Page 25 of Her Last Promise

Rachel watched as Tanya's silhouette appeared in the front window, pushing aside a lace curtain to peer out at them.The older woman's anxiety was palpable even from this distance."Right now, everyone's our guy as far as I’m concerned."

As they pulled away from the curb, they passed another house with an elaborate Christmas display.A little girl, no more than seven, stood in the yard watching her father arrange a light-up penguin family.Her pink coat glowed in the multicolored lights even in the daylight, and her delighted laugh carried through the car's closed windows.The scene tugged at Rachel's heart, reminding her of winters past when Paige would press her face against the car window, counting Christmas lights and making up stories about the families inside the decorated homes.

Those days felt impossibly distant now.Paige was growing up, trading wonder for logic, magic for reason.It was natural, Rachel knew, but something in her ached for those simpler times – before cancer and Alex Lynch, before her daughter learned that monsters were real and sometimes wore friendly faces.Before she learned that even mothers could be broken, could fail to protect their children from the darkness in the world.

Novak's voice pulled her from her thoughts."Security's on alert.They'll keep eyes on Mitchell until we get there."He was studying her with the kind of careful attention that told her some of her thoughts must have shown on her face.She had been so zoned out in her own thoughts that she had barely even been aware that he had placed a call to the hospital while driving away from Nathan’s home.

Rachel nodded as Novak merged onto the highway.The sun had nearly set now, and Christmas lights were beginning to twinkle to life across the city, creating rivers of color along the streets below.In her mind, she could hear Paige's voice from years ago:Mommy, look at all the stars that fell into people's yards!

Now, her daughter would probably launch into an explanation of LED technology and energy efficiency.Rachel smiled despite herself.Maybe some of the magic remained after all, just in a different form.Paige's wonder hadn't disappeared; it had simply matured, transformed into a curiosity about how things worked rather than why they sparkled.

She pushed those melancholy thoughts away and found it harder than she expected.They had a suspect to interview—after dragging him away from his hospitalized mother.And if Nathan Mitchell turned out not to be their killer, Rachel feared they may be even farther behind than she feared.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The hospital parking garage seemed to amplify the winter chill, each gust of wind finding new ways to pierce through Rachel's coat.The concrete pillars cast long shadows, their edges sharp and unforgiving.As she and Novak made their way across the road that separated the garage from the primary grounds toward the hospital entrance, their footsteps echoed hollowly against the brick walls.

The looming structure of Saint Mary's Hospital rose before them, its windows glowing like countless watchful eyes in the noontime light.Rachel's stomach tightened as they approached the sliding glass doors, the mechanical whir of their opening like a whispered warning.Hospitals.She'd spent enough time in them to last several lifetimes, lying in beds while experimental treatments coursed through her veins, waiting in endless corridors for test results that might determine whether she lived or died.Now they felt like personal haunted houses, each antiseptic-scented hallway holding ghosts of her past suffering.Sure, she had spent some time in others, in other countries where the design and feel of the places were more like a spa than a hospital, but at the core, they were all the same.

The smell hit her first as they entered—that distinct blend of disinfectant, rubber gloves, and something else she could never quite identify but that screamed "hospital" to her brain.It brought back memories of her own treatment days: the constant beeping of monitors, the squeaking of nurses' shoes on linoleum floors, the metallic taste of fear in her mouth as she waited for yet another round of test results.She could almost feel the ghost of the IV needle in her arm and the confined space of a scanner as she was sent in for another CAT scan.

The thought also triggered another wave of guilt when it made her think of others fighting for their lives in similar places.She hadn't been back to volunteer at the hospice center since Scarlett's death.The brave souls there deserved better.She needed to be more present, more consistent.I need to check the volunteer calendar,she thought.Soon.I can’t just dig my head into the sand because of what happened to Scarlett.

But even that simple mental promise felt hollow, tainted by the knowledge that Scarlett's killer was still out there…and very likely in the form of Cody Austin.

"Gift?"Novak's voice pulled her from her reverie.They'd reached the check-in desk, where a tired-looking woman in purple scrubs waited expectantly.Her badge identified her as Sandra, and dark circles under her eyes suggested she was well into a long shift.She assumed this was who Novak had spoken to on the phone when she had been zoning out over Christmas decorations and how her life seemed to be unspooling far too quickly.

"We're here about Marjorie Mitchell," Rachel said, showing her credentials.

“Yes, Agent Novak told me on the phone.”Sandra's fingers moved across her keyboard, the clicking sound oddly loud in the quiet lobby."Third floor," she said finally, glancing up with concern in her eyes."Though you should know there's been some kind of disturbance up there in the last few minutes.I don't have all the details, but security's involved."

Rachel and Novak exchanged glances before quickening their pace to the elevators.A commotion in the same place the current suspect in their case was located?It seemed like far too much of a coincidence.The ride up felt endless, the floor numbers lighting up one by one with agonizing slowness.Rachel watched their distorted reflection in the elevator's metallic doors—she looked as tired as she felt, and Novak's usual composed expression carried an edge of tension.

When they finally reached the third floor, they found a tense tableau: roughly a quarter of the way down the hall, two security guards flanked a doorway while a cluster of nurses spoke in hushed, urgent tones nearby.One of those mobile laptop stations sat discarded to the side, its owner clearly having been interrupted.

"What's the situation?"Rachel asked, approaching the group.Her FBI badge caught the overhead light as she held it up.The security guards straightened, their hands instinctively moving closer to their belts.

One of the nurses, her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, stepped forward.Lines of stress marked her face, and her name tag read Margaret Wilson, RN."Mr.Mitchell refuses to leave his mother's room,” she said.“We need to perform our regular checks, but he's becoming increasingly...difficult."

"He's grieving," another nurse interjected, younger, with kind eyes and "Emily" written on her badge.Her scrubs were decorated with cartoon animals, an oddly cheerful touch in the tense atmosphere."But we still have protocols to follow,” she admitted.“We can't properly monitor Mrs.Mitchell's condition with him interfering."

"This is her room?"Rachel asked, nodding to the door behind them and just slightly to her left.

“Yes,” Emily said.

"Has he made any threats?"Novak asked, his voice low and professional.Rachel noticed how his eyes scanned the hallway, taking in every detail.

"Not exactly," Margaret replied, smoothing her already immaculate uniform."But he's been...volatile.Angry.He knocked over some equipment earlier when Dr.Stevens tried to examine his mother."

Rachel considered this, wondering how much the threat of a lawsuit might be playing into his behavior.Whatever the case, she understood that the entire situation was like a powder keg about to blow.

"Let me talk to him," Rachel said."Alone."

The security guards exchanged uncertain looks.The taller one, his name tag reading "Garvey," spoke up."Ma'am, he's been volatile—"

"I understand.But sometimes adding more people to a situation like this only makes it worse."Rachel met each of their gazes in turn."Give me five minutes.If anything happens, I can handle myself."She didn't mention that her gun felt particularly heavy against her hip today, a weight she hoped she wouldn't need to rely on.

After a moment's hesitation, they stepped aside.Margaret Wilson looked a bit perplexed by the decision but remained quiet.Rachel entered the room, the soft beeping of monitors creating a mechanical lullaby of sorts.The lights were dimmed, creating shadows in the corners of the room.Marjorie Mitchell lay still in the hospital bed, tubes and wires creating a complex web around her body.Her skin had taken on the waxy pallor that Rachel remembered too well from her own hospital stays.A ventilator hissed rhythmically, breathing for the woman who could no longer breathe for herself.

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