“Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Could you confirm for us that you’ve received applications from Benjamin Wells and Polly Warren?”

  The woman seemed torn over this and, after a handful of seconds, shook her head in deep regret. “I’m so sorry. I really can’t do that. But my boss, the foundation chairman and manager Wes Dalton, can. Really, I think you’d need to speak with him.”

  “Totally understood,” Jack said. “Would you mind if we had a look around?”

  “Oh, help yourself.” She stood up from her chair, all too eager to please after having to deny them the client information. “If you want, I can give you a quick tour—though it isn’t much, really.”

  She was right. Beyond the lobby at the entrance, there was only a small hallway with three rooms—two on the left and one larger one on the right. It was all very minimalist in nature, with glossy wood floors and beige walls with large framed pictures similar to the ones behind the front desk.

  “I assume you’re aware of the assistance and services we provide?” the receptionist asked.

  “To an extent,” Jack said. “Would you say the majority of your clients fall into the wish-list category or the financial assistance and help category?”

  “Oh, the assistance, by far. It’s odd, but it almost seems as if the loved ones that typically call us and do most of the paperwork are almost embarrassed to ask for help. So far, already eight months into the year, we’ve only had three clients request something special; one of those was for help in planning and paying for a three-day trip to Disney World for their sick daughter.”

  She had lowered her voice a bit near the end of her answer. As they passed by one of the rooms, Rachel could see that a meeting was taking place. There were doors to the little meeting rooms, but they were all open. In the room she was looking into, a Life Fulfilled employee was sitting on one side of the table while an older gentleman and a young woman sat on the other side.

  The receptionist pulled them quickly into another room, the next one down on the left side. “So, for instance,” she said, “the meeting taking place that you just saw is for a man suffering from heart disease. His daughter has expressed to us that one of his longtime dreams is to go to a Baltimore Ravens game. We’ve told her that we can get her pretty much any seats she wants. A single call and he’s sitting on the fifty-yard line. But she’s hesitant because she feels that she should be able to afford it herself. Even when people are on the brink of death, most find it very hard to ask for help.”

  “How many clients do you typically have at one time?” Rachel asked. She was aware that hearing about the services was almost like having someone talk about her behind her back while she was in another room. Hearing about people close to death due to terminal illnesses while she was dealing with her own was surreal and a little painful.

  “Well, right now, we are working with eleven. And we do our best not to ever have more than twelve. With the small staff here, it’s a bit difficult to manage more than that. We have a waiting list of about eight or nine people at the moment and when Mr. Dalton gets back, we’ll be discussing who we can bring on from that waiting list now that we have that one single opening.”

  Rachel was already sensing that their time here was coming to an end. There was nothing to help them here currently—not until Wes Dalton returned from his trip to New York.

  “When will Mr. Dalton be returning?” she asked.

  “We don’t know, actually. It may be tomorrow afternoon, but it could be as late as lunchtime or so the following day.”

  Jack dug out his wallet and plucked out a business card. He handed it over to her and said, “Would you please have him call us when he returns. We’d really like to see if we can get more information on our two victims.”

  “Of course. And again…I’m very sorry I couldn’t help. We have very specific instructions not to hand over client information.”

  “It’s okay,” Jack said. “We understand. Thanks for your time.”

  They made their way out of the office, stepping back out onto the street. When they were back in the car, Jack started the engine but didn’t pull off right away. “Is this weird for you?” he asked. “Having to hear about these people planning for the end when you…well, when you…you know…”

  “It’s a little strange, yeah. But it’s also making me want to do what I can to catch this creep.”

  “I figured. Seems you may have asked Anderson for your leave of absence a little early, huh?”

  “Yeah, and—”

  Rachel’s phone rang and even though she knew it was coming from Grandma Tate thanks to the caller display, she still nearly answered it “Agent Gift.” She supposed it was just her natural instinct whenever she was with Jack.

  “I need to get this,” she said. Jack nodded and started scrolling through his own phone as Rachel answered. Rather than answer formally, she answered with: “I know. I should have been home by now.”

  “Well, that’s according to what you told me,” Grandma Tate said. “But honestly, it’s no big deal. Paige got invited to one of her friends’ house for the afternoon. A little girl name Suzanne. You know her?”

  “Yes, and I know her mother, too,” Rachel said. She felt relief at first—in that she now had an out to remain with Jack and the case for a bit longer—and then guilt for feeling that way. “If you’re fine with it, I am, too.”

  “She says it’s just two blocks or so over, is that right?”

  “It is, yes.”

  “Then I think I’ll just walk her over. Do you think you’ll be home in time for dinner?”

  She almost answered yes right away, but didn’t want to paint herself into another lie. She answered as honestly as she could with: “I just don’t know yet. I’ll certainly be home before Paige has to go to bed, though.”

  There was the slightest hesitation from the other end of the line and Rachel didn’t blame her. Grandma Tate was likely annoyed, maybe even a little disappointed. “That’s fine. I believe we’ll just have one of those oven pizzas for dinner.”

  Rachel heard this, but she also watched as two people exited the Life Fulfilled offices. It was the older gentleman and his woman companion. Now that she saw their faces, she was quite sure they were father and daughter.

  “That sounds good,” Rachel said, her attention now on the father-daughter pair. “Thanks again for this.”

  “I’m just happy to do what I can. But…if you don’t mind my saying so, you really need to hang it up soon.”

  “I know.” But even then, she was already reaching for the door handle to step outside. “I’m trying. I’m still figuring things out.”

  “I know, dear. Now, you get back to whatever it is you’re doing. Paige and I will be fine.”

  As they ended the call, Jack looked to her, realizing that she was getting out of the car. Before he could ask what, exactly, she was doing, Rachel walked quickly over to the older man and his daughter. She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to say to them, but she did feel getting an insider view of how Life Fulfilled worked would be important to the case.

  “Excuse me,” she said, catching up to the pair as they made their way to a small truck parked along the side of the curb. “Excuse me, sir?”

  They both turned to her and she was surprised to see that the younger woman looked relatively happy. Apparently, the meeting they’d just had was a good one. The older gentleman looked tired but there was the trace of a smile on his face as well.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “I’m Agent Rachel Gift, with the FBI.” She said this, realizing she had no ID. But Jack was there, coming in behind her and showing his badge. It was yet another thing that made her feel like she was really nothing more than a supporting actor.

  “And I’m Agent Rivers,” he said.

  “We’re looking into a few things for a case in the area,” Rachel said. “And Life Fulfilled came up. Now, we don’t necessarily suspect them of anything, but we’re trying to get a better understanding of how they operate. Would you be willing to share your experience?”

  The father looked to the daughter, as if for permission. “Yeah,” he said. “I think that would be okay.”

  “I don’t see why not,” the daughter said. “Now, you said there’s nothing going on with them, right?”

  “Nothing that would raise alarms, no,” Jack said. “It’s more about them being referenced in a case.”

  “Oh…well, I have nothing but good things to say about them,” the daughter said. She smiled again, her face lighting up. She was very pretty, her blue eyes the same as her father’s. Rachel suspected the blonde hair had also come from her father, though the bit of hair he did still have remaining was thin and gray.

  “They’re maybe a little too kind,” the father said.

  “And they’re a non-profit, so I’m still not sure where all the money comes from,” the daughter said. “They’ve told us that if we want, Dad can get just about any seat for a Ravens game in Baltimore. They’re even willing to have someone drive us.”

  “And was this something you asked for specifically?” Rachel asked.

  “No. But during the first meeting we had with them, they’d asked about things he now feared he wouldn’t be able to do because of what is looking to be a shortened lifespan. He mentioned never getting to go to a Ravens game and they sort of zoned in on that. It’s probably because he really never asks for anything. Now, we’re only on the waiting list for right now, but they’re already trying to make plans for us.”

  “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.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rachel stared at the Life Fulfilled wait list as Jack took a moment to hit a drive-through for an early dinner. While it did her a great deal of good to see both of the names there, thus solidifying the link, there was one thing that bothered her.

  “Both Warren and Wells aren’t anywhere near the top of this,” she said. “Twenty-one names, and Wells was number seventeen. Warren was number twelve.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Jack said as he took the slightly greasy bag of food from the person at the window. “But for a list like this, I doubt freeing a spot up means someone else instantly fills that slot, in that order. That’s the impression I got when I spoke to Wes Dalton, anyway.”

  “Okay, so maybe the killer is someone beneath Wells…someone who’s just trying to work their way up the list any way they can,” Rachel suggested. “One off the list, no matter how low down on the list they may be, means the killer gets moved up a position.”

  “Makes sense, I suppose,” Jack said. “And if he’s choosing them randomly, that’s going to make things a bit harder on our end.”

  “And that’s if he’s getting the names of these people off of this list. There’s a similar chance he may have somehow gotten the names from the doctors’ offices Wells and Warren were visiting. So we may need to eventually speak to the employees at those offices.”

  “You know, I can’t help but notice that you keep saying we,” Jack said. “As if you’re part of this case on an official basis.”

  “So I’m just along for the ride?” she asked with a smirk. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “If it happens to come up with Anderson, yes. Actually, I may even say you coerced or bullied me.”

  “Well, then if I’m just along for the ride, why don’t you call the office and see if you can get addresses to go with these names and numbers beneath Wells?”

  Unwrapping his burger, he said, “Sorry, I’m eating.”

  “Yeah, but you—”

  Her words froze up for a moment as an enormous wave of vertigo swept through her. It came out of absolutely nowhere, causing her to lean to the right against the door. She closed her eyes but even then, she could feel it. It wasn’t too dissimilar from being drunk, lying down on a bed and closing her eyes, waiting for the world to recenter itself.

  The disorientation was accompanied by a very faint throbbing sensation along the back of her head. It did not hurt, but felt more like a slightly pulled muscle. She reached up to massage the area but was so dizzy that her hand missed the back of her head. It felt like she was swimming, doing a backstroke.

  “Rachel?”

  She took a second to respond to Jack, not sure if she even trusted herself to speak in that moment. Her first rection, of course, was to assume this was related to the tumor. If it was, it was a new symptom. But it was already beginning to pass. And while this was a relief, she knew better than to assume it was gone for good.

  “Rachel. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just got a little light-headed for a second.”

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, finally opening her eyes. Things were a little swimmy, but much better than they had been as recently as five seconds ago. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Maybe I need to take you home.”

  “No, I think I’m good. Let’s at least see what we can find out about the people below Wells on the waiting list. You have my word that I’ll let you know if I start to feel off.”

  He took a bite of his burger, shaking his head at her. “If you die while shadowing me on this case you haven’t even officially been assigned to—”

  “I promise, I won’t die. Not from the tumor, anyway. But you talking to me with a mouthful of food might do it.”

  “Smart ass.”

  Rachel smiled at him as he drove with his free hand, shoveling more burger in with the other.

  ***

  They started at the very bottom of the list and got an address for a woman named Elizabeth Foster. She lived just off of Broad Street, only a fifteen-minute drive from where Jack had gotten his greasy burger. It was a quaint brownstone, with well-cared-for azaleas lining the sidewalk.