Page 5 of Her Last Warning
Rachel pulled out her phone, quickly navigating to the case files Anderson had sent.It took of a few seconds of navigating, but she finally found what she needed.A note left on the scene of the Hayes murder appeared on her screen: Fate does not make mistakes.She held the two messages side by side.The similarities were undeniable—same precise handwriting, same ink, same quality of paper.The killer was building a philosophy, one victim at a time.
Rachel felt anger building in her chest, hot and familiar.Two people who'd fought their way back from death sentences, only to be murdered in their own homes.The killer was targeting survivors, people who'd already faced their mortality and won—only to have that victory stolen from them.It struck too close to home, reminding her of her own battle, her own second chance.
"Sergeant Lane," she said, her voice tight with controlled fury, "I need you to notify us immediately if you find any prints, fibers, or DNA.Anything that might give us a lead."She handed the evidence bag back to him carefully, consciously relaxing her grip to avoid damaging potential evidence.
She turned to Novak."We should check out the Hayes scene."
"I was thinking the same thing," he nodded, already moving toward the door.Their rhythms were starting to align, she noticed.Another few months and they’d be able to read just about every facial expression of the other—moods based on posture, feelings based on the downturn of a bottom lip.
Rachel took one last look at Marcy Connors' body.The victim's left hand was curled slightly, as if reaching for something—or someone.A silver medical alert bracelet encircled her wrist, now unnecessary.She'd beaten cancer only to die at a stranger's hands.The injustice of it made Rachel's chest tight.
As they exited her home and walked back to their car, Rachel's mind was already thinking over what she’d read about the Hayes scene, looking for connections, patterns, anything that might help them get ahead of this killer before they struck again.Because therewouldbe another victim—the notes made that clear.Someone else who'd defied death would be targeted.
Novak started the engine."You think we're looking at someone from the medical community?”he theorized.“Someone who had access to information about patients in remission?"
"Or someone who recently lost a loved one," Rachel replied, staring out the window at Marcy's house as they pulled away."Someone who couldn't accept that their loved one died while others survived."She thought of her own time in the hospital, the people she'd met there.And also of some of the residents of the hospice center…particularly those who had not gotten quite as lucky as Scarlett.Not everyone got their miracle.
Two murders, two notes, one message: some people weren't meant to survive.She and Novak had to prove that message wrong before anyone else paid the price for their recovery.
The car turned onto the main road, leaving Marcy Connors' house behind.But the image of that neat, precise handwriting stayed with Rachel, along with the question that would drive their investigation: what kind of person murders someone for surviving?
CHAPTER FOUR
The rhythmic squeal of metal against metal filled the garage as Cody Austin worked the wrench, his movements practiced and precise.Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the winter chill that crept through the bottom of the bay doors.The mechanical lift hummed beneath the silver Honda Civic, holding it at chest height while he replaced the brake pads.
His hands moved automatically through the familiar motions, muscle memory taking over while his mind wandered to darker places.The vast majority of his time spent under cars and hoods was spent thinking about Rachel Gift and how he planned to take everything from her.For instance, as he worked on the brake pads, he found himself wondering what her face must have looked like when she found his little present nine days ago.He imagined her fingers trembling as she unfolded Scarlett's obituary, pictured the color draining from her face at the sight of the Jack of hearts tucked inside.She would have recognized its significance immediately – she was smart as hell (though he hated to admit it) and he thought it had beenjustsubtle enough to come off as ominous.
The wrench slipped, and Cody cursed under his breath.Focus.The customer needed their car by eleven.But even as he realigned the tool, his thoughts drifted back to Rachel.She'd be looking over her shoulder by now, jumping at shadows.Wondering if every stranger on the street was him.The thought brought a smile to his face, hidden beneath the brim of his work cap.Becausesurelyshe knew it was him by now.He’d left that little clue in the way he’d killed Scarlett.
He worked methodically through the brake assembly, each movement a meditation.Turn.Tighten.Check alignment.The routine allowed his mind to float free, to savor the anticipation building in his chest.She would have taken the evidence to her superiors by now, surely.What conclusions had they drawn?Were they watching her house, her car?Watching for him?
Let them watch.They'd be looking in the wrong direction anyway.
Jack Rivers – her new husband, the high-ranking FBI agent – was just a diversion.A red herring to keep Rachel up at night, pacing the floors, checking the locks again and again.Cody had no interest in taking on a federal agent—other than Rachel, of course.That would be messy, complicated…and foolish.No, this was about her.About making her last few weeks on Earth a special kind of hell.
The brake pad clicked into place, and Cody allowed himself a moment of professional satisfaction.Simple work for simple minds, that's what his old cellmate used to say.But Cody knew better.This job was perfect cover – the kind of bland, honest work that helped him fade into the background.Just another ex-con trying to go straight, earning just slightly above minimum wage by replacing brake pads and changing oil.His boss had even commented last week about what a model employee he'd turned out to be.
If they only knew.The thought of it made him chuckle.He wondered if it had been this easy to fool peoplebeforehe’d gone to prison eleven years ago.
Cody reached for the next brake pad, his fingers brushing against the cool metal.The repetitive nature of the work was almost soothing, like a metronome keeping time with his darker thoughts.He'd spent ten years in prison because of Rachel Gift.Ten years watching the world move on without him, watching his great work go unfinished.But those years hadn't been wasted.They'd given him time to plan, to perfect every detail of what would come next.He’d studied up on how to make the bombs, on psychological cues and tells that would help him blend into society when he got out.Psychology, philosophy, even a bit of text of mental disorders.He’d read up on it all to make sure he got his revenge plot exactly right.
The sound of footsteps echoing across the garage floor barely registered.Cody kept working, kept his head down.He'd gotten good at wearing masks during his time inside.The quiet, reliable mechanic.The reformed criminal.The model prisoner.Each one is a perfect fit, worn and discarded as needed.
His next move was already taking shape in his mind, something that would cut deeper than any physical wound.Something that would make Rachel question everything she thought she knew about keeping her family safe.The very thought of it made his stomach turn with nervousness and excitement– and that, more than anything, told him he was on the right track.
The mechanical lift whirred to life as Cody lowered the Honda back to ground level.He watched it descend inch by inch, patient.Always patient…with every little detail.Thatwas the key…both in work and in life.Especially inhislife as of late.Learning her routines, her habits.The way she kissed her daughter goodbye each morning.The coffee shop where she stopped on Tuesdays if she had time.The hospice center where she volunteered (still closed for construction and he assumed, the case against the bomber,hahaha), trying to find redemption or meaning or whatever it was people like her looked for in good works.
Wiping his hands on a shop rag, Cody straightened up and adjusted his expression.He’d faked this smile and attitude so often that it almost felt natural on his face.Time to report to the boss, to play his part in this mundane little world he'd created.But beneath the smile, beneath the grease-stained uniform and careful politeness, his mind was already racing ahead to the next phase of his plan.
Nine days since he had left the envelope on Rachel's windshield,…time enough for the fear to really sink in.Time enough for Rachel to start seeing threats in every shadow, to feel the walls closing in.And soon – very soon – he would show her just how close he could really get.
The thought carried him through the garage's front office, past the bell that chimed too cheerfully above the door.His boss looked up from the computer, and Cody delivered his report and the client’s keys in the same mild voice he'd cultivated since his release.
"All set on the Honda..Brake pads replaced and tested."
“Awesome job,” his boss said with a quick smile.“That was quick.”
Cody only smiled.Just another day's work for an honest mechanic.And, most importantly, just another step closer to the moment when Rachel Gift's world would finally, completely unravel.
