Page 25 of Her Last Warning (Rachel Gift #21)

From the wet, cold dusk to the sterile and nearly monotonous back hallways of the FBI field office, Rachel began to feel a slight sense of disorientation.

Maybe it was the surge of relief I knowing they’d caught their killer, or perhaps it was the emotional toll this case had taken on her.

Whatever the case, she found herself having to take a series of calming breaths as she and Novak stood outside of the interrogation room their female suspect had been assigned.

The metallic tang of institutional coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the perpetual scent of paper and printer toner that seemed embedded in the walls.

The woman had been positively ID’ed as one Linda Reynolds, a forty-six-year-old Richmond native.

And the moment Rachel had heard the name, something in her stomach seemed to surge.

"Reynolds," she said, rolling the name around in her mouth like a bitter pill as they remained, for the moment, just outside of the interrogation room.

"Michael Reynolds from the support group this morning.

.." She turned to Novak, who leaned against the opposite wall, his tie loosened just enough to suggest the length of their day.

"It can't be a coincidence. It’s not that common of a last name, is it? "

Novak crossed his arms, his shoulder blades pressed against the beige walls. "What exactly did he say in that support group? Walk me through it again."

Rachel closed her eyes, summoning the memory.

"He spoke about his daughter. About losing her.

But there was something... mechanical about it.

Like he'd rehearsed the story so many times, it had lost its emotional core. At the time, I figured it was because he’s told the story so often that it was almost like an instinct at this point.

Maybe some way to keep her memory alive.

" She opened her eyes, meeting Novak's steady gaze.

"He mentioned she had Truncus arteriosus—a congenital heart defect.

Said it was like the universe had played a cruel joke, healing her only to take her away. "

"And you think this Linda Reynolds..."

"Reynolds isn't exactly Smith or Jones," Rachel said, completing his thought.

"But it's not rare enough to jump to conclusions.

Still, something about this doesn't sit right.

" The memory of Michael Reynolds at the support group meeting surfaced again: his careful posture, the way his words seemed rehearsed, how his grief had felt simultaneously raw and theatrical.

Novak straightened his tie, a habit Rachel had noticed he fell into when processing information. "If they are connected, what does that mean for our case?"

"I don't know yet." Rachel's hand unconsciously moved to her neck, rubbing at the tension gathering there. "But if Michael Reynolds is involved... if this is some kind of twisted partnership..."

"Then we might have only half the story," Novak finished.

They both turned toward the interrogation room door, gunmetal gray and unforgiving. Rachel squared her shoulders, letting out a slow breath. "Ready?"

"After you," Novak nodded, opening the door for her and gesturing for her to head inside.

The room was deliberately stark—bare walls, metal table, uncomfortable chairs.

Linda Reynolds sat with her hands folded on the table, her wedding ring catching the light.

Rachel noticed how her cuticles were torn and bleeding, evidence of nervous picking.

Dark circles under her eyes suggested sleepless nights, and her blouse had a coffee stain near the collar that she seemed unaware of.

Rachel took the seat across from Linda while Novak positioned himself against the back wall, a silent sentinel.

The suspect's face was oddly serene, almost peaceful, which sent a chill down Rachel's spine.

She'd seen that look before on people who'd made peace with their darkest decisions.

Usually, on people who had no qualms at all about what they had done.

"Mrs. Reynolds," Rachel began, keeping her voice professionally neutral. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with us without your lawyer present."

Linda's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "I have nothing to hide, Agent Gift. And a lawyer would just slow the whole thing down. I don’t want this dragged out."

The use of her name—which Rachel hadn't provided—didn't go unnoticed. She filed it away for later consideration.

"Then let's start with the obvious," Rachel said, folding her hands on the table to mirror Linda's posture. "What, exactly, were you doing entering Mr. Shook's house through the back door?"

Linda's response came without hesitation, her voice as clear as spring water over stones: "I was going to kill him."

The frankness of the admission made Rachel's breath catch. She'd expected denials, evasions, requests for a lawyer after all. Instead, Linda sat there with an unsettling smile playing at the corners of her mouth, as if she'd just shared a cherished secret.

"Just like that?" Rachel kept her voice steady. "You're admitting to attempted murder?"

"Why lie?" Linda's fingers began to trace invisible patterns on the table's surface. "We all have our purpose in this world, Agent Gift. Sometimes, that purpose isn't clear until the universe shows us the way. Until we know that we have more control over things than we thought."

"And the universe told you to kill David Shook?"

Linda's eyes took on a fevered gleam. "The universe needs balance," she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality.

"When the scales tip too far in one direction, something must be done to right them.

" Her fingers continued their dance across the table.

"These people—they were given gifts they didn't deserve.

Second chances that belonged to others. To Emma. "

The name hung in the air like smoke. Rachel watched as Linda's composure began to crack, hairline fractures spreading across her carefully maintained facade. Emma . She’d heard that name before…and quite recently.

"These second chances," Rachel prompted carefully, "you mean medical recoveries? Like Mr. Shook's lung disease?"

"Miracles," Linda spat the word like it was poison. "They call them miracles. But what gives them the right? What makes them special?" Her voice rose slightly. "What made them more deserving than my Emma?"

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "Tell me about Emma."

Linda's hands stilled. For a moment, she looked almost normal—just a mother preparing to talk about her child. Then something shifted in her eyes, something dark and broken.

"My beautiful girl," she whispered, her eyes already filling with tears.

"She was born with Truncus arteriosus—a congenital heart defect.

" The words struck Rachel like a physical blow as she remembered Michael Reynolds describing the exact same condition.

God, this is going to go deeper than we thought, she told herself.

Linda went on. "The doctors said she wouldn't make it past her first birthday.

But Emma..." A smile ghosted across Linda's face.

"Emma was a fighter. She defied every prediction, survived every surgery.

And then, the impossible happened—she was healed.

Completely healed. The doctors didn't think it was the medicine, and they thought it might be some of the therapies they tried… not everyone was absolutely shocked."

Linda's voice began to shake, her words spilling out faster now.

"The universe chose her. It gave her back to us.

We had our miracle." Her hands clenched into fists.

"And then some worthless piece of garbage followed her home one day.

She—" Linda's breath hitched. "She had just gotten her first paycheck from her summer job. She was so proud...didn’t think she’d ever get the chance to work that job… "

Tears began to roll down Linda's cheeks, but her voice grew harder, brittle as frozen grass.

It was almost at a growl-like pitch now.

"He shot her in the head for a purse that contained forty-three dollars and sixteen cents.

They never found him. My daughter survived a faulty heart only to die from two bullets to the head. "

Rachel felt her own throat tighten as Linda continued to unravel before them, her carefully constructed justifications crumbling like sandcastles in the tide. The woman's shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.

"The universe has a plan," Linda continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Everything happens for a reason. But these people—" Her head snapped up, eyes blazing.

"These people cheat the plan.” The word cheat came out like a whispered roar.

“They survive when they're supposed to die.

They live when others, better people, are taken away. "

"So when we heard about these people—these lucky ones who got their miracles..." Linda's voice turned savage. "Where was their sacrifice? What made them more worthy than Emma? The universe needed to be balanced. It needed to be made right."

Novak pushed off from the wall, his movement drawing Linda's attention. "And that gave you the right to play executioner?"

Linda's head snapped toward him, her tears suddenly dry.

"Someone had to restore the balance," she hissed.

"Someone had to make it fair. You don't understand—none of you understand.

When Emma died, it was like the world stopped making sense.

Everything became wrong. But this—" She gestured vaguely with her hands.

"This is how we fix it. This is how we make things right again. How we make it up to our baby."

Rachel leaned forward, her voice steady despite the horror churning in her gut. She had already taken into account the fact that Linda had started using the term we instead of I. "Linda, did you kill Marcy Connors?"

"Yes." The word emerged as a sob. "Yes, I killed her. She beat stage four cancer— stage four ! Emma beat what she was born with, too, but this woman..." Linda's voice cracked. "It wasn't right…”

"And Robert Hayes?" Rachel pressed.

Linda's head shake was almost violent. Confusion flickered across her tear-stained face. "I—I know the name. I know all the names you’re interested in. Robert Hayes. Marcy Connors. Michelle Lester." Her voice faltered on the last name. "All dead. And David Shook... he was going to be next."

Rachel's mind raced back to the crime scenes: Marcy Connors, the house showing no real signs of a struggle…

just the damned letter. Robert Hayes, methodical and clean.

But Michelle Lester—there had been signs of struggle, overturned furniture, broken glass.

Maybe there had been different hands had been at work there.

The final pieces clicked into place with terrible clarity and there was now no denying it. Rachel leaned closer to Linda, whose mascara had created dark rivers down her cheeks. "Is Michael involved in this, too?"

The name hit Linda like a physical blow.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream before the sound finally tore free—a primal wail of anguish that seemed to echo off the concrete walls.

Her entire body convulsed as she folded in on herself, decades of grief and rage and madness pouring out in an unstoppable torrent.

"I tried," she gasped between sobs. "I tried to do it alone. To protect him. But...it was going to take both of us to right all these wrongs! To restore the balance. To make things right. Emma needed both of us."

Rachel turned to Novak, her heart pounding. She had a hunch weighing on her heart and the longer is sat there, the more like an absolutely certainty it felt. "We have to get back to Shook's. Now!"

As they rushed from the room, Linda's sobs followed them down the hallway, a broken mother's chorus of loss and vengeance.

She called for them to leave Michael alone, to let him pay his own respects to their baby.

But Rachel ignored her, her mind trembling with the implications of what they'd learned.

Two parents, shattered by their daughter's death, trying to balance the cosmic scales with blood.

But Michael was still out there, and David Shook's miracle might yet become his curse.