Page 23 of Her Last Promise
Cody slipped into character like putting on a comfortable coat."Good morning," he replied, his voice warm and slightly hesitant—the tone of someone unused to but eager for good deeds."I heard about your Christmas book project for the residents.I have some donations, if that's all right."
Her face lit up."Oh, that's wonderful!We're always so grateful for contributions."
He swung the backpack carefully from his shoulders, setting it down with deliberate gentleness on the floor…so that Bea couldn’t see it.The zipper's rasp seemed unnaturally loud as he opened just the front pocket, where the books were stored.One by one, he placed them on the counter:Wuthering Heights, its spine carefully broken to suggest previous loving use;Of Mice and Men, pages deliberately dog-eared;The Great Gatsby, annotated in margins with a careful hand.
Each book had been chosen with purpose.He'd spent hours in secondhand bookstores, selecting volumes that looked well-loved but not decrepit.Books that suggested a thoughtful donor, someone who cared about literature and its power to comfort.Someone who could never be capable of the things he had planned.Also, it had clued him in to just how much he’d come to love books while he’d been in prison.
Bea ran her fingers over the covers."Ooh, the classics!The residents will love them."
If they live long enough to read them,he thought, but said instead, "I hope so.Books were...something of a salvation for me during a difficult time."It wasn't even a lie.Those years in prison would have been unbearable without the library's resources.Every medical text, every thriller with a clever killer, every detailed account of famous murders—they'd all contributed to this moment.
He zipped the backpack with the same careful motion, conscious of its other contents shifting slightly.The weight felt different now, more purposeful.Everything he needed was still there, nestled in the main compartment like deadly Christmas presents waiting to be unwrapped.He thought of Rachel again, wondering if she'd appreciate the metaphor when she finally understood what he'd done.
"Thank you again," Sarah said, already turning to place the books on a shelf behind her."It's so nice to see people getting into the holiday spirit."
“Of course.Happy to help.Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you as well,” Bea said.
He had turned to leave but paused before reaching the door, allowing a slight grimace to cross his features.The expression was practiced, perfected in front of mirrors—just the right mix of embarrassment and urgency."I'm so sorry to ask, but...is there a public restroom I could use?It was quite a drive here.Traffic…yikes."
"Of course!"She pointed down the hallway to his right."Second door on the left."
The corridor stretched before him like a promise, its institutional beige walls lined with generic watercolor prints—peaceful landscapes that would be the last thing some people ever saw.His footsteps echoed slightly on the linoleum, each step bringing him closer to the next phase of his plan.
He pushed through the bathroom door, feeling the weight of the backpack like an old friend against his shoulders.The relief that flooded through him was genuine, though not for the reasons the receptionist would assume.It had been almost too easy.No one had recognized him.No one had questioned his presence.No one had looked twice at the backpack.They never did, not when you smiled and acted like you belonged.They’d been too blinded by his generosity because, as it turned out, generosity was now something people weren’t used to seeing all that often.
The bathroom was empty, as he'd known it would be at this hour.His research had shown that the cleaning staff did their rounds at 9:15, and the morning medication distribution kept most mobile residents in their rooms until 10:30.He had exactly twenty-three minutes before anyone was likely to need this facility.And the residents wouldn’t use this restroom, anyway.
The overhead lights flickered slightly as he walked past the row of empty sinks, their mirrors reflecting his composed expression back at him.He looked calm, collected—a man with nothing to hide.It was the same expression he'd worn when Rachel Gift had insisted he was guilty of four murders nearly eleven years ago, the same expression he’d worn when they'd released him from prison, when he'd told the parole board exactly what they wanted to hear.The same expression he'd worn when he'd watched Scarlett take her last breath.
Cody entered the stall furthest from the door, locked it with a quiet click, and finally allowed himself a real smile—not the benign one he'd worn for the receptionist, but the sharp, satisfied expression of a predator about to strike.He set the backpack on the closed toilet lid and reached for the zipper of the main compartment.
Everything was proceeding exactly according to plan.And soon, very soon, Rachel Gift would understand just how thoroughly he'd thought this through.How meticulously he'd planned every detail.How completely he intended to destroy everything she held dear.
How there was no way in hell she could stop him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The address Novak had gotten from the database for Nathan Miller took them to the western rim of the city.Novak guided them through neighborhoods that seemed to grow more worn with each passing block.The late morning sun cast long shadows across yards dotted with Christmas decorations – inflatable snowmen listing slightly in the winter wind, unlit strings of icicle lights drooping from rain gutters, and the occasional nativity scene with plastic figures and glo-molds dulled by years of exposure.Each turn brought them deeper into a part of town that seemed frozen in time, where chain-link fences enclosed patchy yards and out-of-date cars lined the streets.
The sight of a particularly elaborate display – complete with animatronic reindeer and a massive Star of Bethlehem mounted on a roof – sent a jolt of anxiety through Rachel's stomach.Christmas was barely two weeks away, and she had yet to buy a single gift.The thought had been poking at her for days now, creeping into her consciousness during quiet moments in the investigation.Paige would be easy enough; her daughter had left a meticulously detailed list on the refrigerator, complete with links to specific items on Amazon.But Jack...Rachel sighed.How did you shop for someone who seemed to need nothing?Her new husband was frustratingly practical, the type who bought what he needed when he needed it, leaving no room for surprise gifts or thoughtful discoveries.She felt she knew him exceptionally well but could not think of a single gift he would like.
"You okay?"Novak asked from behind the wheel.
"Just thinking about Christmas shopping," Rachel said, turning onto Cedar Street.The houses here were smaller, closer together, their weathered siding and sagging porches telling stories of decades of deferred maintenance."Your kiddo is still young, so there’s some of that Christmas magic still left.It starts to disappear as they get older.”
Novak smiled, the expression softening his usually serious features."Yeah, I’ve heard that.Do you miss it, or does it get easier?”
“A bit of both, I guess.”She shook her head."Sometimes I miss the days of assembly-required toys and batteries not included.I won’t lie about it."
Her throat tightened slightly at the memory of Christmas mornings past."Just two years ago, she still wanted to leave cookies for Santa.But almost right after Christmas that year, she informed me that the math doesn't work out – that it would be physically impossible for one person to deliver presents to every house in one night.And because we don’t have a chimney…"
She sighed as Novak pulled up to the curb in front of a small ranch-style house with peeling mint-green paint.
“When I was nine, I caught my dad changing into the suit on Christmas Eve,” Novak said.“But I never said a thing.It would have destroyed him.He was a bigger kid at Christmas than I ever was.”
“I don’t think I ever really believed after the age of five,” Rachel said.“I wasthatkid.”
