Page 19

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Evergreen Valley Hospice parking lot as a man who was currently going by the name of David Morton guided his sedan into an empty space. He switched off the engine but remained seated, allowing himself a moment to savor the delicious anticipation of the moment. Through the windshield, he studied the building's gentle curves and warm brick facade—architecture carefully designed to soften the reality of what happened within these walls.

This is where Rachel Gift had been spending so much time lately. This is where she had been trying to make her amends.

A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror. The face that looked back at him was utterly unremarkable—pleasant even. Brown hair neatly combed, wire-rimmed glasses, the kind of face that seemed trustworthy without trying. The kind of face people forgot almost immediately. He was almost handsome, but not quite. He blended into a crowd in an almost masterful way…but he could also switch on the charm when he needed to.

He'd chosen his wardrobe with care: khakis, blue oxford shirt, navy blazer. The outfit of a middle-management professional or perhaps a pharmaceutical rep. Someone who belonged in a professional setting without drawing undue attention.

As he stepped out of the car, he took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. There were two other visitors moving through the parking lot—both arriving, from the looks of it. Their faces were etched with the particular strain that came from watching loved ones slip away. He matched their pace and demeanor perfectly, just another figure in the daily dance of life and death that played out here.

The automatic doors whispered open as he approached the entrance. The lobby's interior was awash in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows, with comfortable seating areas and nature photographs adorning the walls. There was a not unpleasant smell in the air, some sort of potpourri mingling with whatever had been served for breakfast about an hour or so ago.

A middle-aged woman with silver-streaked hair sat behind the curved reception desk, speaking softly into a telephone. He walked to the desk and waited patiently, hands clasped loosely in front of him, expression pleasant but not overly eager. When she hung up, he approached with an apologetic smile.

"Hi there," he said, his voice carrying just the right note of friendly professionalism. "I'm hoping you might be able to help me with something. I work with Rachel Gift at the Bureau. An assistant to the director. Rachel reached out and asked me to check if she might have left her planner here during her last volunteer shift."

The receptionist—her name tag read "Patricia"—brightened at the mention of Rachel's name. "Oh, Agent Gift! She's such a wonderful volunteer. We've missed her these past few days."

He nodded sympathetically. "Yes, her director sent her out on a case rather suddenly two days ago. She's still not back yet, which is why she asked me to check about the planner. She's usually so organized, but I get the idea that this case came up suddenly and unexpectedly.”

"Of course, of course," Patricia said, already reaching for her phone. "Let me check with Volunteer Services. They keep track of all found items."

As Patricia made the call, another staff member emerged from a nearby hallway—younger, probably in her early thirties, wearing purple scrubs with the hospice logo. She caught the tail end of the conversation and paused.

"Are you looking for something of Rachel's?" she asked, interest piqued. She was quite pretty and, if he wasn’t on such a mission, he may have really turned the charm up on her. He’d not been with a woman in a very long time thanks to Rachel Gift throwing him in prison, and she was the best-looking specimen he’d seen since getting out. Blonde hair up in a tight ponytail, breasts quite defined despite the slightly baggy shirt, piercing blue eyes.

But he remained calm and cool as he turned his careful smile toward her. "Yes, her planner. She thinks she might have left it here a few days ago."

“Do you know what day?” the woman asked. Her nametag read “Amy.”

“No, I don’t. Sorry.”

"Well, I hope you find it. I’ve gotten to know Rachel quite a bit. She's amazing with the patients. Especially after everything she's been through herself."

"She really is pretty great," he agreed, allowing genuine warmth to color his voice. "The way I’ve heard about how she connects with people here...it's inspiring."

As he said this, Patricia hung up the phone with a slight frown. "I'm sorry, but they haven't found any planners recently. Are you sure she left it here?"

Morton's shoulders dropped slightly—just the right amount of disappointment. "According to Rachel, she’s pretty sure. But I’ll pass it along. She could have easily left it in one of the conference rooms at the field office.” He chuckled and added, “And guess who will get to go hunting for it…”

“I’m sure it will turn up somewhere. And oh…if you don’t mind me asking, do you happen to know if Rachel has made it over to see Scarlett yet?”

He had no idea how to answer this…no idea who Scarlett was. So, he did his best to respond in a way that wouldn't raise any red flags. "I have no idea. We're not really best friends, honestly. But the name Scarlett does ring a bell. I'm pretty sure Rachel has mentioned her a few times in the past week or so. Scarlett...ugh, the last name escapes me."

“Scarlett Kline,” Patricia said. And for a moment, he almost pitied her. What an idiot, to just hand over information like that. “She probably mentioned Scarlett because she recently went into remission. She just moved back home a week ago.”

"Oh yes!" he exclaimed. "That’s right! But all the same…I have no idea if she’s visited yet.”

Patricia nodded enthusiastically. "Rachel was over the moon. I don't think I've ever seen her so happy as the day Scarlett Kline got to go home."

His pulse quickened, but his expression remained merely interested and pleased. "Ah, well, that explains her good mood these last few days.”

"They formed such a special bond," Patricia said, leaning forward slightly as if sharing a confidence. "I think Scarlett reminded Rachel of her own journey, you know? Both of them fighting so hard, never giving up hope..."

"That's our Rachel," he said, glancing at his watch with well-practiced casualness. "Well, I should get going. Thank you both so much for checking about the planner. I'll let her know it wasn't here."

"Of course! Tell her we miss her," Amy called after him as he headed for the exit.

He kept his pace measured and unhurried until he reached his car. Only then, safely behind the tinted windows, did he allow himself a moment of pure elation. His hands trembled slightly as he started the engine—not from fear or nervousness, but from the sheer thrill of it all.

Scarlett Kline.

The name tasted like honey on his tongue. Another piece of the puzzle, another thread in the tapestry he was weaving. Rachel's special patient, the one who reminded her so much of herself. The one who had beaten the odds, just like Rachel had. He could only imagine the sort of bond they’d formed…how close Rachel must be to her.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, David Morton began to hum softly to himself. Everything was falling into place so perfectly, it was almost poetic. He had thought, at first, that ten years in prison had robbed him of precious time for his Great Work. Now he understood that those years had been an investment, teaching him patience, honing his skills of observation and manipulation.

Rachel Gift thought she knew what it meant to fight for her life…to claw her way back from the edge of death. It made him smile….because soon enough, she would know what it was really like.

He merged smoothly into traffic, just another commuter zipping around town, carrying out errands or heading to church for Sunday service. Just another face in the crowd, unmemorable and unthreatening.

Just the way he liked it.