Page 10 of Her Last Promise

Or maybe she’s s used to it by now that she really doesn’t give a shit,Rachel thought.

"You okay?"Novak asked quietly.

Rachel nodded, squaring her shoulders."Let's go find Porter."

The elevator reached the parking garage, its doors opening to darkness.As they walked to the car, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something obvious.Porter fit—almost too perfectly.Like a puzzle piece that looked right at first glance but left tiny gaps around the edges.

She thought about all the cases she'd worked before the cancer, all the times her instincts had told her something was off.Those instincts had saved her life more than once.But they'd also kept her at work late into the night, missing soccer games and dance recitals, telling herself that one more hour might crack the case.

She was falling back into the trap.She could deny it all she wanted, but it was true.And oddly enough, it made her angry at Porter.Porter—guilty or not—was the reason she’d be likely to miss dinner with her family tonight.It was an immature way to feel, but it there it was plain and simple.

As they pulled out into the fading daylight, Rachel pushed thoughts of home to the back of her mind.This was the job—the job she'd fought so hard to return to, the job that had helped give her purpose during her darkest days.

And somewhere out there, a killer was lurking about, feeling like they'd somehow gotten away with it.

Nope,Rachel said as Novak headed for Gregory Porter’s address.Not on my watch.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Maple Grove, a middle-class neighborhood that had seen better days.Rachel sat in the passenger seat while Novak guided the Bureau sedan past rows of 1970s ranches and split-levels, their aging facades telling stories of deferred maintenance and underwater mortgages.Dead leaves skittered across browning lawns, dancing in the chill October breeze that carried winter's first whispers.It seemed like an odd neighborhood for a former doctor to live in, though it made a bit more sense as they actually arrived at Porter’s home.

"Number 2347," Novak said, checking his phone."Should be coming up on the right."

Rachel slowed as they approached the Porter residence.Like its neighbors, the house bore an ancient look but his, at least, has been well-tended to.It was obviously one of the nicer homes in the neighborhood.A bare wrap-around porch seemed to make it stand out more than the other homes surrounding it.A few patches of determined chrysanthemums fought for survival in the flowerbed by the porch stairs, their purple and bronze blooms nodding in the cold wind.

Novak parked the car along the curb even though there was a driveway that led to a single-car garage.When he parked, they both looked to the house expectantly."Maybe this will be it," Novak said hopefully.

“It?”Rachel asked.

“This visit that wraps this case up.”

Rachel shrugged, but she was already starting to doubt it.

They made their way up the walkway, a few fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet.The wind picked up, carrying with it the sharp bite of approaching evening.Rachel pulled her jacket tighter and pressed the doorbell.Through the frosted glass panels flanking the door, she caught movement—a shadow approaching with measured steps.

The door opened with a protesting creak, revealing a woman in her early fifties.Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and despite the casual sweater and jeans she wore, something in her bearing suggested country club membership and charity galas.

"Can I help you?"Her voice carried the clipped precision of someone accustomed to being listened to.

Rachel displayed her credentials."I'm Special Agent Rachel Gift with the FBI, and this is Special Agent Novak.We're looking for Dr.Gregory Porter."

"I'm Madeline Porter."She stepped onto the porch, pulling the door firmly closed behind her.In doing so, she made it quite clear that she would not be inviting them inside, despite the cold weather."Gregory isn't home."

The woman's posture was a study in defensive body language—arms crossed, weight shifted away from them, chin slightly elevated.Rachel had interviewed enough reluctant witnesses to recognize the signs of someone preparing to stonewall.

"When do you expect him back?"Novak asked.

Madeline's perfectly manicured fingers drummed against her arm."I'm not entirely sure.His schedule has been...irregular lately."

It was apparent to Rachel that the woman was lying.The question, of course, was what was she lying about?

"Mrs.Porter," Rachel said, noting how the woman's jaw tightened at the formal address, "it's quite chilly out here.Perhaps we could continue this conversation inside?"

"I prefer not to have visitors in the house right now."Madeline's smile was brittle as old china."I'm in the middle of some cleaning."

Through the window beside the door, Rachel caught glimpses of an immaculate living room.No cleaning supplies in sight, no vacuum cleaner, not even a duster.The lie was as transparent as the glass she was peering through.

A gust of wind rattled the dying leaves of a nearby maple, sending a shower of orange and red spiraling down around them.Madeline shivered but made no move to invite them in.

---