Page 46 of Her Last Secret

He was near tears himself, and she loved him for it. But God, she was going to have to leave here without him and step into the storm waiting at her house. Could she do this without him? They shared a pained look that communicated the situation wasn't the best, but protocols had to be followed. Someone had to stay here with Barnes until backup arrived.

Yes, the anger seemed to say. In fact, do you really want him to see the way you’re going to handle this?

"Are you okay with him?” she asked, looking down to Theo. “And Natalie, too?”

“Yes, just go! The ambulance is on the way, and the backup crew should already be on the corner.”

Their hands touched fleetingly, an exchange of warmth and silent understanding that screamed louder than words ever could. It was a momentary comfort, a fleeting reprieve before she plunged into the storm. She felt the quick squeeze of his fingers, a lifeline promising he'd be there when this was over.

The world outside was a blur as Rachel darted to her car, her heart pounding like a caged animal desperate for escape. The familiar throb of a headache pulsed at her temples, matching the rhythm of her racing thoughts. Anger surged through her veins, hot and bitter, fueling her resolve. She latched on to it, quite certain it would be the one single emotion that would get her through this.

She started the engine and the tires screeched against the pavement as she sped off, the road ahead a dark, narrow tunnel of focus. As houses and trees whizzed past her window, Rachel's hands trembled on the wheel—not from fear, but the uncontrollable rage that set her nerves on fire. Her vision blurred, not just from the tears spilling unchecked down her cheeks, but from the sheer, unadulterated anger that clouded her judgment.

She was going to kill this woman. She knew it, and she had to accept it. All her training was thrown out of the window. Forget restraining and arresting. She was going to kill this heartless bitch…the woman who had already taken the life of Grandma Tate, the woman who seemed fixated on destroying her life.

The idea of taking a life, cold-blooded, was not foreign to her; her training had prepared her for the possibility. But the reality of it—the weight of it—bore down on her now with an intensity that wasn’t nearly as appalling as it should have been.

Could I actually kill this woman in cold blood?

Each mile closer to home, each second ticking away, brought her nearer to an answer she wasn't sure she wanted to know. But deep down, in the darkest recesses where primal instincts reigned, she felt a certainty that frightened her.

"Yes," she realized, the word slipping out between clenched teeth. "For Paige, I could."

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under the strain. She was no longer just Rachel Gift, the FBI agent. In that moment, she was an enraged mother who would burn down the entire world if it meant keeping her daughter safe.

***

She pulled the car into her driveway, angling it in beside yet another unmarked bureau sedan—Director Anderson's she supposed. The car skidded to an abrupt halt. She was out before the engine ceased its tremor, the door slamming like a small bomb in the quiet of her neighborhood. Adrenaline surged through her veins, painting the world in sharp contrasts—the black night, the soft light coming through her living room window, and the red flush of emergency vehicle lights casting a sinister glow at the corner. Apparently, an ambulance had already arrived for Carson.

Has she killed him, too? Rachel wondered. Was Grandma Tate not enough for her? Was putting her vile hands on my daughter not enough for her?

She opened the front door, and her eyes instantly saw the small throng of people waiting for her. One of them, she supposed, was Agent Leery, and another his partner. Then there was Anderson, and then another agent she didn't know. And at that moment, she didn't care who it was.

“Which bathroom?” was all she said.

“Downstairs,” one of the agents said.

She didn’t say another word as she passed through the living room, marching directly to the bathroom at the end of the downstairs hall.

"Rachel! Wait!" Director Anderson said sternly from behind her. He strode forward and grabbed Rachel by the arm, but Rachel tore herself free. She barreled forward like a bullet from a chamber, her focus locked on the hallway and the closed bathroom door at the end of it.

"Don’t touch me!" Rachel barked.

"Rachel, you can't—" Anderson began, but Rachel was already beyond reach, her steps thundering down the hallway, each one a drumbeat heralding war.

“Alice Denbrough!” she screamed. “I’m here.”

She made herself stop shy of the bathroom door, reminding herself that Paige’s life was at risk. Leery had said any sort of attempt to get inside would be met with consequences. The agents behind her shifted uneasily, their training at odds with the unbridled fury emanating from the woman they knew to be as disciplined as she was formidable. Anderson still stood close, his face not holding its usual professional demeanor. He was scared of what might happen next but was unable to stop her. Perhaps he, too, understood that a mother with no options is so much more ferocious than a trained federal agent.

Standing this close to the bathroom door, the sounds of muffled sobs seeped through the barrier, and Rachel's heart clenched. Paige. That madwoman's hands were on her. Rachel's mind teetered on the brink of panic, but she forced it down, locking it away in a corner of her iron will.

“Alice!”

“I hear you, Rachel, darling," came Alice's taunting voice from the other side, laced with false sweetness that made Rachel's skin crawl. "I'd love to see you face-to-face, but first, let's make a little trade, shall we?"

The agents exchanged glances, their hands inching towards holsters and radios. Director Anderson stepped forward, his authoritative tone at odds with the situation's volatility. "Alice, this is Director Anderson. Let's talk about—"

"Shut up!" Alice's interruption was sharp as broken glass, the false cheer gone. "Not you. I want them all gone, Rachel. Every last one. You have sixty seconds or this blade is going to go right through Paige’s throat" The threat hung in the air, unspoken yet unmistakable.

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