Page 26 of Her Last Confession

"That's our Rachel," he said, glancing at his watch with well-practiced casualness. "Well, I should get going. Thank you both so much for checking about the planner. I'll let her know it wasn't here."

"Of course! Tell her we miss her," Amy called after him as he headed for the exit.

He kept his pace measured and unhurried until he reached his car. Only then, safely behind the tinted windows, did he allow himself a moment of pure elation. His hands trembled slightly as he started the engine—not from fear or nervousness, but from the sheer thrill of it all.

Scarlett Kline.

The name tasted like honey on his tongue. Another piece of the puzzle, another thread in the tapestry he was weaving. Rachel's special patient, the one who reminded her so much of herself. The one who had beaten the odds, just like Rachel had. He could onlyimaginethe sort of bond they’d formed…how close Rachel must be to her.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, David Morton began to hum softly to himself. Everything was falling into place so perfectly, it was almost poetic. He had thought, at first, that ten years in prison had robbed him of precious time for his Great Work. Now he understood that those years had been an investment, teaching him patience, honing his skills of observation and manipulation.

Rachel Gift thought she knew what it meant to fight for her life…to claw her way back from the edge of death. It made him smile….because soon enough, she would know what it wasreallylike.

He merged smoothly into traffic, just another commuter zipping around town, carrying out errands or heading to church for Sunday service. Just another face in the crowd, unmemorable and unthreatening.

Just the way he liked it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Marcus Kent’s house looked different somehow as they pulled up in front of it again. Rachel was delighted that the drive had gone by quickly, pushed along by conversations and theories related to the case. She was starting to see more and more of the sort of analytical agent Novak was. He was honestly a little too by-the-book for Rachel, but he had a very level head on his shoulders.

The late morning sun cast harsh shadows across Marcus Kent's front lawn as Rachel and Novak stepped out of the car. Rachel's mind felt as if it was bursting at the seams with questions about the alternative EndLight pod designs Dr. Kent had conveniently failed to mention during their first visit. It made her assume that during their first visit, she and Novak had gotten nothing more than carefully measured responses during their first interview. And, going on no sleep the night before, that sort of offense had her nice and pissed off.

The neighborhood was quiet…a typical late Sunday morning. Most of the surrounding houses showed signs of life: a forgotten garden hose snaking across a lawn, children's bikes tipped over in driveways, a wind chime tinkling in the late autumn breeze. But Kent's property felt sterile, maintained with an attention to detail that bordered on obsessive. The grass was perfectly trimmed, the hedges mathematically precise, the windows spotless.

When their first knock at the front door went unanswered, Novak tried again, the sound echoing through the quiet suburban street. Rachel counted in her head: one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand. Then she stepped off the porch and started making her way across the grass to the side of the house.

"What are you doing?" Novak called after her, his voice carrying the edge of someone who already knew the answer but hoped he was wrong.

"Going to check the back," she said, already rounding the corner of the house. The manicured lawn crunched under her feet, each blade of grass seeming to stand at attention.

"Check the back for what, exactly?" Rachel could hear the disapproval building, could practically feel his by-the-book sensibilities bristling.

Rachel paused at the gate leading to the backyard, her hand resting on the latch. "For a way in."

"You can't be serious." Novak grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn and face him. His usually calm demeanor had hardened into something closer to anger, his jaw set in a way she'd never seen before. "We don't have probable cause. We don't have a warrant. We don't have anything that gives us the right to enter this house."

She looked down to where his hand still gripped her arm. It was a gentle, almost caring grip, but it was still doing nothing more than making her angrier.

"What we have are two dead bodies," Rachel shot back, jerking her arm free. The motion was sharper than she'd intended, and she saw Novak's eyes narrow at the display of emotion. "Also…you saw how Diana Tatum reacted when we mentioned Kent's name. You know there's more here. We know he was not being totally honest with us the first time we were here."

"Maybe. But breaking and entering isn't going to help us build a case. It'll poison everything we find inside." Novak ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "Everything we find becomes fruit of the poisonous tree. You know this, Rachel. This isn't your first year on the job."

Rachel felt her teeth grinding together. Was he really trying to go this route with her? Who the hell did he think he was? "Sometimes you have to bend the rules to—"

"To what?" Novak cut her off, stepping closer. "To get results? To play hero? That's not how this works, Rachel. That's not what we do. We're FBI agents, not vigilantes. The rules exist for a reason."

The words hit harder than Rachel expected, stirring up memories of other lines she'd crossed, other times she'd convinced herself the ends justified the means. She thought of Alex Lynch, of Alice, of all the times playing by the rules hadn't been enough to protect the people she loved. The weight of those decisions—and their consequences—pressed down on her shoulders.

"What we do," she said quietly, each word measured and deliberate, "is stop killers before they can strike again. You really want to wait for a warrant while this guy potentially moves or destroys evidence? While he maybe preps another pod? While someone else's family gets that phone call?"

"What I want is to do this right." Novak's voice had dropped to match hers, but the intensity remained. In that moment, he reminded her painfully of Jack—the same stubborn adherence to procedure, the same frustrated concern. However, Jack would have likely given in by now. "You're letting your emotions about these pods cloud your judgment. I get it—after everything you've been through, how could you not? But that's exactly why you need to step back and think this through."

Rachel turned back toward the gate, pushing it open with perhaps more force than necessary. "You're right. I am emotional about this. Because I've been where these victims were...thinking of suicide. I've stared death in the face and felt that desperation. The difference is, I got a second chance. These people? Not so much." She then started walking toward the car,gravel crunching under each determined step. "I'm getting my lock picks. You don't have to come with me."

"Rachel!" Novak called after her. "I'll have to report this to Anderson." It was a last-ditch effort, a desperate attempt.

She retrieved the small leather case from the glove compartment, not bothering to respond. Let him report it. Some things were worth the reprimand. Some things were worth sacrificing your reputation for, if it meant saving lives. She'd learned that lesson the hard way during those dark days when cancer had been eating away at her body while killers threatened her family. Sometimes the right thing and the legal thing weren't the same thing at all.

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