Page 24 of Her Last Refuge

Novak was in the passenger seat, head tipped back against the headrest, eyes half-closed. He wasn’t asleep—she could tell by the way his breathing hadn’t fully evened out—but he was close enough that she felt the need to look over at him every now and then just to check. The facility sat dark and low against the night, most of its windows black, a few soft amber lights still glowing in the administrative wing and near the nurses’ stations. The parking lot was empty except for two staff cars and a maintenance van near the service entrance. Nothing moved, and the night remained quiet.

Her eyes ached from the strain of staring into low light. She was growing tired, but it wasn’t a sleeping sort of tired. It was a weird mental fatigue that only came with tasks like this one. She looked back over to Novak and saw that his eyes were closed a bit tighter than they had been a few minutes ago.

“Hey, you better stay awake,” Rachel said. “Conversation is going to help me stay awake. This is brutal.”

Novak didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not asleep. I’m thinking about the case.”

“About what, exactly?”

“Okay, I lied. I was thinking about a beer. I’d really like a beer right now.”

“Like that would help you stay awake?”

“It would,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “I get chatty when I drink. Hey, did you know that there are detectives in Spain who actually drink wine on the job? They think it makes their mind sharper.”

“Then it’s a shame we aren’t in Madrid.”

He looked over to her and yawned. “You’re a terrible partner.”

"I'm an excellent partner. I'm just currently a sleep-deprived excellent partner who needs you to say something mildly interesting every few minutes, so I don't lose focus. If you—"

She stopped mid-sentence when she caught movement near the western edge of the building. She leaned closer to the glass and refocused. Sure enough, there it was again.

A figure moved along the shadows at the side of the building. They were moving along what Rachel was pretty sure was the memory care wing. And just as Rachel was about to call this out to Novak, she watched as the figure slipped through a side door that should have been locked according to Clay and Dell. The motion was clean enough that for half a second Rachel almost doubted she’d seen it. Then the door eased shut without a sound, and the space where the figure had been was empty again.

“Novak.”

“What was it?” he asked, also leaning forward. “I just barely saw it.”

“West entrance. Someone just went in through a door that shouldn’t open from the outside…unless they have a card or key.”

She was out of the car before she finished the sentence. Novak fell in beside her as they crossed the lot at a controlled pace and up onto the lawn. They moved quietly, guns drawn, as they hurried through the darkness. They came to the western edge, and then to the door the figure had slipped through. Rachel tested the handle, and it turned easily under her hand.

They exchanged a look as Rachel eased the door open. Novak took position by the doorframe, as still as a statue with his Glock held low. Rachel pushed the door open just wide enough for them to slip through, then guided it shut behind them so carefully that the sound of it falling into place was almost like velvet.

The corridor beyond was dim, lit only by the soft amber night lighting that ran along the baseboards. A glow radiated warmly from up ahead, a lamp perched at the nurses’ desk if Rachel remembered correctly. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and the residual lavender from the daytime diffusers. Somewhere deeper in the building a television murmured at low volume, little more than a whisper. Rachel’s pulse had picked up in the quiet of it all, but she kept her breathing even.

Slowly, they moved forward with Rachel keeping the lead.

They stayed close to the wall as they advanced checking doorways as they passed. The memory care wing at night had a different quality than it did during the day; it felt thicker somehow, the quiet more deliberate. Every soft sound carried farther. Rachel could hear her own footsteps even though she was placing them with care. Somewhere ahead, another set of quieter ones was still moving.

They both knew not to call out in this situation. Not only would it get the suspect off and running, but it would disrupt the sleep of patients who desperately needed their rest. The last thing they needed right now was a building full of agitated elderly people in need of mental care.

Rachel rounded the first corner in the hallway—at one of two intersections—and spotted the figure at the far end of the hall, pausing outside a resident’s door. The person was bent slightly, working at the handle with something in their hand. He was too focused to notice them just yet. Rachel raised her free hand and gave Novak a small signal. She could sense him come to a stop behind her.

They closed the remaining distance in a few long, silent strides. When Rachel spoke up, she did so in quiet, hushed tones.

“FBI. Stop right there.”

The figure froze for half a heartbeat. Then it bolted hard to the right, deeper into the building.

Rachel wasted no time and followed after him. She was still trying to keep her footfalls quiet and measured but it became harder to do the further into the building she got. She heard Novak behind her as well, just a few feet behind.

The chase tore down the corridor in a sudden rush of motion. The figure was fast, cutting hard left at the next intersection and disappearing into a stairwell. Rachel followed, glad that the figure was moving away from the residential areas. This way she didn’t have to be quiet as she chased after him. Faintly, somewhere behind her, she heard a resident’s door crack open. A confused voice called out a question that she nor Novak had time to answer.

An overhead light flickered as they hit the stairwell door. Rachel took the stairs two at a time, weapon still held close. The sound of the fleeing footsteps echoed above and then suddenly below as the figure doubled back or dropped a level…she couldn’t tell which just yet.

Rachel hit the landing hard and took the next flight without slowing. The stairwell was narrow and poorly lit, and as she descended at a fast rate of speed, it was almost dizzying as she swept from one landing to the next.