Page 28 of Her Last Confession

Rachel's pulse quickened as her mind raced through the implications. A storage unit meant preparation, planning – this wasn't some random stop for the driver of the truck—a driver she felt had to be Kent, but she didn’t want to solidify such an assumption. Not yet.

"Haven Branch...I believe that's about half an hour from our current location,” Novak said. “Maybe a bit less if we make it speedy.”

“Sergeant,” Rachel said, “please tell your officer to maintain visual contact but do not—I repeat, do not—engage unless that truck moves.”

“Roger that.”

“And can you send the address of that facility to this number?”

“Roger that as well, agent. And Matthews knows the drill. He's keeping his distance, just watching."

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Rachel said, ending the call.

Wasting no time, she sped out of the lot. The tires squealed as Rachel accelerated onto the main road, her phone's GPS already calculating the route. Novak gripped the dashboard, but she noticed he wasn't complaining about her driving this time. The way his jaw was set told her he felt it too – the electric tension that came with closing in on a suspect. And hell…was that the start of a small grin forming on his lips?

The car's engine roared as Rachel pushed it harder, weaving through early afternoon traffic with practiced precision. Each minute felt crucial now. If Kent was really at the storage unit park in Haven Branch, if this wasn't just another dead end...

"You really think Kent's there?" Novak asked after a few minutes of tense silence, giving voice to her own doubts.

"If not Kent, then someone who knows something." Rachel took a sharp turn onto the highway, the g-force pushing them both to the right. "Either way, we're about to find out."

The speedometer crept past seventy as they merged into highway traffic. Rachel's hands were steady on the wheel, but her mind was racing through scenarios, contingencies, possibilities. This could be it – the break they needed. Or it could be nothing. In this job, you learned to hope for the best while preparing for the worst. And if they did get there and it turned out that maybe Kent had just ordered the truck to move some stuff out of his house and into a storage unit forty-five minutes from his house…then they’d have to just face that music. But even as she thought such a thing, she realized how absurd it seemed.

"About what happened at Kent's house..." Novak began.

For a moment, Rachel had no idea what he was talking about. She was focused on the here and now, to getting to Haven Branch as quickly as possible. But then it came to her. The disagreement from earlier…

"The lock picking?" She glanced at him. "Still bothered by that?"

"We're supposed to be the good guys, Rachel. Following proper procedure isn't just bureaucratic nonsense—it's what separates us from them." His voice was quiet but firm. "It's about maintaining the moral high ground."

Rachel watched the speedometer climb past eighty, the engine's pitch rising with their speed. "You want to talk about separation? We're hunting someone who turns devices meant to help people end things peacefully when they have no other options into murder weapons. Someone smart enough to reverse-engineer sophisticated technology and twisted enough to use it for killing." She took a breath, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "So yeah, I picked a lock. And I'd do it again if I had to. Because sometimes the rulebook doesn't account for everything we face." She wanted to add something like:Maybe afew more years of experience will teach you that,but she chose to stay on the high ground.

The countryside began to blur past their windows as they drove, urban sprawl giving way to rolling hills and scattered farmhouses. Signs for Haven Branch started appearing, advertising a farmer's market and something called the Annual Butterfly Festival.

Novak was quiet for a long moment, his fingers absently tapping against his knee. "I get it," he said finally. "I don't like it, but... well, weareheading toward a potential killer because of that choice. So I don’t guess I can fault youtoomuch."

"Ah, you’ll be a rule-breaker in no time," Rachel said, surprising herself with the sarcasm in her voice. "But in all honestly….it comes down to knowing when it’s okay. It’s…it’s a gut thing. And if I’m being honest, sometimes it’s wrong.”

“But you feel that your gut was right this time?”

“I do. But…I’ll feel a lot better when I know for sure.”

It took another seventeen minutes before they arrived in the town of Haven Branch. It appeared ahead of them like a painting from another era—a slice of small-town America frozen in time. The main street was barely wide enough for two cars to pass, lined with brick buildings that probably hadn't changed much since the 1970s. A faded mural on one wall advertised "Carter's Hardware – Serving Haven Branch Since 1942."

It was the kind of Sunday afternoon that seemed to move in slow motion. An elderly couple walked hand in hand outside the town's single ice cream parlor, their movements unhurried, peaceful. A group of kids rode their bikes in lazy circles around a war memorial in the town square, their laughter carrying on the warm breeze. A man washed the windows at the local diner, his movements methodical and practiced.

The scene was so peaceful it felt almost obscene, considering what they might find at the storage facility. These people hadno idea that their quiet Sunday afternoon might be harboring a killer. Rachel felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders – the duty to protect this peace, to keep places like Haven Branch from becoming crime scenes.

They made their way through the main stretch of the town and, right along the edge, took a right turn per the instructions. It was there, on the outskirts of town, that they found the storage facility. It was a small and unremarkable complex of identical metal doors set into concrete walls. Rachel was more accustomed to the larger ones in Richmond, the facilities that contained more than a hundred units. This one was the exact opposite. She supposed there might be twenty in all. The sign at the entrance was sun-faded: "Haven Branch Storage – Security You Can Trust." Rachel might have found that ironically funny under different circumstances.

The patrol car was exactly where Sergeant Briggs said it would be, parked across the street with a clear view of the entrance. Rachel saw the shape of Officer Matthews behind the wheel, and Novak held his badge up to the window as they passed, getting a small nod from Officer Matthews inside. The young officer's posture was alert, professional – good training showing through.

Rachel turned into the facility, driving slowly down the narrow alleys between units. The place was laid out simply, with five units per row, each row divided between a straight, paved thoroughfare. The sound of their tires advancing through the lot seemed too loud in the afternoon quiet. Each unit they passed could hold anything – old furniture, forgotten belongings, or something far more sinister.

"There," Novak whispered, pointing.

Rachel saw it, too. The truck, backed up to unit 18. Her heart rate picked up as she parked their car at an angle that would block any attempt at a quick getaway. They got out silently,both drawing their weapons in practiced movements that spoke of years of training and too many similar situations. Neither of them bothered closing their doors, not wanting to give Kent any indication that someone was outside.

---