Page 25 of Her Last Farewell

Rachel leaned forward, careful to keep her expression neutral despite the surge of excitement at this new connection. "Can you tell us anything about that conversation?"

Dr. Tharpe stood abruptly, pacing behind her desk. The usually collected therapist was clearly distressed, running her fingers through her graying hair. "I shouldn't be telling you any of this. There are confidentiality agreements in place, ethical guidelines..." She trailed off, looking out her window at the darkening sky.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on Dr. Tharpe's desk. Rachel glanced at it – five minutes until the doctor's next appointment. She thought suddenly of Paige at home again, probably starting homework at the kitchen table while Jack prepared dinner. Their normal evening routine continued while she chased shadows and secrets. A wave of longing washed over her; some days she missed being there for those quiet moments, the simple joy of helping with math problems or listening to Paige's stories about school while chopping vegetables for dinner.

Dr. Tharpe's voice pulled her back to the present.Good,Rachel thought.I really need to stop letting myself get so damned distracted.

"These women," Dr. Tharpe said softly, still facing the window. "The ones who are missing. They're in danger, aren't they?"

"Yes," Rachel replied simply. "We believe they are. And there may be more we don't know about yet. Carla is dead. She was found earlier today, as you know. We need to do what we can to make sure the same doesn’t happen to the others."

Dr. Tharpe turned back to face them, her expression torn. "The ethical guidelines exist for a reason. People need to know they can speak freely, that their darkest moments won't be shared without their consent." She sank back into her chair, shoulders heavy with the weight of her decision. "But they also need to stay alive to heal."

Rachel waited, sensing Dr. Tharpe wasn't finished. The therapist's internal struggle was evident in every line of her face, every movement of her hands as she straightened papers on her desk that didn't need straightening.

"The hotline is run out of a small office building on Maple Street," Dr. Tharpe finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. She wrote an address on a sheet of stationary sitting on the side of her desk. "Ask for Mitchell. He manages the day shift….which doesn’t end until 6:00. So you should be able to catch him before he leaves." She passed the note to Rachel, then immediately pulled back, as if afraid she'd reach for it again if she let her hand linger.

"Thank you," Rachel said, careful to keep her voice gentle. "You're doing the right thing."

Dr. Tharpe's laugh was bitter, empty of humor. "Am I? I've just violated the trust of people in crisis. People who reached out for help, believing their secrets would be safe." She shook her head, eyes glistening. "Do you know what that could do to someone who's already struggling? Finding out their confidences have been betrayed?"

"What would it do to their families to never know what happened to them?" Novak spoke for the first time, his voice soft but firm.

Dr. Tharpe flinched as if he'd struck her. She glanced at the clock – three minutes until her next appointment. "I need to prepare for my patient," she said, standing. The dismissal was clear, but as Rachel and Novak reached the door, she spoke again. "Agent Gift?"

Rachel turned back. Dr. Tharpe stood behind her desk, looking suddenly older, more vulnerable. "If you find them... if they're alive... please don't tell them where you got this information. Let them keep their faith in the system, at least."

Rachel nodded, understanding the cost of what Dr. Tharpe had done. As they walked back to their car, Rachel's mind was already racing ahead to the hotline office, to the possibilities this new lead presented. A thought occurred to her, dark and insidious: what better hunting ground for someone targeting suicidal women than a suicide prevention hotline?

She didn't voice this theory to Novak as they got into the car. The sun had nearly set now, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. Rachel checked her phone. She’d received another text from Jack – a text from Jack saying he and Paige were making chicken stir-fry for dinner. Her heart ached at the normalcy of it, the simple domestic moment she was missing. But she pushed the feeling aside. Somewhere in this town, women were missing, possibly being held against their will. Their families were missing moments too – not just dinners, but every precious second with their loved ones.

But I have my own family, too,she thought.

“Novak, would you mind driving? I need to call in to home and check in.”

“Yeah, of course. I should probably do the same at some point. Go ahead.”

As Novak started the car, Rachel pulled up the number to the landline at home. The line started to ring and the community center disappeared in their rearview mirror as Novak drove away. Rachel thought of Dr. Tharpe, alone in her office now, probably trying to compose herself before her next patient arrived. The woman would likely spend many sleepless nights questioning her decision to help them. But sometimes, Rachel knew, doing the right thing meant living with the guilt of breaking other, smaller rules along the way.

As they turned onto Maple Street, Rachel's earlier thought returned, more insistent now: someone working or volunteering at that hotline would have direct access to vulnerable women, would know their darkest thoughts, their deepest pains. It would be the perfect cover for a predator masquerading as a savior.

But then, on the third ring, the line was answered in her ear. “Well, hey, stranger,” Jack said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Everything is fine. The case is sort of on the move, though. Not sure when I’ll be getting home. Could be tomorrow. Or later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, playfully dismissive. “I know what that means. That means you don’t have time to talk. I love you bunches, but why don’t I fetch your daughter for you while you have the time?”

“I love you, too. And thanks.”

As the phone was slightly jostled while Jack set it down, Rachel's mind went back to the profile they'd made of the killer. A man terrorizing women because he thought he was helping them. A skewed perspective of kindness…which could be just as dangerous as a more traditional villain.

Paige answered the phone, breaking those thoughts apart. It was a jarring transition, to say the least…to hear her daughter discuss school, homework, and her interest in maybe joining the track team while her own mind was focused on a sadistickiller. But it was something she'd learned to deal with long ago. No matter how strange a case got, there were apparently some things about that work-life balance that remained the same.

She chatted idly with Paige for nearly three minutes, taking what joy she could from hearing her daughter’s voice. But even as they spoke, she noticed that with dusk falling in around them like a blanket, she was starting to accept a feeling of anxious uncertainty rolling in her stomach.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rachel and Ethan pulled into the small parking lot of the county suicide prevention hotline center as the late afternoon sun set behind the scraggly trees behind the property. It cast long shadows across the cracked asphalt, like runnels of ink blotting out everything.. The building itself was unremarkable—a squat, two-story brick structure that looked like it had been standing since before Rachel was born. It sat in a row of similarly dated municipal buildings, including the county waste management office and various administrative departments that seemed to have been forgotten by time.

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