Page 10 of Her Last Warning (Rachel Gift #21)

Rachel reached for her computer bag, intending to retrieve her iPad.

Her hand brushed against paper – the obituary, the news clipping.

The playing card. Her jaw clenched as she saw the edge of the Jack of Hearts peeking out, Cody Austin's implicit threat against her husband.

The surge of rage that followed was visceral, electric, like touching a live wire.

Her fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into her palm.

She forced her breathing to remain steady as she deliberately pushed the papers aside, refusing to give Austin the satisfaction of disrupting her focus.

Still, her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out the iPad.

Ahead of them, traffic crawled along the interstate, brake lights blooming red in the golden hour light.

A semi-truck changed lanes without signaling, causing a ripple effect of sudden braking.

Novak tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as they inched forward, the silence in the car growing thick with shared frustration.

"Let's see what we can dig up on Walsh while we're stuck here," Rachel said, logging into the Bureau database on the iPad. She searched for a bit and found pretty much what she’d been expecting.

"Starting with the basics,” she said. “No criminal record whatsoever.

Not even a hint of trouble with the law. "

"Clean as a whistle?" Novak asked, easing the car forward another car length.

"Not even a parking ticket." Rachel switched to her browser, fingers tapping across the screen.

"Her medical license is spotless, too, from the looks of it.

Unlike York, there's no pattern of misdiagnoses or complaints.

In fact, her early career is impressive – graduated top of her class at Johns Hopkins in 2008, completed her residency at Mayo Clinic, published regularly in the New England Journal of Medicine. "

"So what changed?"

Rachel scrolled through Walsh's social media presence, which was extensive and meticulously maintained.

"I don’t know that anything changed per se.

She's got an... interesting focus. Look at this.

" She tilted the screen toward Novak during a particularly long backup in traffic.

"Her Instagram is full of case studies about miraculous recoveries.

Patients who beat terminal diagnoses against all odds.

She documents everything – lab results, scanning images, patient testimonials.

" She kept scrolling for a bit and made a puzzled huh sound.

“What is it?”

“She even has quotes from patients in here that claim they were healed divinely…that they died for a moment only to be brought back by angels. It’s…well, it’s clearly not the sort of thing a doctor usually promotes, you know?”

"How far back does this go?"

"Years. She's documented hundreds of cases.

" Rachel paused on a post from three months ago, reading aloud: "'Patient M.R.

, stage IV pancreatic cancer with extensive metastasis.

Given three months to live in January. Complete remission confirmed seven weeks after diagnosis.

No medical explanation found.' She's got the scans attached, showing the before and after. "

Novak merged onto a less congested road, the car finally able to move at a steady pace. "The medical community must have opinions about this kind of documentation."

"According to these threads, they're not fans.

" Rachel scrolled through several heated exchanges in medical forums. "Other doctors accuse her of cherry-picking cases, of ignoring standard statistical variations.

Here's where it gets complicated. She applied for a major research grant to study these cases systematically. The committee shot her down."

"They must have had a reason...you know, outside of the angels."

"According to this article," Rachel said, skimming quickly, "one committee member suggested these recoveries might be more common than the medical establishment wants to admit.

They implied her research would be... redundant.

But look at the timing – the rejection came right after she published a controversial paper suggesting that up to fifteen percent of terminal diagnoses might result in unexpected recoveries. "

"That's a bold claim."

"Bold enough to end her mainstream research career, apparently.

Most of her recent work has been self-funded.

She's set up a private research foundation, but it looks like it’s struggling for donations.

" Rachel pulled up another page. "She's been reaching out to patients directly through social media, basically begging them to participate in her studies. Some of the responses are... not kind."

"Sounds like a polite way of calling her a fraud," Novak observed, navigating around a delivery truck that had double-parked.

"Exactly. They're suggesting she's manufacturing mysteries where none exist, probably for the grant money and recognition.

" Rachel set the iPad in her lap, staring out at the passing buildings.

"The thing is, her documentation seems thorough.

These are real cases, real people who survived against the odds.

And she's meticulous about the details – lab work, imaging studies, witness statements from other medical professionals. "

“So…you think she’s being dishonest?”

“Maybe not on purpose,” Rachel said. “I think she really thinks there’s something to it, but she’s going about it in a sort of misguided way.”

Novak was quiet for a moment, considering. "You know, sometimes there really isn't a scientific explanation. Sometimes things just... happen."

"You mean miracles?" Rachel's tone carried an edge.

"Why not? Look at you – you're living proof that the impossible can happen."

The words hit Rachel with an impact she wasn’t expecting.

She turned to face him fully, heat rising in her chest. "That's not what happened.

I went through hell – experimental treatments, endless procedures, months of being so weak I could barely stand.

I fought for my life with modern medicine and skilled doctors.

That's not a miracle. That's science, determination, and pure stubbornness. "

"I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant." Rachel softened her tone slightly, recognizing the good intention behind his words.

"But calling it a miracle diminishes the work.

The suffering. The endless days when giving up seemed like the easier choice.

The nights when the pain was so bad I couldn't even cry.

Do you know what a miracle is, Novak? It's what people call it when they don't want to acknowledge the brutal, grinding work of survival. "

Silence filled the car. Traffic had thinned considerably as they left the city proper, buildings giving way to more spacious suburban developments.

Rachel watched a group of children playing basketball in a driveway amid the gathering dusk, their shouts muted through the car windows.

She thought about Paige at that age, how much of her childhood Rachel had missed while buried in work. Another cost of survival.

"I've seen things I can't explain," Novak said finally. "Cases where everything pointed to one conclusion, but something entirely different happened. Maybe it's about acknowledging that sometimes, even with all our science and knowledge, there are things we don't fully understand."

Rachel thought about Scarlett, about the joy in her voice when she'd announced her remission. About finding her body later, Cody Austin's handiwork evident in every detail. Some mysteries weren't mysterious at all – just human cruelty dressed up in elaborate costumes.

"Understanding is exactly what Dr. Walsh claims she's after," Rachel said, returning to safer professional ground. "Her social media is filled with attempts to contact patients who've experienced these recoveries. She's persistent.”

She scrolled through more of Walsh's history as Novak navigated them through Glen Allen's winding streets.

The doctor's early career had been promising – her residency director had called her "one of the most promising minds in diagnostic medicine.

" Her early papers had focused on traditional research: treatment protocols, drug trials, statistical analysis.

But somewhere around 2015, everything changed.

"There's something almost desperate in how she documents everything," Rachel noted, studying a particularly detailed post about a lung cancer patient who had inexplicably gone into complete remission.

"Like she's trying to prove something to herself as much as anyone else.

The level of detail is extraordinary – she's not just tracking medical data, she's recording everything.

Patient diets, daily routines, emotional states, family histories going back three generations. "

"Personal connection maybe?" Novak suggested, slowing for a turn.

"Let me check..." Rachel dug deeper into Walsh's background as Novak drove.

The map indicated that they were about five minutes away from their destination.

"Here – her mother died of pancreatic cancer fifteen years ago.

Diagnosis to death in less than three months.

According to this old blog post, her mother's oncologist had actually given her six months, but the disease progressed much faster than expected.

Walsh was still in medical school at the time. "

"That'll change your perspective on medicine," Novak said quietly.

"And maybe make you obsessed with cases where people survive against the odds." Rachel kept reading. "She took a leave of absence from school, came back with a completely different focus. Started questioning everything – standard protocols, statistical models, even basic diagnostic criteria."

"Grief can do that to you. Make you see patterns where there aren't any."

This comment made her once again think of Cody Austin worming his way into her life, but she instantly pushed it away. There was no time for that.

"Or make you see patterns everyone else has missed." Rachel closed the iPad as they pulled into a small medical complex. The sign for Walsh's office was modest – just her name and "Research Physician" in simple lettering.

The sun had dipped lower, painting the building's windows in shades of deep amber and gold. Rachel gathered her things, deliberately leaving the items from Austin in her bag. She had real work to do, real leads to follow. She wouldn't let his mind games distract her from the investigation at hand.

There would be time for him later—it was something she had to promise herself.

Because if not, thoughts of Cody Austin would eat away at her, dividing her attention while she was actively doing her job and looking for killers.

Besides…assuming it was Austin, she’d caught the bastard before.

There was no reason she wouldn’t be able to do it again.