Page 9

Rachel watched the urban landscape gradually give way to the manicured lawns of office parks. Further ahead, there was another stretch of Virginia countryside. The address she had pulled up for Carson Industries told them that they had a drive of a little more than an hour ahead of them. She did her best not to be annoyed at this waste of time on the road, seeing it instead as an hour to dig deeper into what they were dealing with. The autumn sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the highway and reminding her of how quickly the day was slipping away.

She knew that being Saturday, the chances of anyone being in the office were slim. On the other hand, Carson Industries was a big company, and she doubted that most of the employees cared what day it was; if work called for it, they’d be in the office.

Realizing just how quickly the day was slipping away from them, a little pang of guilt wormed its way through her. She looked over to Novak, steady behind the wheel, and said: "Mind if I make a quick call home?" she asked, already reaching for her phone. "Looks like we won't be making it back for dinner. Or bedtime."

“Or maybe even Sunday,” Novak said with a hesitant smile. "Go ahead. I need to do the same when you're done." He navigated through the scant traffic of the four-lane ahead of them as they worked their way toward the town of Higdon Hills, where the Carson Industries offices were located.

Rachel placed her call home. The phone rang twice before Jack answered. His voice carried a hint of strain she recognized—the sound of him trying too hard to be casual. "Hey, Rach."

"Hey yourself." She softened her tone, remembering their tense exchange that morning. The memory of his frustrated expression over breakfast still nagged at her conscience. “How are things?”

“Things are good,” he said with a sigh. He sounded pretty tired. He waited a beat and then, with sincere sadness in his voice, he added, "About earlier..."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I was being a jerk. I was distant and not even remotely engaged with you."

“It’s really okay. I get it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t even know anything about this case you’re on. Where are you, anyway?”

“In the Shenandoah Valley.”

"How's the case going?"

Rachel watched a cluster of office buildings slide past, their windows reflecting the orange glow of the setting sun. "Weird one. That's all I can say for now." She paused, wondering how much she could share without compromising the investigation. Probably whatever she wanted, given Jack’s stature at the bureau. "Is Paige around? I wanted to say hi."

"She's actually at Brittany's house, just up the street." Jack's voice took on that slight nervous edge she'd come to recognize. "I hope that was okay. I know I should have—"

"Jack," she cut him off gently. "Of course, it's okay. You don't need to check with me on things like that. We know Brittany and her parents. It’s okay.”

But even as she said it, something warm settled in her chest. After two years of marriage, he still sometimes second-guessed his role as Paige's stepfather. It was sweet, really—frustrating sometimes, but sweet. He tried so hard to respect boundaries that didn't need to exist anymore. Sometimes she wished she could make him understand that his caution, while well-intentioned, was unnecessary. He'd earned his place in their family a hundred times over.

"Right. Yeah. Thanks." The relief in his voice was palpable. "Stay safe out there, okay?"

"I always do," she replied, though they both knew that in their line of work, such promises were tentative at best.

“I love you,” he said.

“Love you, too.”

After she ended the call, Rachel twisted around to grab her iPad from the back seat, giving Novak privacy as he made his own call. She pulled up a search for Carson Industries, but found herself distracted by snippets of his conversation.

"No, you absolutely cannot paint the dog blue," Novak was saying, his voice warm with suppressed laughter. "I don't care if Jackson next door did it to his dog... Because our dog would look ridiculous in blue, that's why." A pause. "Hey, buddy! No, Daddy's working late tonight. But when I do get home, we can definitely build that rocket ship, okay? The one with the real smoke effects."

Rachel smiled despite herself. It was like glimpsing through a window into another life—one where playful banter and rocket ships were the order of the day. The contrast between Novak's domestic warmth and the cold reality of their current case struck her forcefully. Here they were, tracking down a killer who used suicide machines as murder weapons, while Novak's kid was planning to build model rockets with his dad.

Forcing her attention back to the iPad, she began scanning through articles about Carson Industries. Almost immediately, Victor Reeves' name jumped out at her. The CEO had a history of financial investigations trailing behind him like a shadow and current accusations of embezzlement through an elaborate scheme. Rachel's pulse quickened. Could this be what Sandra and Alana had stumbled onto?

She dug deeper into the company itself. Carson Industries presented itself as a technological innovator, specializing in medical advancement. Their latest breakthrough was particularly interesting—a new generation of CAT scan machine capable of detecting previously undetectable tumors. The technology utilized a novel approach to image reconstruction, combining multiple scanning angles with advanced AI analysis to identify anomalies that traditional scanners might miss.

Something about that made Rachel's stomach clench, memories of her own battle with cancer still too fresh. She remembered lying in those machines, the whir and click of the equipment around her, the waiting for results that could mean life or death. Her hand unconsciously moved to the back of her neck, where a small scar remained from one of her procedures.

Reeves' personal profile on the company website read like a who's who of medical technology. Guest speaker at international conferences, expert witness at Senate hearings on medical innovation, advisory board member for multiple research institutions. The man clearly knew how to build an impressive resume. Rachel noted that he had a particular talent for being photographed with important people—senators, tech innovators, medical pioneers. Each image is carefully crafted to convey authority and trustworthiness. It made the idea that he might be involved in some very illegal financial activity all the more interesting. Perhaps he hid such actions behind his impressive list of friends and acquaintances.

But it was the last connection that made her sit up straight. She came across it just as Novak was saying goodbye to his wife—apparently having managed to wrangle the phone away from their son. She clicked through several links in rapid succession, confirming what she'd found.

"Find something?" Novak asked, noticing her change in posture.

"More than something. Get this…the CEO of Carson Industries is a guy named Victor Reeves. And Reeves just happens to sit on the board of MedTech Solutions. Ring any bells?"

Novak frowned, navigating around a slow-moving truck. "Should it?"

"MedTech Solutions has hired several engineers from EndLight.”

“So…the guy who Sandra Mitchell discovered was involved in insurance fraud sits on the board of the company who builds the suicide pods…one of which she was found dead in.” He did not phrase it as a question, but as a statement.

“Seems that way. Only…we have to go back to the fact that the pod we saw was not an actual EndLight one.”

“But it was damn close,” Novak pointed out.

“So that all links Reeves to Sandra Mitchell in two ways,” she said. “Even if one is sort of a stretch.”

“Sounds like a suspect to me,” Novak said.

“Me, too.”

"But he’s a CEO…a hot shot kind of guy, right?” Novak said. “Why would he risk something so out in the open and…and, well, weird?”

“No clue. But one thing I’ve learned in this job is that sometimes men with lots of money and power start to think they can get away with anything. If he’s not the killer, I can guarantee he’s connected to something. "

They drove on through the afternoon with their first real suspect somewhere up ahead. She knew that Saturday afternoons were traditionally not an easy time to easily locate people, but she suddenly felt that they needed to do whatever was necessary to find Victor Reeves as soon as possible.