Page 29 of Her Last Confession

The air was thick with tension as they approached the unit. Rachel could hear birds singing somewhere nearby, the sound jarringly cheerful. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple despite the mild temperature. The metal units reflected the sun's heat, creating a shimmer in the air above them.

They moved forward in perfect sync, one of those moments that made Rachel aware that, given time, this partnership with Novak could turn out to be a very good one. Her grip tightened on her weapon as memories of similar moments flashed through her mind – other doors, other suspects, other moments when everything could change in the blink of an eye.

Rachel met Novak's eyes, seeing her own mixture of anticipation and dread mirrored there. They came to the front of the box truck. It had been backed up to the unit perfectly, blocking off any sight of what might be inside. There was just enough room to squeeze in on her side, and through that crack, all she could see was the concrete floor of the unit and what appeared to be the edge of a plastic crate. She held up three fingers, then two, then…

The box truck’s engine roared to life, tearing apart the tense silence of the moment. And after that, Rachel felt that everything moved way too fast.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The distinctive rumble of a diesel engine was like thunder pressing against her. Rachel raised her firearm, not quite sure what sort of response was appropriate.

"FBI! Stop the—" Novak's shout was cut short as the massive vehicle lurched forward like a wounded animal, its acceleration far more aggressive than Rachel had anticipated. She watched in horror as Novak threw himself sideways, his body twisting in mid-air to avoid the edge of the truck's front bumper.

Rachel winced; for a moment, it had been so close that she felt certain Novak had been struck. "Ethan!" Rachel called out, her heart hammering against her ribs.

But Novak was already scrambling to his feet, but the truck was accelerating past their sedan. Metal shrieked against metal as the truck's rear end caught their car's bumper, sending a shower of sparks into the afternoon air. The impact jolted their vehicle sideways, leaving deep scratches in the black paint and crumpling the rear quarter panel.

Rachel spun toward the storage unit, weapon raised, adrenaline flooding her system. What she saw made her blood run cold: the sleek, unmistakable curves of an authentic EndLight pod. Not one of the crude copies they'd found before—this was the real thing, partially dismantled but still recognizable. Its metallic surface gleamed under the fluorescent lighting, panels removed to expose the complex machinery within. The implications hit her like a physical blow.

"He's getting away!" Novak shouted, already sprinting toward their car. Blood trickled from a scrape on his forearm where he'd hit the pavement, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

Rachel ran after him, her mind racing faster than her feet. Kent was their man. He’d somehow stolen the pod during delivery and had been using this storage unit to reverse engineer it—or perhaps to make improvements he’d wanted to make while working for EndLight. Somehow, he’d gotten his hands on an actual EndLight pod.

And now he was getting away.

Rachel ran behind Novak and watched, slightly impressed, as he threw himself into the driver's seat. Rachel barely had time to close her door before he gunned the engine. The sedan's tires squealed in protest as they peeled out of the storage facility, the engine roaring as it fought to overcome its damaged rear end. Through the windshield, Rachel caught sight of their backup—Officer Matthews's patrol car, lights already flashing—falling in behind the retreating truck.

The box truck weaved erratically across the narrow streets, its driver clearly unused to handling such a large vehicle at high speeds. It mounted the curb as it took a corner too sharply, sending a middle-aged man scrambling back from his afternoon walk. The small Yorkshire terrier he was walking yapped furiously as the truck's wheels crushed her neighbor's carefully tended flower bed, sending mulch and petunias flying through the air.

"He's going to kill someone driving like that!" Rachel gripped the dashboard as Novak expertly navigated through the residential streets, her knuckles white with tension. The truck ahead was doing easily fifty in a twenty-five zone. Rachel supposed it was fortunate that the driver—again, she was assuming it was Marcus Kent—had turned right out of the parking lot rather than left. Driving this recklessly through Haven Branch’s quiet little main stretch would have been so much deadlier. Still, there was a smattering of small, suburban homes along this secondary road; the siren of the patrol car infront of them seemed to echo off the houses and yards, warning civilians to clear the way.

As the truck took another slight turn in the road, it hugged the shoulder too closely. As a result, three mailboxes went down like bowling pins, their contents scattering across perfectly manicured lawns and freshly sealed driveways. Bills, magazines, and personal letters created a paper trail behind the fleeing vehicle. A group of kids playing basketball scattered as the truck thundered past, the ball bouncing forgotten in its wake. Rachel caught a glimpse of their terrified faces as they pressed themselves against a garage door.

"We need to end this now," Novak growled, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Before he hits someone, or worse." He expertly threaded their sedan through the obstacle course of scattered mail and debris, keeping pace with the truck despite their damaged rear end.

Rachel's tactical mind was already working, analyzing angles and options. "Matthews is holding steady behind him. If we can get alongside..." She left the thought unfinished as she braced herself against another sharp turn.

The truck swerved suddenly, taking a hard right onto another secondary street. The move caught Kent off guard—the truck tilted dangerously, its wheels on the driver's side briefly leaving the ground. Rachel's breath caught in her throat as she watched the massive vehicle balance on two wheels for what seemed like an eternity before crashing back down.

"He's desperate," Rachel observed, noting how the truck's trajectory was becoming increasingly erratic. "He knows he's running out of options." She could see Kent's head whipping back and forth in the truck's side mirror, searching for an escape route that didn't exist.

Novak spotted an opening along a straight stretch and gunned the engine, their sedan shooting forward through a gapbetween the truck and an undeveloped piece of land where it looked as if a house was in the process of being built. The engine of the car whined in protest, the damage to their rear end affecting its performance. Rachel's stomach lurched as they pulled alongside the truck's cab, their speed matching the truck’s moment by moment. Through the passenger window, she caught a glimpse of the driver’s face.

It was Kent. His face was wide-eyed, sweating, his features contorted in panic. His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and she could see his lips moving, though she couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Now!" Rachel shouted, seeing their opportunity.

Novak cranked the wheel, guiding their car into a controlled drift that would cut off the truck's escape route. Kent reacted instinctively, yanking the steering wheel away from the sedan. It was exactly what they'd hoped for—the truck's momentum carried it straight toward the drainage ditch running alongside the road.

Time seemed to slow as the truck's front wheels caught the lip of the ditch. Metal groaned as the vehicle's weight shifted forward, its nose dipping into the shallow trench. The sound of straining metal filled the air as the truck's framework protested the awkward angle. Behind them, Matthews’s patrol car squealed to a stop, boxing the truck in completely, its red and blue lights painting the scene in alternating colors.

Rachel was out of the car before it had fully stopped, her weapon trained on the truck's cab. The acrid smell of burning rubber and hot brake pads filled her nostrils as she moved into position. Novak flanked her on the right while Matthews approached from the rear, all three advancing with the choreographed precision that came from years of training.

"FBI! Get out of the vehicle with your hands where we can see them!" Rachel’s voice carried the full weight of authority,echoing off the suburban homes that had become their impromptu audience. Curious faces were already appearing in windows, smartphones recording the scene from behind curtains and blinds.

The truck's door creaked open slowly, the sound painfully loud in the sudden silence. A pair of trembling hands appeared, followed by Dr. Marcus Kent's ashen face. The brilliant engineer who had once commanded respect in EndLight's boardroom now looked small and frightened, his expensive shirt soaked with sweat, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his face.

"Don't shoot," Kent pleaded, his voice cracking. "Please... I can explain everything." His eyes darted between the three weapons pointed at him, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

---