Page 28 of Her Last Promise (Rachel Gift #19)

An hour later, Rachel stood in the hospital waiting room with her phone pressed against her ear, listening to the familiar comfort of Jack's voice. She was standing by the window, looking down onto the stretch of lawn that rolled out beside the hospital, connecting it to one of several parking lots. Her reflection in the dark window showed exhaustion etched across her face.

"I'm just glad you weren't hurt," Jack said, his voice tight with concern. "When you said 'shots fired,' my heart nearly stopped."

"I'm okay," Rachel assured him. “But Novak..." She paused, swallowing hard. "He took one in the shoulder. The doctors say it was more of a massive graze—about three-quarters of the bullet tore through the flesh and tissue of his lower shoulder rather than entering the arm."

She heard Jack's sharp intake of breath. "Jesus. That’s lucky. How's he holding up?"

"Like it's just another day at the office," Rachel said, managing a small smile. "You know how these younger agents are—trying to prove they're invincible."

"Reminds me of someone else I know," Jack replied, and she could hear the knowing smile in his voice. There was a pause, then: "You want to talk to Paige? I can wake her—"

Rachel glanced at the wall clock and blinked in surprise. "It's 11:05? My goodness, how did it get so late?" The events in the Mitchell basement felt simultaneously like they'd happened minutes ago and days ago—the gunshots, the screaming, the flood of red and blue lights. Time had become fluid, stretching and contracting like a rubber band.

"Time flies when you're catching killers," Jack said softly. "Want me to get her?"

Rachel closed her eyes, picturing their daughter peaceful in sleep. "No, let her rest. I'll be home soon, and I can tell her all about how we caught the bad guy in the morning." Her voice caught slightly. "Though maybe I'll leave out some of the scarier details."

"Probably wise," Jack agreed. "You know how she worries about you."

"I know." Rachel's free hand drifted to a place high up on the back of her neck, where one of the scars from her tumor surgery was barely visible now. "I'm trying to give her fewer reasons to worry."

A nurse appeared in the waiting room doorway, catching Rachel's eye and gesturing for her to come over. "Jack, I need to go—the doctor's here."

"Okay. Hey, Rachel?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. Come home safe."

The simple words, spoken with such quiet intensity, made her throat tight. "I love you too. I'll be there soon."

She ended the call and approached the nurse, who introduced himself as Dr. Connor. His scrubs were decorated with tiny cartoon penguins, an incongruous touch of whimsy in the sterile environment.

"Agent Novak received twenty-six stitches," he explained, consulting his tablet. "We did extensive sterilization of the wound site, given its unusual shape and depth. We'd like to keep him a bit longer to ensure the stitches hold properly because it was such an oddly shaped area."

“Thanks. And what do you know about James Harrison?”

"Well, I'm not assigned to him, but I knew you'd want to know, so I grabbed an update from the doctor attending to him." He paused, then added, "The doctor has begun the process of flushing the cocktail of sedatives from his system. Whoever administered them appeared to have only a rudimentary understanding of dosage and interaction—the combination looks like something cobbled together from internet research. Quite dangerous for sure, but he’ll be fine."

Rachel nodded, thinking of Michael Mitchell's desperate amateur attempts to recreate his victims' comatose states. "Thank you, Doctor. Can I see Agent Novak?"

"Of course. Room 412."

She made her way quickly down the hall, anxious to get home. She came to his room and found Novak propped up in bed, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. He was scrolling through his phone with his good hand. His suit jacket and shirt lay ruined on a nearby chair, dark with blood and torn by EMT scissors.

"There's my hero partner," he said, looking up with a grin that was only slightly strained around the edges. "Just got off the phone with Sarah. I think she's more upset than I am—kept threatening to bubble wrap me before my next field assignment."

Rachel settled into the visitor's chair. "Smart woman, your wife."

"Yeah, well, wait until you hear her master plan. She's calling her sister to watch Joseph so she can come pick me up, and she's already talking about taking tomorrow off to 'nurse me back to health.'" He made air quotes with his good hand. "I told her it's just a flesh wound, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Something about men and their stupid Monty Python references."

Rachel laughed, then grew serious. "You did amazing work today, Novak. And I don't just mean taking a bullet."

"What, that's not enough?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Tough crowd."

"I mean it," she pressed on. "You kept your cool through all of it...even when you were shot. That's not just good agent work, that's exceptional agent work."

Novak's jovial expression softened. "Coming from you, that means a lot." He shifted slightly, wincing. "You know, when they first partnered me with the famous Rachel Gift, I was terrified I wouldn't measure up. You're kind of a legend at the Bureau."

She hated hearing such things but had essentially gotten used to it. "And now?"

"Now?" He pretended to think about it. "Now I'm only mostly terrified."

She threw a wadded-up tissue at him, which he dodged with a laugh that turned into a groan. "Ow. No making the gunshot victim laugh."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all. "But seriously, Novak... Ethan. I'm proud to have you as my partner."

Novak nodded, and she could tell he was wrestling with emotion. He then made a shooing motion. "Go home, Gift. Your family's waiting, and my incredibly overprotective wife is on her way to smother me with attention."

"You sure?"

"Positive. Sarah's sister lives ten minutes away—she'll be here any minute to take over the hovering duties." He settled back against his pillows. "Besides, somebody's got to be fresh tomorrow to start processing all the evidence from Mitchell's murder basement…and start the report. Given that I'm going to be riding a desk for at least a week, that somebody is you."

Rachel stood, touched his good shoulder lightly. "Get some rest, partner. I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Bring coffee when you do!" he called after her as she left.

The hospital corridors were quiet, the late-night lull settling in. Rachel made her way through the maze of hallways, her footsteps echoing on the polished floors. In the lobby, a massive Christmas tree stretched toward the ceiling, its white lights casting a soft glow over the night security guard at his desk.

Outside, a fine drizzle of sleet had begun to fall, tiny ice crystals catching the light from the lampposts. The hospital's exterior was festooned with elegant strands of white lights and simple evergreen wreaths. Rachel paused, watching her breath steam in the cold air.

A week and a half until Christmas. The Mitchell case was solved, Novak would recover, and two innocent people would live to see the holidays with their families. Maybe, she thought, this holiday season would bring some peace after all. She pulled her coat tighter and headed for her car, eager to get home to Jack and Paige.

As she drove away, the hospital's Christmas lights twinkled in her rearview mirror like earthbound stars, a reminder that even in the darkest times, light found a way to shine through.