CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rachel's hand pushed open the heavy glass door of the field office with a bit of frustration. She hated going back and forth, to and from the building. Most of the time when she returned here during the course of the case, it meant there were no real trails to follow; it meant they would have to go digging through databases, forms, and all sort of case files.

But for now, at least, they had an incident to follow—the report of a man being hauled away from the backstage door of a theater by the police.

Yet, as she and Jack made their way across the front lobby, Rachel stepped to the side, into the waiting area. "You go on up," she told Jack. "I want to check in on things at home."

"Sure thing."

Rachel pulled up the number for home. As it rang, her heart ached a bit. She was still always expecting the line to be answered by Grandma Tate, her sweet sing-song voice greeting her. When it was answered by Stephen Carson on the third ring, Rachel swallowed her grief down and put on the happiest voice she could.

"This is Agent Carson," he answered.

"Carson, it's Rachel."

"Oh, hello there, Agent Gift. Good thing you're calling, because I need to report a crime."

"Why? What did she do?"

"Let's just say it's criminal how good this girl is at Uno."

"Oh, yeah, I could have told you that. You might want to avoid Rummy, too."

"Ah, noted."

"Do you mind if I chat with her for a moment?" Rachel asked.

"Not at all."

"Thanks. Hey, Stephen? Thank you," she said, the relief palpable in her tone. "I can't tell you how much it means to have you back with us."

"Glad to do it. I missed this little card shark."

There was some bustling as the landline phone was set down and Paige picked it up moments later. Rachel kept it simple and to the point. She'd essentially called just to make sure Carson had shown up and that the transition with Janell had gone smoothly. And based on Paige's reaction, she couldn't be happier.

"Do you think you'll be home in time for dinner tonight?" Paige asked.

"I just don't know, sweetie." And as she said this, it occurred to her that if she truly planned on picking up where she left off with work, they were going to have to come up with a more solid solution for someone to watch Paige. Carson was a great temporary solution until Alice was found and captured, but what about after that? Janell was amazing, but she had two more years of college and wouldn't be around forever.

"If you don't, can me and Mr. Stephen order pizza?"

"That's fine with me if it's okay with him."

"Awesome."

"You behave, Paige."

"I always do."

"I know you do, sweetie. See you soon. I love you."

"Love you, too!"

She ended the call and made her way up to the third floor to reconnect with Jack. She knew he'd go straight to her cubicle; she couldn't remember the last time they'd ever convened at his. By the time she arrived there, he was already sitting in her chair and looking through the database for the case file in question—the report of the obsessive fan at one of the plays.

"The good news," Jack said, "is that there aren't going to be many police reports from smaller theaters that hold these local productions."

"Yeah, they're not a particularly violent crowd."

She stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She was starting to get used to their relationship in the workplace now. While they'd clearly not kiss in the office or have a quickie in a supply closet, holding hands and the occasional touch of reassurance had become the norm for them. For the past few weeks, sometimes all it took was a simple touch from Jack to help calm the rising tide of anger in the pit of her stomach.

Sure enough, just as Jack had predicted, he was able to find the police report they were looking for in under two minutes. It was from eighteen months ago, and though the report itself was brief, it gave them all the information they needed.

The man's name was Bryson Lawrence. He'd not been officially arrested, but there had been enough of a disturbance to warrant a file. The play's director had called the police after two actresses reported him being crude and demanding to be let backstage after a show. Neither of those actresses had been Emily or Sarah, which is why their names had never turned up from a preliminary check in the system.

Rachel's eyes darted across the database entries as Jack filtered through the clutter of mundane police reports. The digital pages flickered past in a blur until one caught her eye—a beacon in the data stream.

They then ran a basic search for Bryson Lawrence in the database, hoping it would lead to the next avenue to pursue. "Well, look at that," Jack said. "Mr. Lawrence has a record."

They looked through it together, and there was just enough to grab their interest. "A restraining order from just a year ago," Rachel read. "Filed by Claire Murphy."

Still looking at the information on the screen, Jack said, "Looks like Lawrence is still in town. Claire has moved and…well, I don't see where she moved to."

"Not sure that it matters, anyway," Rachel said. "I think it's clear that Bryson Lawrence is our next move."

"A restraining order…clearly a bit obsessed with small-time actresses," Jack said. "Could be our guy."

As Jack printed out the report, Rachel stretched, the tension in her shoulders unwinding just enough for her to focus on her head. She still felt no pain in her head. She was a bit foggy headed but that was because this was the first time in over six weeks she'd not gotten at least a solid seven hours of sleep the previous night.

As Jack retrieved the reports from the printer, Rachel hoped this would be the break they needed—the first promising, tangible thread. And she also wondered if this would be the final true test at work before the wedding. She and Jack had conquered some truly monumental cases in the past but this one was already starting to feel very different. The victims so precise, the murders so odd.

Flint said they were killed according to murders their character's committed on stage, she thought. Is there something to that? Is there something we're missing? Or could that just be a coincidence?

"Okay, we have his address," Jack said, smacking at the papers in his hand. "Want to go pay him a visit?"

"If it means wrapping this case before another actress is killed, absolutely."

They walked back downstairs and exited the building less than twenty minutes after walking in. The temperature was dropping a bit more as afternoon melted into evening, the sky growing slightly darker throughout the city. Rachel and Jack made their way to the car, fingers interlocked. The dimming light cast long shadows that danced around them.

"You still feeling okay?" he asked.

"Tired, but fine."

"So do you think these treatments were the ones that did it? The ones back in Seattle?"

"Maybe. But you know I don't like to speculate."

"I know. I'm just…I don't know. Am I terrible for saying I'm a bit more nervous and excited for your next tests than the wedding?"

"Weird, maybe. But not terrible." She smiled as they reached the car and said, "But I get it. I'm just worried the results will say nothing has changed. I'm worried we'll be walking down the aisle with that bad news resting between us."

"If that's the case, the bad news can wait," Jack said. "I'm not going to let any bad news ruin my wedding day. God, I can't wait to marry you, Rachel."

They shared a brief kiss before getting into the car. The kiss and his words made her heart flutter. She was often in awe of the steadfastness of this man who had been her constant in a whirlwind of loss and pain. Peter's sudden death had left her adrift in a sea of grief, but Jack had been the anchor, pulling her back to solid ground. And when Grandma Tate had passed, it was his shoulder that absorbed her tears, his quiet strength that helped her navigate the consuming sorrow. And he'd not just been there for her, but for Paige, too.

And then, of course, there'd been the cancer. She had no idea how she would have made it through the pain, the weakness, the travel, and the overall hopelessness without him by her side.

"It worries me, Jack..." she trailed off, her thoughts spiraling. How could a heart so full of love for this man still harbor such intense animosity towards Alice? The question gnawed at her, an itch deep beneath her skin that she couldn't quite scratch.

"Hey," Jack said, stopping just short of the car and turning to face her, his eyes searching hers. "Whatever is going on…whatever happens and whatever those test results say, we'll tackle it together. Just like we always do."

Rachel nodded, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "One thing at a time, though," she said, doing her best not to get emotional. "Let's go pay Mr. Lawrence a visit. I'd like to not have this case over our heads while walking down the aisle."

"Agreed," Jack replied, starting the engine. The car hummed to life as they once again rode out into the city, chasing down answers and dangerous men…and doing it the way they'd done it for the better part of three years: together.