Page 5 of Her Last Choice

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack Rivers sat at his cubicle, looking at the phone number he’d scrawled down earlier in the day. It was just a series of numbers, but looking at them made him feel nervous. He’d found this particular phone number after a week or so of searching and now that he had it, he wasn’t sure what he should do with it. He’d written it down because he’d not felt safe keeping the digital record of it. He’d had to go outside of the bureau for help in tracking the number down and, as such, did not want to get into any sort of trouble—not just for the secondary, under-the-table help, but also because he’d been using bureau time and resources on information-gathering that had not been related to a case.

Well, he’d crossed the line now, he supposed. Might as well take it a step further. Besides, he knew Anderson had no idea and anyone higher up than Anderson typically didn’t involve themselves in the day-to-day actions of a lowly agent like Jack Rivers.

He picked up his cellphone—his personal one, not the bureau-assigned one—and his finger hovered over the face of it for a moment before he punched the number in. The bit of remaining hesitancy didn’t come from his worries about being reprimanded, but of how Rachel might respond. He was doing this for her, and she had no idea what he was up to. She might find it an invasion of her personal space, or simply a part of her life he had no business delving into.

But again…he had the number. He’d made some shady moves to get it. Why back out now?

Still, not here…not at his cubicle where anyone could walk by and hear the conversation he was about to have. He hopped up out of his chair and made his way out of the central area of the field office. He walked down the hall, out of the front lobby, and to the small lawn outside. Only one other person was out here, an agent by the name of Carter, sneaking in a quick cigarette. The two men nodded to one another as Jack walked past him and to a bench that looked right back toward the FBI’s Richmond field office.

Before he could convince himself to stall again, Jack punched the number into his phone. It rang once, twice, and was picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” said a gruff, male voice.

“Hello,” Jack said. “I’m looking for a gentleman by the name of Douglas Gift.”

“This is Douglas. But if this is a scam call, you can take my name off your list and then cram the list up your ass.”

“No, sir, this is not a scam call. My name is Jack Rivers, and I am an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m calling to verify your identity. You’re Douglas Gift of Buffalo, New York, correct?”

“I am,” he said, clearly confused. “Wait…you said you’re with the FBI?”

“That’s right. Sir…you have a daughter named Rachel, correct?”

There was no response at first and then, after a few seconds, perhaps the most unexpected response of all. A rough bit of laughter. “I do. She in some sort of trouble?”

The absolute lack of emotion was disarming. Yes, he had a daughter and he hadn’t sene her in forever. So what? Next question.

“No, sir,” Jack said. “I’m a friend of hers. She has no idea I’ve made this call. But there are…well, there are things Rachel is dealing with right now and I think she may need to reach out to you at some point soon.”

“Reach out to me?” Ah, there was a bit of emotion. Surprise and…was that sadness? “What for?”

“It’s not my business to day.”

“But you thought it was your business to make this call?”

“I did. I need to know straight from you that if she were to reach out and call you that you would accept.”

This time, there was a thick silence from the other end. Finally, it ended, with: “Yeah. Yeah, you know, I think I might like that.” There was another pause, and then: “Is she…well, how is she?”

“She’s pretty amazing, Mr. Gift. Beyond that, I’ll leave it to her.”

“Yeah, okay,” Douglas Gift saids, the words coming quickly.

“Goodbye,” Jack said, ending the call.

Rachel had only mentioned her father a single time—a passing mention about how she wanted to patch things up with him before she died. Jack was quite sure it wouldn’t have even been on her radar without the discovery of the tumor and the zero chance of surviving it, but she had mentioned it. And he felt that he had to do something for her. His thinking was that making that call—reaching out in any capacity—would be hard. So he thought if he ripped the Band-Aid off for her and started the ball rolling, it might be a big step forward.

Jack put his phone back into his pocket and wondered if he was overstepping. He had no idea what sort of rifts and history existed between Douglas and Rachel. And he also knew it was none of his business. But Rachel had been on his mind a lot lately. He wasn’t naïve enough to misconstrue thoughts about her as romantic; she was a great agent and dependable friend, but she simply wasn’t his type.

No, he was pretty sure the thoughts came from a part of him that understood how fleeting life could be. In a job where you carried a gun and were typically on the hunt for people breaking the law and ending lives, mortality often became a creature that stared you in the face with big, slobbering teeth on a daily basis. And now to have someone close to him staring that monster down every day, he couldn’t help but feel for Rachel.

He left the bench and headed back inside. He hadn’t seen Rachel today and figured he might swing by her desk to check in on her. He’d done his best to keep his distance when they weren’t actively running cases together. She’d always seemed the type who preferred silence and isolation when facing something big.

As he neared the elevators just off the lobby, his phone rang. He was surprised at first, wondering if Douglas Gift had undergone a change of heart. Maybe hearing his daughter’s name over the phone in such an unexpected way had simply shocked him and he’d responded by ending the call. But it wasn’t until he reached into his pocket that he realized the phone that was ringing was not the personal phone he’d used to make the call, but the bureau cellphone in his left pocket.

Jesus, when did I become the pretentious a-hole that carries two phones on him? Jack wondered as he grabbed his work phone.