Page 35 of Her Last Confession

And when it did finally vibrate in her hand, Rachel nearly dropped it out of anticipation. She answered right away, noting that only three minutes had passed since they’d last hung up.

“Did you get a name?” Rachel asked, skipping formalities.

“I did. The only Parker we have on the payroll is actually a freelancer. Her name is Jennifer Parker, and she’s our social media manager.”

“Freelance…so she probably doesn’t even come into the office?”

“No. She does it remotely. But shedoeslive close by.”

“Do you have contact information?” Rachel asked.

“Phone number and address. I’ll text it all to you right away.”

“Thanks again.”

They ended the call and again, Rachel found herself staring at her phone, waiting. But this time, she and Novak were already heading out of the basement and to the front door. Rachel had no idea where Jennifer Parker’s address would take them, and she honestly didn’t care. They were nearing the end now, and the only thing she was concerned about was stopping Christopher Bradley before he got his hands on Jennifer Parker.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Rachel's phone buzzed with Diana's email just as they reached the top of Christopher Bradley’s long, winding driveway. The sun was beginning its descent behind the trees as the afternoon wore on, casting long shadows across the empty road. Rachel wasted no time opening the email and attached file right away, scanning Jennifer Parker's information. She and her husband, CJ, lived in the town of Luray. Forty minutes away. Too far. The distance felt like a physical weight in her stomach.

She remembered similar moments from past cases – the terrifying countdown that started the moment you realized someone was in danger. The way seconds seemed to stretch and compress at the same time. She'd lost people before. It was just part of the job. But now that she’d had some time away, it was easier for her to think otherwise. Maybe loss didn’thave to bepart of the job. Not this time, anyway, she thought. Not if she could help it.

As she dialed Jennifer’s number, she noticed that Novak was literally squirming in his seat, anxious to get moving. She pressed the phone to her ear, listening to Jennifer's phone ring through to voicemail. Her stomach tightened, that familiar surge of adrenaline making her fingers tingle.

"Straight to voicemail," she muttered. Then, thinking quickly, she thumbed through her phone, going to the little bit of information they had on Christopher Bradley—most of which had been accumulated at the Wyler County precinct. She inputted his number from their hastily assembled case notes. Nothing there either. Five rings and then an automated, robotic voicemail prompt. The silence on both ends felt deliberate, orchestrated. She could almost picture Bradley somewhere, watching Jennifer's phone buzz, perhaps already…

The image of Sandra Mitchell's body flashed through her mind, the way she'd looked in that pod, and Rachel forced the thought away.

No. Don't go there.

The road in front of them was empty, the pavement a faded black without yellow or white markings of any kind. It forced its way through dense trees that pressed close on both sides. Perfect isolation. The kind of place where screams wouldn't carry.

"Try the husband," Novak suggested, bringing the car to a stop. The headlights illuminated Bradley's front door, dark and uninviting. "If Jennifer isn’t picking up..."

She’d thought the same thing for a moment or two but didn’t know if it was worth alarming him just yet. But honestly, what other choices did they have?

Rachel went back to Jennifer’s information and found the number for her husband, her mind racing ahead to what she'd say, how much to reveal. The phone rang twice before a man's voice answered, casual, relaxed. Normal. The kind of normal that could shatter in an instant. "Hello?"

"Mr. Parker? CJ Parker?”

“Yeah? Who’s asking?” There was nothing confrontational to his voice; there was even a little edge of humor in it.

“Mr. Parker, this is Special Agent Rachel Gift with the FBI. I'm trying to reach Jennifer."

A pause. The background noise of a televised football game filtered through the connection. "Oh. She went out about an hour ago. Having drinks with a friend." His voice carried the distracted tone of someone half-listening, probably still focused on whatever he'd been doing when she called. Rachel felt a stab of sympathy. He had no idea his world was about to change.

"Do you know which friend? Where they were meeting?"

"Who is this again?"

Rachel took a deep breath, remembering that this man had no idea what had been going on these past two days. "Mr. Parker, I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Special Agent Rachel Gift. I need to be clear – your wife may be in danger. Any information you can give us could be crucial."

The background noise of the football game suddenly died. The silence that followed was deafening. "What do you mean, in danger?" His voice sharpened, fear creeping in at the edges. "She just said she was meeting someone from work. I—" He faltered. "God, I didn't even ask where. The game was on, and I just... I just said 'have fun.'"

The guilt in his voice was palpable. Rachel had heard it before, too many times. Survivors looking back at their last normal moment, trying to understand how they missed the signs. She pressed her free hand against her forehead, eyes closed. "Mr. Parker, we're going to do everything we can to find her. I promise you that. But I need to ask you something, and I know it might seem strange." She hesitated, knowing how the next question would land. "Has Jennifer ever attempted suicide?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" His voice rose sharply, anger masking fear. "What's going on? Why would you—"

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