Page 17 of Her Last Warning
As they walked to Paige's bedroom, her daughter spun around suddenly, as if struck by a sudden idea."Oh!I almost forgot—you know that bracelet Jack got me for Christmas?I think I lost it."
"Youthink?"
"Well, itmightbe in my homeroom class," Paige said, chewing her lower lip."I'll check tomorrow.I can't actually remember putting it on recently, but it's not in my jewelry box or on my wrist.I looked everywhere in my room."
Rachel's heart squeezed.Besides the necklace from Grandma Tate, the bracelet had been Paige's first piece of real jewelry.The delicate silver chain with its tiny heart charm had been Jack's way of welcoming her in a way…of taking the step of being her father-figure.
"We'll all look for it this weekend, okay?”Rachel said.“It has to be somewhere in the house."
"I feel terrible," Paige admitted, her voice small.
"Hey," Rachel pulled her daughter into a hug."These things happen.We'll find it."
As they entered her bedroom, the routine of it all came back easily enough—Rachel tucking Paige into bed, smoothing the covers around her shoulders.She kissed her cheek and breathed in the familiar scent of her strawberry shampoo.She wondered how many more years she had of this.Or were they maybe already down tomonths?
"Sweet dreams, baby."
"You, too?"Paige said as Rachel reached the door."I’m glad I got to see you for a while tonight.”
Rachel cut off the light, closed the door, and headed for the stairs with her heart feeling full and energized.Downstairs, she found that Jack had already set up her laptop on the kitchen table, the screen casting a blue glow across the wooden surface.
"Is it that obvious?"she asked, settling into a chair.
He shrugged, moving to stand behind her."You only bring your computer bag home if you have work to do.How's the case going?"
Rachel filled him in on the three victims, their miraculous recoveries turned tragic endings.She told him about the footprint, about the hours spent combing through evidence that seemed to lead nowhere.Jack listened intently, his hands resting on her shoulders, thumbs working at the knots of tension there.
"I'll leave you to it then," he said finally, but paused."Tomorrow's Friday, and except for a small meeting Saturday morning, I have the whole weekend free.If this case wraps up by then, maybe we could do something as a family.I think Paige is starting to miss having you around all the time, even if she won't admit it."
"That sounds wonderful," Rachel said, meaning it."But this case..."
"I know."He kissed the top of her head."I'm heading up to read.Don't stay up too late?"
"I'll be there soon," she promised, though uncertainty tugged at the words.
Alone in the kitchen, Rachel stared at the computer screen for a moment, thinking.Dr.Walsh's social media posts about her research sparked a thought.Social media.Wouldn’t the victims have shared their good news online?With the popularity of social media as a means of communication, it would make sense.
Working on that hunch, her fingers flew across the keyboard as she searched for their accounts, the ticking of the kitchen clock marking time as she dove deeper into their digital lives.And just as she’d suspected, there was plenty of public confirmation of the recoveries.
Michelle Lester's celebration appeared in a TikTok video, her face tear-streaked as she thanked her doctors, her voice breaking with joy as she announced her clean bill of health.The camera shook slightly as she spoke, making the moment feel raw, real.The comments overflowed with hearts and celebration emojis, friends and strangers alike sharing in her miracle."God is good!"one commenter wrote."You deserve this second chance," said another.
Millie Connors had chosen Facebook, her post a lengthy tribute to her medical team and the power of prayer.She'd included photos from her last day of treatment, her smile radiant despite the obvious toll the illness had taken.She’d spent several paragraphs detailing her journey from diagnosis to recovery.The thread beneath stretched long with well-wishes and praise for her strength, her courage, her determination.Rachel noticed how Millie had taken time to respond to each comment, her gratitude palpable in every word.
Robert Hayes's announcement was briefer—a simple Facebook status thanking friends and family for their support during his recovery.Even in its simplicity, the post had garnered dozens of responses, each celebrating his second chance at life.His wife had commented with a string of heart emojis, followed by "So blessed to have more time with you."Rachel smiled, though she’d always found it very odd when married couples commented on one another’s social media posts.
Rachel sat back, her mind churning.Three victims, three social media announcements.Could this be how the killer found them?She dove into the comments, scanning for anything unusual, any name that appeared across multiple posts, any hint of bitterness or resentment hidden among the celebrations.Her eyes burned as she scrolled through hundreds of responses, looking for the needle in this digital haystack.
The clock on her laptop blinked to 11:57 before she noticed the lateness of the hour.Stifling a yawn, she fired off a quick text to Novak, filling him in on her social media theory before shutting down the computer.As she climbed the stairs, her mind refused to quiet, turning over this new connection between the victims.Was it meaningful, or just another dead end in a case that hit too close to home?
In the darkness of the hallway, she paused outside Paige's room, listening to her daughter's steady breathing.The sound anchored her, as it had during her illness, during the nights when pain kept her awake and fear threatened to overwhelm her.She thought of the victims, of their joy at being given second chances, only to have them violently stripped away.Of Michelle Lester's tearful TikTok, Millie Connors's grateful posts, Robert Hayes's simple thanks.
All of them celebrating life, unaware that death was still watching, waiting.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rachel's eyes fluttered open in the darkness, immediately finding the harsh red digits of her bedside clock: 4:40 AM.She let out a quiet sigh, accepting defeat in her battle for sleep.Three and a half hours – that was all she'd managed.And it had been broken and fragmented.Jack's steady breathing beside her hadn't wavered all night, but her mind had refused to quiet itself, spinning endless scenarios and possibilities.It was usually what happened, though, when she came home for the night when there was an active case in the works.
Carefully, she slid out from underneath the warmth of the covers, plucking her phone from the nightstand.The wooden floor was cool beneath her feet as she padded toward the bedroom door, navigating purely by muscle memory.The house creaked softly with her weight, a familiar song of settling wood and aging joints that seemed amplified in the pre-dawn stillness.
