Page 32 of Her Last Warning
"There," Novak breathed suddenly."Movement."
Several minutes had passed before the Civic's driver's door opened.The woman emerged, the black hoodie pulled up over her head against the rain.There was no hesitation now – she closed her door with purpose and instantly moved directly toward Shook's house with confident steps, her movements fluid and controlled.
Rachel moved fast but silently, easing her door open and slipping out into the cold drizzle."Twenty seconds," she murmured to Novak."Then follow my lead.If she makes it inside before we can intercept, you take the front."She saw his slight nod as she pushed the passenger door nearly closed, careful not to let it latch.
The rain immediately began working its way through her jacket as she started walking, head down, hands stuffed in her pockets.Playing the role of just another person hurrying home on a miserable evening.She kept her pace brisk but not rushed, fighting the urge to speed up as she watched the woman approach Shook's house from beneath lowered lashes.Her heart was pounding now, but her breathing remained steady, controlled.She felt her Glock at her hip, covered by her jacket, felt the chill of the January rain trying to find its way into her bones.
Her quarry was nearly at the property when she suddenly veered right, disappearing down a narrow paved driveway between Shook's house and its neighbor.The entire left side was mostly hidden by old boxwoods.Rachel's pulse quickened."Shit," she breathed, worried their surveillance had been spotted—that the suspect somehow knew they had eyes on them.A quick glance back showed Novak emerging from their car, moving with the same calculated casualness she'd adopted.She caught his eye, gestured toward the front of the house, then quickened her pace to follow the woman's path.You still take the front,she was trying to say without actually using words.
As she turned into the driveway, Rachel drew her Glock with practiced smoothness, keeping it close to her body.The rain seemed to muffle everything except the sound of her own breathing and the soft splash of her footsteps on the wet pavement.Water dripped from the overhanging eaves, creating curtains of droplets that distorted her view of the path ahead.Somewhere nearby, a car horn blared, making her startle slightly.She forced herself to maintain her pace, fighting the urge to rush forward.
Ahead, the sound of a soft clatter made her freeze momentarily, her hand going to her Glock but not yet drawing it..Was the suspect armed?Had she dropped something?Then came another sound, this one immediately recognizable: the distinct click of a key sliding into a lock.
Rachel's mind raced.A key.How did she have a key?
Because she’s scoped this place out previously,she thought.She probably knows where a spare key is.It’s why there have been so signs of breaking and entering at any of the crime scenes.Planning…determination…study.This woman is smart.
Rachel's training took over, taking the wheel behind her thoughts like an elongated form of muscle memory.She accelerated, moving quickly but quietly through the growing darkness.The drizzle had plastered a bit of hair to her face, but she barely noticed.As she reached the back stoop, light spilled out from the newly opened door, silhouetting the woman's figure in perfect clarity against the warm interior glow.
Rachel finally drew her Glock and levelled it at the woman.
"FBI!Freeze!"Rachel's voice cut through the rain-soaked silence as she brought her weapon up.The woman went rigid, half-turned as if considering making a break for it through the house.Rachel didn't give her the chance.The woman’s hesitation was her downfall.Rachel closed the distance in three quick steps, pressing the suspect against the doorframe with practiced efficiency.
"Hands behind your back," she ordered, her voice hard.The woman complied wordlessly as Rachel secured the cuffs, the metal cold and wet against both their skin.From the front of the house came the sound of Novak's knock, sharp and authoritative.“Mr.Shook?”he was shouting.“Agent Novak, FBI!”
Rachel allowed herself a small breath of relief as she began reciting the Miranda rights, the words nearly lost in the steady patter of rain.They seemed to have their killer.But even as she secured her prisoner, a nagging voice in the back of her mind wondered if it had all been just a little too easy.In her experience, things that seemed too easy usually meant you were missing something important – something that would come back to bite you when you least expected it.
The rain continued to fall, and somewhere in the darkness, Rachel could have sworn she heard the sound of quiet laughter.Maybe from another house, or someone out on the wet streets, completely ignorant to what was taking place in one of the homes they were passing by.It reminded her, suddenly and inexplicably, of Cody Austin—laughing silently while Rachel was distracted and afraid.She pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.One monster at a time.
Through the open door, she could hear Novak's voice now, presumably explaining the situation to David Shook.She tightened her grip on the suspect's arm, preparing to move her.The woman's hood had fallen back during the arrest, revealing short grey hair plastered to her skull by the rain.As Rachel turned her around, she caught her first clear look at the woman's face.She was pretty, her blonde hair showing darker roots, her blue eyes like crystals.But when Rachel saw the sadness in the woman’s eyes—the absolute horror and pain of knowing she had been stopped from whatever work she had set herself to--Rachel knew deep down that there was more to this story.
And she intended to find out what it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
From the wet, cold dusk to the sterile and nearly monotonous back hallways of the FBI field office, Rachel began to feel a slight sense of disorientation.Maybe it was the surge of relief I knowing they’d caught their killer, or perhaps it was the emotional toll this case had taken on her.Whatever the case, she found herself having to take a series of calming breaths as she and Novak stood outside of the interrogation room their female suspect had been assigned.
The metallic tang of institutional coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the perpetual scent of paper and printer toner that seemed embedded in the walls.The woman had been positively ID’ed as one Linda Reynolds, a forty-six-year-old Richmond native.And the moment Rachel had heard the name, something in her stomach seemed to surge.
"Reynolds," she said, rolling the name around in her mouth like a bitter pill as they remained, for the moment, just outside of the interrogation room."Michael Reynolds from the support group this morning..."She turned to Novak, who leaned against the opposite wall, his tie loosened just enough to suggest the length of their day."It can't be a coincidence.It’s notthatcommon of a last name, is it?"
Novak crossed his arms, his shoulder blades pressed against the beige walls."What exactly did he say in that support group?Walk me through it again."
Rachel closed her eyes, summoning the memory."He spoke about his daughter.About losing her.But there was something...mechanical about it.Like he'd rehearsed the story so many times, it had lost its emotional core.At the time, I figured it was because he’s told the story so often that it was almost like an instinct at this point.Maybe some way to keep her memory alive."She opened her eyes, meeting Novak's steady gaze."He mentioned she had Truncus arteriosus—a congenital heart defect.Said it was like the universe had played a cruel joke, healing her only to take her away."
"And you think this Linda Reynolds..."
"Reynolds isn't exactly Smith or Jones," Rachel said, completing his thought."But it's not rare enough to jump to conclusions.Still, something about this doesn't sit right."The memory of Michael Reynolds at the support group meeting surfaced again: his careful posture, the way his words seemed rehearsed, how his grief had felt simultaneously raw and theatrical.
Novak straightened his tie, a habit Rachel had noticed he fell into when processing information."If theyareconnected, what does that mean for our case?"
"I don't know yet."Rachel's hand unconsciously moved to her neck, rubbing at the tension gathering there."But if Michael Reynolds is involved...if this is some kind of twisted partnership..."
"Then we might have only half the story," Novak finished.
They both turned toward the interrogation room door, gunmetal gray and unforgiving.Rachel squared her shoulders, letting out a slow breath."Ready?"
"After you," Novak nodded, opening the door for her and gesturing for her to head inside.
