Page 12 of Her Last Promise (Rachel Gift #19)

Night had fallen as Rachel pulled into the driveway at 7:22. The porch light was on and as she stepped out of her car, she did her best to recall where, exactly, the day had gone. It had been a long one for sure, but the sort that speeds by in the blink of an eye. She carried her briefcase of Judge Smith case files with her, and as she opened the front door, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs drifting through the evening air made her stomach growl. The stress and irritation of the day seemed to melt away at the smells.

The warmth hit her first when she stepped inside – not just the physical warmth of a well-used kitchen, but the kind that came from a home filled with life. The sound of Paige's laughter carried from the kitchen, followed by Jack's deeper chuckle. For a moment, Rachel stayed in the entryway, letting the familiar sounds wash over her. These were the moments that still caught her off guard sometimes, the simple miracle of having this second chance at happiness. It was made so much sweeter by the laughter between Jack and Paige. Their bond was growing stronger and though Jack knew full well he’d never be Paige’s father (and vice versa) he never stopped acting like the strong, male role model she needed in her life.

"There she is," Jack called out as she rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen. She set her briefcase and computer bag down by the bar and eyed the table, now realizing that she was much hungrier than she had assumed. He was already rising from his chair, moving toward the cabinet with the practiced ease of someone who had anticipated her arrival. "Just in time to try my latest Pinterest adventure."

Rachel hung her jacket on the back of her chair, breathing in the mouth-watering scent of his lasagna. "You're becoming obsessed with that site."

"Hey, when you find what works..." He slid a generous portion onto her plate, the layers of pasta, meat, and cheese still steaming. "Though I did have to scroll past fifteen different 'life-changing organization hacks' and a tutorial on making my own soap to get to it. Did you know you can apparently transform your entire life by buying matching containers for your pantry?"

"Don't give him ideas," Paige groaned, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. "He already spent half an hour yesterday organizing the spice rack alphabetically."

"Which you'll thank me for next time you're looking for the oregano," Jack pointed out, returning to his seat.

Rachel sat down with the rest of her family. The first bite of lasagna melted in Rachel's mouth, the perfect balance of flavors making her close her eyes in appreciation. "Worth every minute of scrolling," she murmured.

She expected Paige to disappear upstairs as she usually did after dinner, retreating into the world of homework and social media that seemed to occupy most teenagers' evenings. But tonight, her daughter lingered at the table, picking at the remains of her garlic bread with unusual focus. Rachel recognized the signs – the slight bounce of her knee under the table, the way she kept tucking and re-tucking her hair behind her ear. It was the same restless energy she'd had as a little girl when she was bursting to share exciting news. That’s right, Rachel thought, recalling one of Jack’s texts. She has some sort of news from school.

"So," Rachel said carefully, studying her daughter's face. "How was school?"

Paige's eyes lit up immediately, confirming Rachel's suspicion. "Actually... something kind of amazing happened today." She sat up straighter, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve – a gesture so like Peter's that it made Rachel's heart catch. Even after all these years, these little echoes of him could still take her by surprise. "You know that paper I wrote on the Louisiana Purchase?"

"The one you stayed up until midnight working on last week because you put it off until the last minute?”

“Yeah, that one,” she said quickly. “Anyway, Mrs. Henderson – she's been really encouraging about my writing all year, you know? – anyway, she submitted it to this statewide history competition, and..." Paige's smile widened until it seemed to illuminate her whole face. "It got selected as one of the finalists!"

"That's fantastic!" Rachel reached across the table to squeeze her daughter's hand, her own fatigue forgotten in the face of Paige's excitement. "When do you find out about the winners?"

"Two weeks. But even if I don't win, just being a finalist means my paper might be published in their annual journal." Paige's cheeks flushed with pride, and for a moment, Rachel saw the echo of the little girl who used to run home from school clutching art projects and spelling tests, desperate to share her achievements. “I…uh…”

“What is it?” Rachel asked.

With a slight frown, she looked almost guiltily to her and Jack and said, “It made me think of dad. You know…big history nerd and all. He would have loved it, right?”

The mention of Peter didn't sting as much as it once had. Time had smoothed those jagged edges, transformed the sharp pain of loss into something more bittersweet. And Jack handled it wonderfully, as he always did. He understood that Peter needed to be remembered and discussed. He usually remained quiet unless he was asked something specifically.

"He absolutely would have. He'd probably be printing copies for everyone at his office right now, boring them all with detailed explanations of Thomas Jefferson's negotiation tactics."

"And insisting on a frame for the first page," Jack added softly, his hand finding Rachel's under the table. These moments could still be delicate, this careful dance of honoring Peter's memory while embracing their new family configuration.

Jack cleared his throat. "Well, I say this calls for ice cream. We still have some of that mint chocolate chip, right? The good kind, with the actual chocolate pieces?"

But Paige was already pushing back from the table, gathering her plate. "Rain check? I want to grab a shower before tackling my English homework. Mr. Peterson's tests are brutal if you're not completely prepared."

“Of course. Any time is a good time for ice cream.”

“Preach, brother,” Paige said, offering him a high five. He took it, their hands slapping together as they laughed about whatever inside joke they had between them. Rachel wondered if Paige was simply disappearing upstairs because she feared she’d made things awkward by mentioning her father.

After Paige disappeared upstairs, Rachel and Jack fell into their familiar cleanup routine. She washed while he dried, their movements synchronized by years of partnership. The comfortable silence was broken only by the soft clink of dishes and the distant sound of the shower starting upstairs.

"I need to review some files tonight," she said, passing him a sudsy plate. "The Judge Smith case."

Jack's expression darkened slightly. "Yeah, I caught wind of that at a meeting this morning. How's that going?"

"Slowly. Too slowly." She described the details they'd uncovered, the frustrating lack of physical evidence, the literal ocean of files to go through, growing sense that they were missing something crucial. "It's like trying to put together a puzzle where half the pieces are invisible. We know they're there, we just can't see them yet. And I’m afraid there are more boxes with even more pieces that we haven’t even found yet."

"God, I don't miss that part." Jack stacked the last plate in the cabinet with perhaps more force than necessary. "Though some days I'd take it over another budget meeting. You know what Thompson called me yesterday? A 'process optimization specialist.'" He affected a pompous tone that made Rachel laugh despite the weight of her earlier thoughts.

"Poor corporate stooge," she teased, flicking water at him. "How the mighty have fallen."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm very important. I have color-coded spreadsheets and everything."

Once the dishes were done, they settled at opposite ends of the dinner table with their respective work. It was becoming almost a common occurrence. Rachel spread out photos of Judge Smith’s arm and files on Judge Smith cases while Jack opened his laptop to go over some last-minute details on future staffing needs at the bureau. The quiet was comfortable, broken only by the soft tapping of his keyboard and the rustle of paper as she turned pages. Every now and then, she'd catch him watching her with a slight smile, and she'd feel that familiar warmth in her chest – the one that still surprised her sometimes, this second chance at happiness she'd never expected to find.

The information on all of Judge Smith’s rulings did indeed feel like a puzzle as she worked, each detail a potential key to unlocking the larger mystery. Her notes filled page after page, but something still felt off, just beyond her grasp. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, refusing to fully form.

By 10:30, her eyes were burning from strain, the words beginning to blur together. She gathered her files, trying to ignore the way Judge Smith's face seemed to watch her from the photos. The victims always watched, in her experience. Even from paper, they demanded answers, justice, resolution. She also thought of his poor wife, so destroyed by the loss of her husband that she’d been unable to speak with anyone at the hospital out of fear of a cardiac event of some kind.

Upstairs, she found Paige in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Her daughter's hair was still damp from her shower, and she was wearing her oldest, most comfortable pajamas – the ones with the faded stars that she refused to throw away.

"Night, sweetheart." Rachel kissed her daughter's temple, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. "I'm really proud of you, you know that?"

“Thanks.” And for a moment, Rachel caught a glimpse of the same smile Paige had once flashed as a younger child, always seeking attention and approval.

In her bedroom, as she changed into her pajamas, thoughts of Scarlett crept in unbidden. Private thoughts like those tended to come around much easier—almost like comforting ghosts. But this time, they brought Cody Austin's face with them – that bland, forgettable face that had haunted her for years. The kind of face that could disappear into any crowd, that no witness would remember clearly enough to describe. She almost went back downstairs to tell Jack about her suspicions, but stopped herself. It would sound paranoid, wouldn't it? Seeing connections where there might not be any, letting old ghosts color her judgment. Besides, she had no proof. Just that nagging feeling in her gut, the one that had kept her alive all these years.

Jack came to bed just as she was turning out the light. He slid close behind her, his hand finding her hip. "Any chance..."

"Mm, sleep mode already activated," she murmured, but smiled into the darkness. The warmth of his body against hers was comforting, familiar. "Ask me again in the morning."

"I'll hold you to that."

“Please do. I’m sorry, I just…it’s been a day…”

“I get it,” he said. He kissed her shoulder and settled back, his breathing quickly evening out into the rhythm of sleep.

Rachel found her own sleep surprisingly fast. And at some point in the murky depths, she found herself dreaming. In it, she was in a brightly lit, white room that was filled with a sterile hospital smell, the steady beep of monitors. The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in a sickly green glow. But this time, when she opened her eyes, it wasn't doctors surrounding her bed. Alex Lynch stood at her head, his prison jumpsuit splattered with blood. Alice Denbrough to her right, smiling a terrible empty smile. And there, at the foot of the bed, she saw Cody Austin. He was holding a scalpel with surgical precision. His unremarkable face was transformed by a cold intelligence that she remembered all too well.

"Time for your treatment, Agent Gift," Lynch whispered, and all three raised their blades—

Her phone's shrill ring yanked her awake, heart pounding against her ribs. 1:05 glowed on the bedside clock, the red numbers seeming to float in the darkness. She fumbled for the phone and brought it to her ear. Her voice was surprisingly clear when she said, “Hello?”

Director Anderson's voice was tight with urgency when she answered. "We've got another one, Agent Gift. James Harrison, attorney, missing from his office. Signs of struggle. Given the timing after Judge Smith, it’s assumed they may be related somehow."

"I'll call Novak and head over." She was already sitting up on the side of the bed, her toes finding the floor. But the nightmare clung to her like cobwebs, making her skin crawl. “Can you text me the address?”

“As soon as we end this call. Thank, Gift.”

Jack stirred beside her. "Everything okay?" His voice was sleepy and groggy.

"Yeah," she said. Adrenaline already pushing away the nightmare's shadows, replacing them with the familiar urgency of a break in the case. Of course, it was never a good thing when such a break came in the form of another potential dead body. "Duty calls."

She could feel the weight of her dream-ghosts watching as she dressed, their phantom scalpels gleaming in the darkness. But she had real monsters to chase now. She couldn't afford to be haunted by the old ones.

She leaned over and kissed Jack on the forehead before collecting her clothes in the darkness, ready to head back out to face those real monsters.