Page 39 of Her Last Confession

"Just one?" Rachel exchanged glances with Novak. Based on all they knew, there was supposed to be two more…if the list they’d found had indeed been victims. "You're sure?"

"Positive. It's off a logging road east of State Road 133. Sending the coordinates now."

Rachel's eyes found State Road 133 on Wheeler's map. They were close – which was to be expected, given that Bradley was apparently keeping his spree contained to a fifty-mile radius.

Wheeler's phone chimed with the incoming coordinates. Novak immediately pulled out his own phone, fingers flying over the screen and inputting them. "Twenty-six miles away," he announced. "We could be there in thirty minutes, maybe less."

“Maybe more when you consider the state of these damned roads,” Wheeler said. He folded up his map and looked over to the pod. "Take my truck," he said, tossing the keys to Novak. "I'll stay here and secure this pod until backup arrives."

“You’re sure?” Rachel said.

“Yeah. And I’ll reach out right away if Bradley shows up intending to use this one.”

It did make sense to split up; Rachel knew this, but she also hated the idea of being confined to another vehicle, bumping along more back roads while they had no idea where Christopher Bradley was—or Jennifer Parker, for that matter.

She and climbed into the truck as Wheeler made his way over to the pod. Rachel noticed that his hand was resting in his holstered service weapon at his hip.

The sky had turned a deep purple, the last remnants of daylight eaten by the night. Novak worked to back the truck up a bit at an angle, whipping it back around to head out the way they’d come in. He handled the truck with practiced ease, but she could sense his tension in the way his he was leaning forward, his chest nearly pressed into the steering wheel.

“I think we’ve got the bastard,” Novak said. “Either at this pod or the one we’re headed to…we’ve got him.”

“There were five names on the list,” she pointed out. “Which makes me think there should be a fifth pod. Maybe…maybe he already used it long ago…long before we even knew there was a case. Maybe he’s used it and taken it offline.”

“Maybe,” Novak said. “Or maybe it malfunctioned somehow. Maybe he was unable to use it.”

Rachel nodded. It was a good point, and one that she latched on to, hoping it was true.

The truck's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the dirt road ahead. The road seemed to unspool from the earth and was then bordered by the darkness of the trees and the night. To Rachel's surprise, though, the paved road appeared faster than she'd imagined. And when Novak turned the truck onto the asphalt, he gunned the engine, heading east. Now, off of the bumps of the dirt road, he seemed to relax a bit.

Rachel began guiding him through a series of multiple turn-offs, all of which were on paved surfaces. The map showed her that after just a few more, they would be on State Road 133, and they'd have a straight stretch for quite a while.

The truck's radio crackled to life. It made Rachel jump a bit because she hadn’t even noticed the typical police band radio bolted to the underside of the truck’s dashboard. Wheeler's voice cut through a brief hiss of static. "Gift, Novak, you copy?"

Rachel grabbed the handheld mic and pushed the Send button. "We copy," Rachel responded. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Just wanted you know that the backup unit just arrived at my location," Wheeler said, his voice tight with tension. "But you need to know something. Ed just called again. He's been going through more of Bradley's network data. These pods? They're not just being monitored. They're collecting data. Recording everything."

Rachel felt her blood run cold. "Recording what, exactly?"

"Everything. Video, audio, vital signs – right up until the moment of death. Bradley's not just killing these people. He's studying them. Watching them die."

Rachel closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of nausea. When she opened them again, she could not decide if she was heartbroken for the victims or simply pissed off. Somewhere deep inside her heart, she was starting to understand that hersix months or so of avoiding death with experimental treatments and endless rest had changed something inside of her. Now, when dealing with the deaths of victims, it was far harder to separate the end of their lives from the duties of her job. Something like this—what Christopher Bradley was doing to these victims—felt personal to her. It felt like she was being mocked. But she also knew that this case was not about her or the things she’d been through. She cheapened the lives of the victims if she placed herself in the center of the killer’s efforts. All in all, it did one thing: it cemented and even empowered her already burning need to bring this bastard down.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The truck's headlights carved through the darkness as they came upon the turn-off that would remove them from the paved road they’d been enjoying for the past thirteen minutes. When Rachel saw that the turn would place them on a gravel road that was barely as wide as Wheeler’s truck, she was not at all surprised.

Rachel gripped the armrest, her other hand holding her phone steady as she tracked their progress against Ed's coordinates. The screen's blue glow illuminated her face in the darkened cab, casting sharp shadows that made her look almost ghostly.

"Left up ahead," she called out to Novak. "About fifty yards."

The truck's engine roared as Novak downshifted, taking the turn with practiced precision. The tires kicked up gravel, sending it pattering against the wheel wells like artificial rain. Rachel felt the familiar surge of adrenaline course through her body—that electric anticipation that came with closing in on a suspect. She'd felt it countless times before, but something about knifing their way down an old dirt road in the night made it feel even more exhilarating.

"These coordinates are taking us deeper into more old logging territory," she said, squinting at her phone's screen. The blue dot representing their position pulsed steadily as they ventured further from civilization. "Just like the others…way off the beaten path."

The gravel that had greeted them at the turn quickly disappeared and presented dirt, dust, and shallow ruts. Within less than a minute, this forked into two directions. “Veer left,” Rachel said.

Novak did as he instructed, and right away, they were once again on what looked like an ancient logging trail. It sprawled before them like a weathered scar in the earth, most of it having been consumed by decades of undergrowth. Novak navigated them expertly, though the truck's suspension groaned in protest as they bounced over exposed roots and deep ruts.

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