Page 19 of Her Last Choice

“Do you mind me asking what you’ve been diagnosed with?”

“Severe rheumatic heart disease,” the father said with a practiced sort of irritation. “I’m on enough meds where it’s bearable but there’s no long-term solution. Eventually, it’s going to kill me.”

“Dad…”

He shrugged and offered Rachel a smile. “Football season starts in two weeks. I may have the full length of the seasons…maybe even all the way to the Super Bowl. But seeing as how the Ravens sure as hell won’t make it to the Bowl, I think maybe I’m going to take them up on those tickets.”

Rachel nodded and only continued looking at them out of respect. Hearing him talk so openly and honestly about his condition made her want to cry. He’d accepted the hand he’d been dealt and was to the point that he could off-handedly mention it without getting emotional. He almost seemed hopeful, despite his condition. She almost envied him.

“Thank you for your time,” she said. “And I certainly wish you the best.”

She hurried back to the car and basically fell into the passenger’s seat. When Jack was once again behind the wheel, he made a point to look her in the eyes—something he typically didn’t do.

“I think maybe you need to call it a day. I see now that it was a mistake to bring you along.”

“Maybe it was. But I have to see it through.”

“Then I have to tell Anderson you’re coming with me. This is going to get me in a heap of shit if he finds out.”

“Then we’ll be careful.”

He sighed and looked out to the streets. “Okay, then. The waiting list. I feel like that’s the next move. If both Wells and Warren were on the waiting list—”

“Then the killer may have a copy and is using it,” she finished for him. “He may also be on the list, knocking off people so he can get to the top faster.”

“Grim, but yeah…that’s what I’m thinking.”

“It’s just a matter of getting it.”

Jack looked back to the Life Fulfilled offices, considering something. As an idea came to him, he started to slowly nod his head. “Stay here one second.”

“What are you—”

“I’ll be right back.”

He got out of the car and went hurrying back to the building. She watched him slip inside and, through the picture window along the front, she saw his blurred shape speaking to the woman behind the desk. She knew he could be charming when a situation called for it; it was a talent she often ribbed him for but had turned out to be useful on more than one occasion.

As she waited for him to come back, she watched the father and daughter pull away, back out onto the street. She thought of the hard stretch of time the daughter would be facing in the next six months or so—the pain, the loss, the grief. More than that, though, she thought of the old man, knowing that death was right on his heels and living his life the way he chose anyway.

Maybe that was what she was doing. Maybe her refusal to truly put her career as an agent behind her was because it meant more to her than she thought. Grandstanding and telling Anderson that she wanted her leave of absence suddenly seemed like not only a bad idea but an early defeat.

But Paige…

She had to admit to herself that Paige was the only reason she had to quit. If there was no Paige, she could easily see herself chasing down criminals until she could literally no longer walk.

Yeah? some wiser part of her spoke up. And how many more cars would you end up crashing during your last cases? How many more times would you be willing to put Jack’s life in danger?

She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t see Jack coming back to the car. When he opened the driver’s side door, she jumped in surprise. He showed her his phone as he slid his seatbelt on.

“Looks like I’ve still got it,” he said.

Rachel looked to the phone and saw a list of names and telephone numbers. On it, she saw the names Benjamin Wells and Polly Warren. “How’d you get it?”

“I very politely asked the lady at the desk to see if she could get her manager on the phone—that it could very well be a matter of life and death for someone. She did, and I spoke with him. He gave her immediate permission to send me a copy.”

“Damn good work, Rivers. So…you know what we might have here, right?”

“A potential list of victims,” he said. “And maybe even the name and contact information of our killer.”