper and the lingering aroma of coffee.
"Break room's right through here," Jennings said, pushing open a door with a gloved hand.The hinges creaked slightly—another detail that struck Rachel as important, though she couldn't yet say why.Would their perpetrator have heard that same creak?
Rachel's trained eye immediately cataloged the scene.The break room was small, maybe twelve by fifteen feet, with cheap white tiles that had yellowed over time.A round table lay on its side, one leg slightly bent from impact.Three chairs were scattered—two knocked over, one pushed back against the wall as if someone had risen quickly.
"Blood," Novak noted, pointing to three distinct streaks on the floor near the overturned table.They weren't large, but they told a story of violence.Rachel noticed how they formed an arc, suggesting someone had turned sharply, perhaps trying to escape.Or had been dragged out, already bleeding.She supposed this was what had the janitor in such a state.
The wall near the overturned table showed a fresh scuff mark about waist height.A struggle, then—someone pushed against the wall?She made a mental note to have forensics check for fiber transfers.
Rachel moved carefully around the perimeter of the room, taking in details.A coffee maker sat on the counter, half a pot of now-cold coffee still in the carafe.A ceramic mug lay shattered near the base of the cabinets, dark liquid having left a stain on the grout between tiles.The pattern of the coffee splatter suggested it had fallen from counter height.
