Page 27 of Her Last Confession

She went around to the back of the house, not giving a damn if Novak followed her or not. The back porch steps creaked beneath her weight as she climbed them, each sound seeming to announce her presence to the empty house. Her hands were steady as she worked the lock picks—muscle memory taking over despite the months away from field work—but her mind was churning. Novak was right—this was wrong. Illegal. The kind of thing that could torpedo a case if handled badly. The kind of thing Jack would have tried to talk her out of.

The lock clicked open under her fingers, and Rachel opened the back door. She stepped into a modest kitchen. The space was immaculate—granite countertops gleaming, copper pots hanging in perfect alignment above a professional-grade range. Everything had its place, each appliance positioned with geometric precision. It opened into an equally pristine living room, where modernist furniture created careful geometric patterns against pale hardwood floors. Everything felt staged, like a showroom rather than a home. There were no magazines scattered on the coffee table, no mail waiting to be sorted, no cups left out or throws casually draped over chairs. It was the kind of perfect that made Rachel's skin crawl.

A hallway branched off to the right, and Rachel's attention immediately locked onto a home office visible through its open door. Her pulse quickened as she crossed the threshold. A glass desk dominated the space, its surface clear except for a closed laptop and a few scattered papers. But it was the row of thick black binders against the far wall that drew her eye, their spines unmarked but somehow managing to look important.

The first binder opened to reveal exactly what she'd hoped: detailed technical specifications for the EndLight pods. Page after page of blueprints, engineering notes, and material requirements. Rachel's phone came out, capturing key pages in rapid succession. Her hands moved quickly, efficiently, years of experience guiding her through the process of documenting evidence—even if this evidence might never see the inside of a courtroom.

She found that the second and third binders contained more of the same. She took her phone out and snapped pictures of each binder before turning her attention to a long desk pushed against the far wall. The laptop sitting in its center was a dead end, locked behind password protection. But as she looked at the laptop, a piece of paper partially hidden beneath it caught her attention. Rachel carefully slid it free, her heart rate picking up as she registered what she was seeing.

Her breath caught. It was a rental invoice for a box truck, dated two days ago. No a huge one, but bigger than the more modest ones as well. In other words... it is just large enough to transport a peaceful passage pod.

And the rental date was from three days ago—recent enough to match their timeline. The details jumped out at her: twelve-footer, local rental company, valid for a week. Truck number, license plate number, make and model, rental company information. Everything they needed to track it down.

Rachel's hands shook slightly as she photographed the invoice. This was it—the missing piece they needed. The thing that would make breaking in worth it, consequences be damned. Sometimes, you had to sacrifice the small rules to uphold the bigger ones. Sometimes you had to trust your gut, even when your head—and your partner—were telling you otherwise.

She exited the house quickly and found Novak exactly where she'd left him, pacing by their vehicle. His expression was thunderous, but it shifted when he saw her face. Years of working with witnesses had taught Rachel to read people, and she could see the moment curiosity overcame disapproval.

"What did you find?"

Rachel held up her phone, already pulling up the invoice photo. "I know where our missing pod went. And more importantly? I think I know how we're going to find it. Oh, and then there’s this.” She then scrolled through the photos she’d taken of the EndLight schematics. “It’s him, Novak. We got the bastard.”

The anger hadn't fully left Novak's face, but now it warred with reluctant interest. "This doesn't make what you did right."

"No," Rachel agreed, "And I’ll be okay with that for now. And while it may not have been the right thing to do, it might help us prevent another murder. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call this in. We need an APB on that truck right now."

“I’ll do it,” he said, and she could sense some of his growing excitement.

As Novak pulled out his phone, Rachel glanced back at Kent's house. The pristine windows reflected the midday sun, revealing nothing of the secrets inside. She'd crossed a line today, no question. But standing here, with solid evidence in hand and a real lead to follow, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

Not if it meant stopping another death. Not if it meant keeping another person from having their moment of desperation twisted into murder.

The real question was: how many more lines would she have to cross before this was over? And would she recognize herself when it was done?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rachel was starting to feel the burnout from lack of sleep as they approached the precinct; being so far away from home, heading back to the precinct Detective Wheeler called home seemed like the most logical next step while they waited for movement on the APB for the box truck. Morning had become afternoon since they’d left Kent’s house but already felt so much later. Just barely to the east, the constant thrum of traffic on the nearby highway provided a steady backbeat to her racing mind, each passing truck a reminder of how quickly their killer could slip away.

She glanced at her watch for the third time in as many minutes. Time was working against them, as it always seemed to in cases like this. The digital display on the dashboard showed 12:47 – another Sunday that should have been spent with Paige, maybe trying to talk her into going to see a movie, or trying out that new burger place Jack had been raving about. Instead, she was here, hunting a killer who turned machines meant to end suffering into instruments of murder.

"If Kentdidtake that pod," she said, more to herself than to Novak, "where would he go? A guy like that, methodical, careful..." She trailed off, watching a flock of pigeons scatter as they drove into the precinct parking lot. "The profile doesn't suggest impulse. Everything we've seen points to careful planning."

Novak shifted in the passenger seat, a notepad open on his lap. She’d noticed that he had started keeping one on him at all times. He rarely used it in the moment, as things were happening, but rather after the fact…as if to document everything. The pages were filled with his precise handwriting, timeline annotations, and possible scenarios – all of whichseemed to lead nowhere. "The timeline's tight. If Diana Tatum's right about how things went down in Woodbridge yesterday afternoon—"

Rachel's phone cut through the quiet of the car, its display showing an unknown number. The harsh buzz against the console made her jump slightly – a reminder of how tightly wound this case had made her. She answered, putting it on speaker.

"Agent Gift speaking."

"Agent Gift, this is Sergeant Briggs with Wyler County PD." The voice was gruff, carrying the weight of authority and years of experience. "One of my officers has eyes on that truck you put the APB out for."

Rachel and Novak exchanged glances, a spark of electricity seeming to arc between them. Twenty minutes. The APB had only been out for twenty minutes. In Rachel's experience, breaks this quick usually meant one of two things: either they were incredibly lucky, or the information they were getting was dead wrong.

“Would you mind giving me the details you have?” she said. “License plate number, make, model?”

Briggs seemed happy enough to do it. To Rachel’s surprise, everything he recited did indeed fit. It seemed that a member of his force had come across the truck…and very likely their killer, Marcus Kent.

"Where is this?" Rachel asked, already turning the wheel sharply, causing a BMW to honk as she cut across the parking lot entrance. The driver's angry gesture went unnoticed as adrenaline began coursing through her system.

"Small storage facility in Haven Branch. Officer Matthews spotted it about five minutes ago. Says it's just sitting there, backed up to one of the units."

---