CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rachel strode into the hospital's security room, her boots clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. Ethan followed close behind, his presence a reassuring constant in the unfamiliar environment. The room was cramped, the air thick with the hum of electronic equipment and the tension of the hovering security team.

It was testament to the hospital’s pro law-enforcement policies that they were being given access so quickly—albeit, access with babysitters. Living in Texas had its perks.

Monitors flickered, casting an eerie glow across the faces of the gathered individuals. Rachel's gaze swept over them, taking in their nervous expressions and the way they seemed to shrink back from her intensity.

"Like we discussed, I need access to the security footage on the day Eleanor Hastings was discharged.”

The head of security, a balding man with a thin mustache, stepped forward, his hands held up in a placating gesture. "Yes, yes. We’re working on it. But as we discussed, you don’t have permission to touch the security terminals. Give us a second to find the footage.”

Rachel's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in her cheek. "Understood. It’s fine if you operate the controls. Show me everything you have on Eleanor Hastings’ movements in this hospital."

The security team exchanged glances, their unease palpable. Rachel fixed them with a steely gaze, her eyes narrowing. "Now," she commanded.

Ethan placed a hand on her shoulder, a subtle gesture as if attempting to rein in an angered horse. She took a deep breath, trying not to picture the two dead women. Both of them hunted by the same psychopath. She watched as the hospital security team began to comply, their fingers moving over the controls with practiced efficiency.

Rachel's mind raced as she stared at the screens, her eyes scanning every frame for clues.

The images flickered, grainy and muted, as the security team fast-forwarded through hours of mundane hospital activity. Rachel leaned forward, her gaze intense, searching for any sign of Eleanor.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as they combed through the footage. Rachel's patience wore thin, her frustration mounting with every passing moment. She could feel the weight of the case bearing down on her, the pressure to find answers before it was too late.

The footage moved forward, jumping from one camera to the next, following Eleanor's path through the hospital corridors. Rachel watched intently as the woman appeared on the screen, her movements slow and labored. She leaned heavily on her crutches, her face etched with pain and determination.

"There." Rachel pointed at the screen, her finger tracing Eleanor's progress. "Follow her. Don't lose sight of her."

The security team nodded, their hands moving deftly over the controls. The cameras kept pace with Eleanor, tracking her every step. Rachel's eyes darted from one screen to the next, searching for any sign of interaction or conversation.

Ethan leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. "She seems to be heading towards the elevators," he observed, his voice low.

Rachel nodded, her gaze never leaving the screens. She watched as Eleanor approached the elevator doors, her hand reaching out to press the button. The camera angle shifted, revealing a crowded hallway filled with hospital staff and visitors.

"There," Rachel said, her voice sharp. "Isolate that section. I want to see every person who comes within ten feet of her."

The security team complied, zooming in on the area surrounding Eleanor. Rachel studied each face, committing them to memory. She looked for any sign of recognition or interaction, any hint of a connection to the case.

A part of her thought of the cameras she’d set up back at her aunt’s ranch. She’d half-hoped, with the rattlesnakes, that her aunt and Sheriff Dawes might’ve been involved in all of this. But it seemed clear now they were on a different warpath. She double-checked her phone, frowning towards the notifications. No updates on Dawes. No updates on her aunt.

She scowled. The footage hadn’t pinged in a while. She bit her lower lip, trying to surpress the rising tide of thoughts. Was her aunt really the one who’d killed her parents? Had Dawes been involved somehow?

The money from the heist was missing…

She shook her head. “Focus,” she muttered under her breath. Her eyes darted back to the screen. Another surge of anger flashed through her.

Murderers were all the same.

They didn’t care what they robbed the world of.

Rachel had grown up without parents. And had been raised… by their murderer?

Her hands bunched at her sides and she refocused on the screen. But as the footage progressed, Eleanor remained alone, her path unimpeded. Rachel felt a flicker of disappointment, her hopes of a quick lead fading.

Suddenly, the camera angle changed once more, revealing Eleanor as she transitioned from her crutches to a wheelchair. Rachel leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

"Zoom in," she ordered, her voice tense. "I want to see her face."

The image enlarged, filling the screen with Eleanor's weathered features. Rachel studied her expression, looking for any sign of distress or fear. But the old woman's face remained impassive, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

The minutes dragged on, each frame of the security footage revealing nothing more than a frail, elderly woman navigating the hospital's sterile corridors. Rachel's eyes strained against the grainy images, desperate for any hint of suspicious activity, any whisper of a lead.

Beside her, Ethan shifted his weight, the rustling of his jacket loud in the tense silence. The security team waited, their fingers poised over the controls, ready to pause or rewind at Rachel's command.

But the footage yielded nothing. No furtive glances, no hushed conversations, no signs of danger lurking in the shadows. Just an injured woman, alone and vulnerable, making her way through a world that seemed to have forgotten her.

Rachel's jaw clenched.

"There has to be something," she muttered, more to herself than to the others in the room. "Keep going."

The security officer nodded, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. The footage skipped forward, the time stamp in the corner of the screen blurring as hours passed in mere seconds.

And then, suddenly, Rachel's hand shot out, her finger jabbing at the screen.

"There! Pause it."

The image froze, the frame capturing a moment in time. A man, his features obscured by a red baseball cap, stood just a few feet away from Eleanor. His posture was tense, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.

Rachel leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied the man. It was difficult to make out his features, but there was something about his stance, the way he seemed to be looming over Eleanor, that set off alarm bells in her mind.

"Play it," she commanded, her voice tight with anticipation.

The footage resumed, the man approaching Eleanor with slow, deliberate steps. Rachel watched, her breath caught in her throat, as he drew closer and closer until he was standing right beside her.

It looked as if they had an exchange. And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the man turned and walked away, his movements hurried and furtive. Eleanor remained where she was, her face turned away from the camera, her expression unreadable.

Rachel sat back, her mind racing. Who was this man? What did he want with Eleanor? And why had he approached her in the middle of a busy hospital, only to flee moments later?

She knew that the answers lay somewhere within the footage, waiting to be uncovered.

Rachel hit pause, her finger tapping the space bar over the shoulder of the security officer.

“Please, let us operate the equipment,” the head of security tried to interject.

But she ignored him, freezing the image on the screen. She leaned in, studying the man's face, searching for any distinguishing features that might help identify him. The red baseball cap cast a shadow over his eyes, making it difficult to get a clear look.

"Ethan, take a look at this," she said, gesturing to the screen. "What do you make of it?"

Ethan stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. "He's definitely trying to keep a low profile," he observed. "The cap, the way he's keeping his head down... he doesn't want to be recognized."

Rachel nodded, her gaze still fixed on the screen. "And look at Eleanor's body language," she said, pointing to the woman's hunched shoulders and tightly clasped hands. "She's nervous, maybe even scared."

The possibility sent a chill down her spine. What could this man have said or done to elicit such a reaction?

"Keep playing," she instructed the security team, her voice firm.

The footage resumed, and they watched as the man leaned in close to Eleanor, his mouth moving rapidly as he spoke. The interaction lasted only a few seconds before he abruptly turned and walked away, his stride quick and purposeful.

Eleanor remained frozen in place, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrests of her wheelchair. A clipboard rested on her lap. Even through the grainy footage, Rachel could see the tension in her jaw, the fear in her eyes.

"Something's not right here," Rachel muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that this man was somehow connected to Eleanor's disappearance.

She turned to the security team, her expression fierce. "I want every angle you have of this guy," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Every camera, every second of footage. We need to find out who he is and what he wanted with Eleanor."

As the team scrambled to comply, Rachel felt a surge of determination.

Rachel's eyes remained glued to the screen as the security team worked, scanning through hours of footage. The room was silent save for the hum of the equipment and the occasional click of a keyboard.

Minutes turned into hours, and still, no sign of the man in the red baseball cap. Rachel's frustration grew with each passing moment, her jaw clenched tight.

Ethan shifted beside her, his own gaze intense as he studied the footage. "There," he said suddenly, pointing at the screen.

Rachel leaned forward, her heart racing. On the monitor, she saw the man in the red baseball cap approaching Eleanor near the hospital entrance. He seemed to be speaking to her, his body language aggressive.

"Pause it," Rachel barked, and the footage froze.

She studied the image, taking in every detail. The man's face was partially obscured by the cap, but she could see the hard set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders.

Eleanor, in contrast, seemed to shrink back in her wheelchair, her expression uneasy. She clutched a clipboard to her chest, as if it were a shield.

Rachel watched intently as the man in the red baseball cap hastily left Eleanor's side. He moved quickly, his strides purposeful and aggressive.

"Follow him," Rachel commanded, her voice tight with tension. "I want to see where he goes."

The security team obliged, scrolling through the footage to track the man's movements.

As the footage continued, Rachel felt her frustration mounting. The man seemed to disappear from view, lost in the sea of people coming and going from the hospital.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "We need to find him."

She turned to the security team, her expression fierce. "Pull up the parking lot cameras," she ordered. "If he left the hospital, he had to have gone to his car."

The team quickly switched to the parking lot footage, scanning the rows of vehicles for any sign of the man in the red baseball cap.

Rachel's heart pounded in her chest as she watched, her eyes straining to catch even the smallest detail. She knew that every second counted, that any delay could mean the difference between finding Eleanor and losing her forever.

And then, suddenly, there he was. The man in the red baseball cap, walking briskly towards a nondescript sedan parked near the edge of the lot.

Rachel leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat. "Zoom in," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Get me that license plate."

The security guard's fingers flew across the keyboard, the image on the screen expanding to fill the frame. Rachel squinted, her eyes locked on the pixelated numbers and letters as they came into focus.

"G...T...4..." she read aloud, her voice taut with tension. "That's all I can make out. The rest is too blurry."

Ethan scribbled the partial plate number on his notepad, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It's not much, but it's a start," he said. "We can run it through the database, see if anything comes up."

Rachel nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the next step. She pulled out her phone, her fingers dialing the familiar number of the dispatch center.

"This is Ranger Blackwood," she said, her voice crisp and authoritative. "I need an APB put out immediately. Suspect is a white male, average height and build, last seen wearing a red baseball cap. Driving a green sedan with a partial plate of GT4. Consider him armed and dangerous."

She ended the call, her heart still pounding in her chest. It wasn't much to go on, but it was more than they'd had a few minutes ago. And in a case like this, every scrap of information was precious.

Rachel turned to the security team, her expression grim. "I want copies of all this footage," she said. "Every angle, every camera. We need to go through it with a fine-toothed comb, see if there's anything else we missed."

The guards nodded, already moving to comply with her request.

This was their killer.

He was still out there… She could only hope he wasn’t on the hunt again. When predators like this got a taste for blood, they never stopped hunting.