Page 11 of Her Last Promise (Rachel Gift #19)

The steady drip of the ancient coffee maker in the corner marked time like a metronome as Rachel scrolled and sifted through what seemed like an endless sea of files—some from the courts and some from the bureau’s criminal database. The small conference room felt more claustrophobic with each passing hour, its walls now entirely hidden behind hastily pinned crime scene photos and timeline charts.

Reading through it all was like scanning some sort of sordid history book, viewing all the many ways human beings were, at their core, nothing more than a bunch of screw-ups.

"Here's another one," Novak said, his eyes tired from nearly two hours of reading through the files. "Triple homicide, 2018. Judge Smith gave Gerald Mackenzie three consecutive life sentences." He cleared his throat, shuffling through papers. "Mackenzie's brother made some pretty explicit threats during sentencing. Even punched a cop when he tried to stage a protest in front of the courthouse."

Rachel looked up from the autopsy photos spread before her. "Where's the brother now?"

"Dead." Novak made a note on the whiteboard, then crossed it out immediately. "OD'd in 2020."

Another dead end (pun only slightly intended). They'd been at this for nearly two hours now, combing through Judge Smith's most controversial cases. The table between them had become a landscape of human tragedy – murderers, rapists, armed robbers, all carrying their own grudges against the man who'd sentenced them. She knew this was all part of the job and that it had only been two hours; hell, she’d spent days doing this exact same thing in the past. But she’d been a much younger agent then. More patient, more eager to please no matter what she was doing.

"What about this one?" Rachel pulled a file from one of the towering stacks. "Martin Webb, convicted of second-degree murder in 2015. Smith denied all his appeals despite significant character testimony." She skimmed the yellowed pages. "Webb's daughter wrote letters to the judge every Christmas begging him to reconsider."

“Webb…Webb,” Novak replied, consulting his laptop. After a few seconds of clicking and scrolling, he added: "Webb's still in Rockview. No contact with the outside world except his lawyer for the past three years."

Rachel turned back to Smith’s autopsy photos, drawn again to the hasty injection site on Smith's arm. The skin around it was bruised, showing signs of multiple failed attempts. Her eyes drifted to his wrist, studying the deep indentation that wrapped around it like a bracelet. It was little to go on, but she did believe it spoke volumes about their killer. Someone didn't just have this sort of stuff lying around. This had been strategically planned.

She thought back to what they knew about Smith and what had been done to him. The cocktail of drugs in his system – they weren't just meant to kill him. It had been designed to keep him unconscious, compliant. She paused, a thought taking shape. This wasn't just about revenge. It was about making him experience something specific.

Her phone buzzed, buried somewhere under a stack of witness statements. Rachel ignored it, pulling another file closer. "Here – William Samson, 2019. Armed robbery gone wrong, victim ended up in a permanent vegetative state. Smith denied the family's request to have charges reduced in exchange for restitution to help with medical bills."

The phone buzzed again. This time, Rachel dug it out from under a file, finding two texts from Jack: About to eat dinner. When can we expect you home? followed by Lasagna, remember? Still warm if you hurry.

The messages tugged at something in her chest. She glanced at her watch – 6:57 PM. How many times during her first years with the Bureau had she missed dinner? How many nights had she called Peter to say she'd be "just another hour" only to stumble home long after he and Paige had gone to bed? How many nights had Peter put Paige down by himself and then seemed cold and distant when she finally got home?

Was she really going to do that same thing to Jack now? Was she once again going to make Paige feel like she was not a priority?

She'd promised herself things would be different after the cancer. After coming so close to losing everything, she'd sworn she wouldn't take these ordinary moments for granted again.

"Here's a weird one," Novak said, interrupting her thoughts. "A civil case from 2017. A family wanted to remove life support from a car accident victim, but the victim's son fought it. Smith ruled in the son's favor, kept the mother on life support against the rest of the family's wishes." He frowned at the file. "Mother lived another three years in a vegetative state before finally passing."

Rachel's attention snapped back. "What was the family dynamic?"

"Two sons, split on the decision. Younger brother wanted to honor what he claimed were his mother's wishes to not be kept alive by machines. Older brother insisted there was still hope for recovery." Novak flipped through pages. "Got pretty ugly in court apparently. Older brother moved away right after the ruling, cut ties with the family."

Something about that pinged Rachel's investigative instincts, but before she could follow the thread, her phone buzzed again: Paige asking about you. Says she has news from school she wants to share.

Rachel stared at the message, guilt and frustration warring in her chest. The work would always be urgent. There would always be one more file to check, one more lead to follow. But Paige's news – that was happening now, tonight, and Rachel was missing it. And let’s face it, she thought. How often does Paige want to share anything these days?

She looked around the cramped conference room at the endless parade of tragedy documented in countless files. The faces of victims and perpetrators stared back from crime scene photos and mug shots, each one demanding justice, attention, resolution.

"You know what?" Rachel began gathering files into her briefcase. "I think I'm going to take some of these home to review. Not necessarily call it a day, but…you know. Just to get out of here."

The relief that flashed across Novak's face was almost comical. He dropped his marker onto the whiteboard ledge with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. "Oh, thank God," he said, then immediately looked embarrassed. "I mean – I was trying to hang in there, you know? Didn't want to seem like a baby."

Rachel laughed, surprising herself with the sound. "And I was trying to set a good example for my new partner." She sorted through files, selecting key cases. "Look at us, stuck in here trying to impress each other while our dinners get cold."

As they cleaned up, Rachel's mind kept circling back to the marks on Smith's wrist, to the amateur quality of that final injection. The longer she looked at this case, the more convinced she became that they were missing something obvious. This wasn't about revenge for a harsh sentence. This was personal in a different way – it spoke of someone who understood what it meant to feel trapped, helpless, at the mercy of others' decisions.

Novak helped her load several files into her briefcase, then started erasing the whiteboard. "You know," he said, hesitating slightly, "I was worried when they assigned me as your partner. Your reputation... well, let's just say it's a lot to live up to."

Rachel paused in gathering her things, studying her new partner. In the months they'd worked together, she'd been so focused on missing Jack, on comparing Novak to the partnership she'd lost, that she'd almost missed seeing how hard he was trying to prove himself.

"I was worried, too," she admitted. "About living up to my own reputation. About trying to be the same agent I was before..." She gestured vaguely, encompassing everything – the cancer, the losses, the hard-won second chances.

"Maybe we don't have to be," Novak said quietly. "Maybe we just have to be good enough."

Rachel nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Get some rest, Novak. Tomorrow we look at this with fresh eyes." She hefted her briefcase, heavy with selected files.

She then quickly grabbed her phone and sent a message back to Jack. Leaving now. Headed home.

As she walked through the quiet building toward the elevator, Rachel’s mind trailed back to that civil case Novak had mentioned – maybe there was something there, something about family members divided over a loved one's fate. She stepped into the elevator, her mind still turning over details of the case. Someone had held Judge Smith captive, kept him helpless and dependent on others for basic needs. Someone who knew exactly what that felt like, perhaps someone who had watched a loved one in that state for years.

Tomorrow they'd start fresh. Tomorrow, they'd find the connection they were missing.

But tonight – tonight she was going home to her family, to the life she'd fought so hard to keep. The case files could wait until after dinner. After all, wasn't that what second chances were for?